Sawtooth Spire tremble little starboy

The youngest of the småkniver and skarp had finally opened his black orbs, soft dawn light filtering into his temporary abode. Warbling with surprise, he cowardly shied to his mother's belly for a better sense of familiar warmth of her, who he had yet to name other then small squeals substituting for petite dinner bells, laced with little delicate ribbon for his caretaker and birth giver to feed him and fuss over his own delicate being. No matter that he could venture — the lacked the strength and courage of the father he had yet to meet and his breakfast had not yet been served. The shadows retreated, pursued by a calming light as he hungrily fed on his milk, scrabbling helplessly, pushing for more. Only days ago he had been brought into existence without a clue in mind about his world, other then the mingling scents of Agana and Mahler, the feel of furs from a retreated aunt not weaved to their line by blood, and the persistent memory of the odor of blood and sweat.

The idea of going beyond his birthplace's reach was hard to fathom — like a lady withering over the gift her distant lover had left her before his death, to open it would mean to lose the one thing that kept his touch safe and uncontaminated from her tears. Astraeus was very afraid of losing his milk and the welcoming tongue. Alas, his stomach was satiated and and form the looks of it, his mother had eluded the waking hours he had risen to. His eyes closed and his little head rested on her breast, indulging in her arduous yet unconscious love her inner warmth seemed to symbolize . . . sleep greeted him before his yawn and stretched his stubs of legs out. Blinking, a new ability that somewhat interested him, he thought every time it occured he would return to darkness, and somehow it scared him. As calm and secure the dark was, icompared the colors and and relization of reality, he'd prefer if his eyes only surrendered to darkness for a little bit. They had a great compromise, quick blinks and lots of color. 

The air kissed his nose sharply and he sneezed, small chest heaving for exerting effort. The outside was looking more welcoming and glorious now — vast and green, spires not unlike the sawtooth and mountain expanse gracing his first hours of sight. But not yet — the scenery was a nice touch in life, but food always topped that, so he welcomed himself to his mother's collection of food dispensers, horribly convenient for him to fatten himself on. There wasn't much thoughts to occupy such a young beings mind in all honesty, and there wasn't much to him yet either. Yet the allure that his mother had for him, even in adolescence, he would hardly be able to understand. Finally filled once again with milk, the boy wriggled and grunted as he positioned himself to sit up. Upright and plump . . . Astraeus was again left without activity, and in fact quite restless for cowardly pup not interested in adventure. 

Time to stand, or at least, attempt to do so.

After a few minutes of stumbling, the bumbling boy finally gets it. Horah!