Sun Mote Copse Maybe we can make a deal, maybe together we can get somewhere

Dark. Warmth. A steady distant thurm-thrum in his ears.

And then—cold silence.

The infant found displeasure in this. Where was the warmth? The steady beat he had grown used to? He tried lifting his head, but it was far too heavy for his tiny neck and he was far too tired to keep trying. Thus... he had no choice but to let out a wailing scream that was cut off by a choked snort as he rid his lungs of excess fluid. But with that deed done he continued on with his little temper tantrum before being nosed and rolled over.

He didn't know who or what he was. Where he was. Or that the current sensation flooding around him was the nurturing licks of his mother. The only thing he knew was that he pissed.

That was... until he was pushed back into the warmth and greedily found a teet to suck upon.