Bearclaw Valley distant stars come in black or red.

the miracle of life may be momentous and monumental for those old enough to comprehend it. for little Avicus, nothing much changes.

sure, the world becomes colder and wider once the sac is broken. and sure, she finds herself crying out into alien air. once she is nestled into the safety of her mother's breast, though, and she takes the proferred teat, the familiar dark, warm comfort returns. it is the womb, still, though dryer, different.

as long as she remains by Astara's side, she might as well yet be unborn.

in coming days, she has much to learn. a brother, close by; a father, in the greater universe beyond the den. an entire pack waiting with bated breath for arrival of the next generation. for now, Avicus fills her diminuitive belly to the bursting point and drifts off, burping sweet milk-breath on the edge of slumber.