Deepwood Weald let there be more light

Kitimat was a large and hungry child. As firstborn, he'd had the choice of teat from the get-go, and he tossed his weight around to maintain that dominance, moving slowly but firmly against the wriggling, squealing bodies of his siblings.

Cruel? No. Just determined—and big.

And he ate, and grew, and ate, and grew, and on the thirteenth day of life, his eyes popped open to behold—

Nothing.

Well, almost nothing.

A dim fuzziness that tickled at the corners of his newfound vision, and as he squinted to try to make sense of this development, said dim fuzziness shifted abruptly and revealed itself as the warm, rounded side of a giant being.

Milk-giver. Mother.

After a moment's contemplation, the boy moved forward once more—as if he'd shrugged it all off already—and reattached himself, forgetting all novelty in the still-blind hunger that was his appetite.