Duskfire Glacier who whispered the beauty of snow and the fear of death

Siku's awareness was pretty minimal considering the state of things but that did not mean that it didn't exist. He could not see nor could he taste, even his hearing and sense of smell were considerably weak in utero, but he could feel. He could sense the body that carried him (though he didn't quite recognize that it was a body nor that said body belonged to his mother), the influx of its emotions causing tiny pings to his own heart that echoed the feelings he would know in depth as he matured and grew. For now, these were nameless sensations -- the love his mother and father held for him, the way his mother's heart would race when Rye was near (making Siku jittery and active as he bounced around on his mom's bladder, blindly trying to find what was so exciting), the ravenous hunger he caused Imaq when her stomach had -- finally -- settled and the enjoyment the food gave her (which he could smell in the amniotic fluid as he practiced breathing). 

There was an innate sense of belonging in this place. That this was where he was supposed to be and Siku would have been content to remain in his mother's womb for eternity, in the dreamy state that only those not yet born and those who had crossed over would know. The darkness, the body, the tiny universe of creation within his mother all the epitome of sanctuary. 

But he was about to learn his first hard lesson in life, even if it would soon be erased from his short memory: things never remain the same.

The feelings bombarded the boy as he woke, still in his mother's womb, finding himself unbearably cramped even if he was the only one harboring in the darkness at this time. Pain, excitement, fear. All muted by his own confusion, the first emotion that hadn't been influenced by his link to Imaq, as the walls of his abode began to squeeze and force him into the terrifying beyond -- something he had never even paused to consider. (If he'd been capable of considering anything.)

When his damp form met the air and he felt the agony of breathing it into his lungs for the first time, not unlike the way the first fish who walked on land must have felt, he greeted the world not with cries but with a tiny, disbelieving, and outraged gasp. 

His howls to be put back might have wrent the air next but his mother had diligently pulled him close and the ecstasy of colostrum had distracted him. He must have dozed, dreaming of the blackness again, only for something to pull him back from that wonderful abyss.

He met his father's awe-struck curiosity with disgruntled whimpers, swinging tiny paws at whatever force had dared to disturb him. When the smell and touch registered, somewhere in the midst of Rye's cuddling, the pup quieted again -- curious. The scent of the man he would know as his father was only vaguely familiar but the sound of his voice was well known. He might not have had milk for the babe but that wouldn't become an issue until he was hungry again.

For now, Sikuliak was satisfied with burrowing closer to his sire, slipping back into sleep with a little wuff of breath -- completely unaware of the serious conversation his parents were engaged in.