Sawtooth Spire freeze! you with the pretzeled arms

feel free to fade us since she's useless <3 i'll make an AW thread to spice things up

unlike the embonpoint belly of her mother, this bristly “teat” was found lacking. no amount of kneading and clumsy grasping yielded what she sought, and although there was a sense of familiarity with the vibrations of his low rumbling voice and the vibrations that came from a hungered wylla’s grumbling stomach, not a driblet of milk could be coaxed from it. so, she gave up and found a new career as a spelunker. specifically, into the grotto of his great mouth. so many different smells, and no cranny within it too small for her to reconnoiter with the prying thrust of her nose. hmmm, said the dentist. no cavities as far as I can tell … she prodded at his canine teeth, and molars, and the black rimple of his gums. a man of overall superior dental health. might benefit from chewing a mint leaf after meals, and flossing, lest you continue getting microbes known as “infant daughteritis” stuck between your teeth. 
it was a miracle wylla hadn’t stirred from her slumber (probably in a coma of her own after nights of being shrieked awake or boob-abused) to find her child comically almost halfway down mahler’s throat. or as close as she could get, anyway, before she spat herself out as worlds biggest and cutest loogey in the dutiful ambit of the gargoyle’s leg with another hic.
always hiccuping, this one. (woe betide her! the unfortunate consequences of gluttony)
after a climb through the slate pastures of his ruff, and a slightly longer journey across his his hackles, she felt the heavy curtain of sleep drawing, with or without her compliance this time. huffing a grunt, the moteling gave up her expedition of crossing the eisen's mountainous terrain and clambered off his neck with grace a smidge less than that of a spider monkey, stumbling her way into the corral of his forelegs. 
sprawling out into a stretch, and with a squeak fit for a pip such as she, phaedra then curled herself 'round his paw and nuzzled her wrinkly face against its callused pad. presently, sleep finally tugged insistently at the peripherals of her consciousness, but she was a light sleeper (perhaps her soul was wary of the anchor and the sensations of sinking so deeply as before). her nose was kept active by the slew of interesting scents clinging to his feet. some identifiable, like the earth. others not yet inventoried, like ...
... fritos®?