Redtail Rise third,

tuesday's dawn was, as perhaps some ancient prophecy or old spirit foretold, the middle child, and he certainly seemed to fit the idea of one. rather easy to overlook beyond the ruddy streaks of gunpowder that would one day make up adult guard hairs, he came into the world with a mighty squawk and instinctively curled back up into the fetal position. cranky already, decidedly.
as his mother cleans the birth from his face, he chokes out a garbled sound of disapproval and swats a tiny, wet forepaw toward her face. her breath is warm and the air he himself inhales for the first time is oh so cold in his tiny lungs. he's not sure where he gets the power to do so, but he begins to settle into steady breaths — a soft pattern as his cries wind down.
much like his older sister, however, he truly seeks one thing — food. except he's not quite sure how to find it, and, being cranky and stubborn as he is, does not feel like moving around to do so! and thus, with a chitter, he rolls over and waits for his mother's guidance.