Moonspear wobblin' around in your high-heeled shoes

He was quiet for once, deep in a fitful rest that only children could reach. A full belly had certainly helped to lull him there, though what exactly he could have been dreaming about was good as any guess could be. His world was by far a pleasant place, unmarked from any long term memory of being jostled or unkind.

It was, however, not meant to last.

Someone’s foot had hit his face somewhere in the commotion of movement, of waking hours arriving with their pompous fanfare, and Altair found immediate displeasure cresting any other emotion as he stirred.

Blearily—how new, how strange—his own eyes had cracked open to nothing more than light and darkness, to moving shapes that he could not quite pinpoint through a heavy veil of sleep that clung to him. His mouth opened, first to protest, but was cut off by a yawn that only accentuated a hearty, squeaky groan.

How dare.

He protested this further when his sisters were moved, tiny feet pushing against his mother in an effort to suggest that he too was awake, as if there were any room for doubt. He pressed into @Caelum with discontent, and sought to wake him too.