Whitefish River It's been one week

Her mother was right there with her soothing touch and nuzzles, quick to tend when she fussed. Syrma's complaining still rose in volume until she couldn't fight against the warmth anymore, and until there wasn't enough motivation behind her whining to keep her going for more. She slowly started to settle and ease her way into a vaguely more comfortable awareness; as the seconds passed, she was able to find a slightly better acceptance to being awake, too.

Still, it was.. something, and this entire scheme of existing was tiresome. She had no concept of what might actually await her, and sleep did not readily come back for her either like she would have liked. Syrma put her head back down anyway, eventually, and only grunted a few more times--and it was with a very half-hearted effort.

Probably soon, she could doze off, but for now she just sat there quietly like a fuzzy little lump, curled neatly into her place among the litter.