Swiftcurrent Creek morgan le fay

As he suckled, he buried his temple further and further into her belly. His toes curled, and he was undoubtedly happy.

And the milk filled his belly, and the sustenance filled his senses, and he drifted off.

He was sleeping again.

Dreaming.

But the dreams were of worlds far beyond this, worlds where he walked and talked and sang and even—even!—inhabited bodies far past this one.

He slept. Dreamt. Loved. He was content.