Whitefish River It's been one week

Since she was naturally comfiest closest to Spica, when her sister cried out, any commotion that came with that complaining usually had her not far behind. This time, she roused feeling rudely interrupted. In her dreams, she chased a vastness--something dark, something deep. There were no thoughts to make it more than that, like endless or forever, but the contrast to any waking awareness that began and ended with this little nub of a body always gave her a start.

So Syrma's cries started small and more like little grunts before she finally lifted her head up enough to project the voice she was working pretty hard on. Nothing was really wrong. She was warm and not that hungry. She was just awake and hadn't been a minute ago, which was just not what she wanted to do right now at all.