Wheeling Gull Isle No one knows anything but us.

Single-post from me!

Where his sister faltered at the milkbar, Xiaoqing thrived; oftentimes he miraculously avoided knocking his siblings around, taking comfort in the one teat he deemed his favourite. He nursed until he had his fill, lulling himself into a deep sleep—during which he continued to nurse, the action second nature. But today the boy would not continue to cling on even through the depths of his slumber, as he was gently moved away from his place. There were minor protests that escaped him in the form of confused squeals, unable to understand where he was or what was happening. He wriggled and squirmed, seeking out the milk source—and instead, he found the plush fur of his mother’s breast, against which he nuzzled up and, as swiftly as he awoke, fell back to sleep.