Haunted Wood spite

Unaware of his misfortune, Famine drew his breath. The sac had been torn by the force of his mother's kick, the rest of it broken by eager paws. He propelled himself forward with purposeful thrusts. His jaws ached; his gums were sore — the boy needed to eat, and soon.

His lips cupped around something soft and familiar. Enjoying the sensation (the first of many), Famine continued the suckle. A tiny glutton, he ignored the lack of milk; whatever he had found, it was sufficient for his current purpose.

Teeth pulling at his scruff elicited a loud whine. Why did he have to go so soon? He continued to cry, even after latching onto his mother's teat and falling into a deep slumber.