Bearclaw Valley nails twisted in the palms of christ

He was hungry. It was a new feeling and he did not like it. Sort-of felt like a burning in the back of his throat reminding him he was empty inside. Before, he could shove himself against his mother after a nap and be satisfied immediately, but it was different now.

A shape darkened the den mouth, prompting the lift of his nose to the shadow, a roll to his belly. He turtles there a moment, sprawled, and with some shimmying Glaucos moves closer to the shape.

Was it mother with food...?