Ankyra Sound a bruise upon the silent moon

life at this point was not something the young cub would remember, aware only when it was happening; but it was life and it was contenting. there was an abundance of everything he needed: nutrients that aided in his growth and kept him alive, warmth. there were times, when he'd stretch, that he grew aware that the space was no solely his own and in time the lotusland of his revered mother's womb began to grow too cramped and the pale sand prince's time there was running short. as her body wracked with painful contractions, his world quakes around him and there is an uncomfortable pressure upon his body as he is birthed.

all at once the pressure is gone and he is still, feeling the distinct loss of the lotusland's warmth, of his siblings presence. this new place is hard and cold. fill your lungs with the breath of life, as erzulie cleans him of his birthing sac he draws in a first breath and the others follow naturally, each more satisfying than the last. the run of her tongue over his small body is soothing and the warmth of her breast as he is guided to his next source of life is comforting.

scarab, a symbol of creation. scarab, as he would eventually come to learn is his name, pokes around at erzulie's fur, gaping mouthfuls of it in his search. when he finds a teat, he latches on without preamble and begins to suckle until he inadvertently falls asleep, rousing for only moments as his siblings are born and are nudged in their places beside him.