Blackfeather Woods [m] blackreach

His body was a wet wedge of clay upon the floor, sitting and collecting dust where he'd landed. Limbs tucked in close to a small, soft belly; eyes shut, ears slick and curled against his tiny head, while breath pulsed in and out of his nose - that roman nose, so very much like his mother's. There was no fanfare to welcome him earthside, only the darkness of the cave and the imperceptible smell of dry dust, like an old library. The sour notes of afterbirth and the metallic scent of blood mixed in there too, gradually, though his nubile senses would not recall these aspects. The world was dark — but it was warm too. Something touched him, dragging the loaf of his body from one shadow to another only to press him close, to cling, and the babe peeped a tiny sound as he nested against his tired mother.