Neverwinter Forest lxxv. put your toes down in the water

Though everything around him was a muffled blur, Fjall started to grow curious about his surroundings. In fact, the brightness emitted from the mouth of the whelping den seemed particularly interesting this morning. He tried to follow his poor vision, using his reliable nose to navigate towards the scent of an otherworldly warmth. He struggled to maintain his balance -- using his mother as a wall and tottering like a drunk along her side. The songborn had nearly detached himself from using the crutch when the Giver was startled awake.

Fjall flopped down, stalled but unshaken. He craned his tiny head to peer up at the goddess; her shapeless form a white beacon in the dark, den-walled atmosphere. He forgot all about his great escape and focused instead on his mother. Though his ears were still figuratively stuffed with cotton, he could hear the tone of her voice and he knew that she was talking to him. After milk and (more recently) spewed meat, hearing the vibrations of her speech was his favorite thing in the world.

Squirming, he turned the rest of his body towards the Giver, scooching towards her muzzle as he babbled incoherently in an effort to talk with her.