Herbalists' Cache into the unknown

the tongue sweeps across her spine, pressing heat into her shaking limbs, urging the flicker of life in her chest to stay. she does not understand what it is. she does not know what love means, but she feels it. an unseen force, fierce and unrelenting.

the paw shifts her again, presses her forward. instinct bids her to seek the warmth, the sweetness that drips from her mother’s belly—but she cannot. her mouth opens, but her jaw trembles. her tongue lolls uselessly. too weak. her siblings do not wait for her. they push past her, stronger, latching greedily. she has nothing. she will die here.  

but no. 

mother’s touch is unyielding. the tongue does not leave her. the paw does not release her. it forces her, a firm, unwavering pressure guides her frail body back to the teat, and when she falters, the tongue sweeps again, again, again, insistent. another push. another sweep of her tongue. another guttural hum vibrating through the bone-cage of her mother’s ribs. it is not a comfort, but a command. eat. breathe. live. 

the world narrows. all she knows is the warmth of the paw, the rasp of the tongue, the taste of life on her lips. she shudders. she tries again. she drinks. the taste floods her mouth, sweet and hot. it burns down her throat, fills her belly, awakens something in her frail body that she did not know she had. strength. the will to keep moving. the will to keep breathing. 

the pressure of her mother’s paw does not lessen. the tongue does not stop. she keeps her here, fixed against the teat like a dying star refusing to fade. she would not have lasted without it. she would have been lost. but she is not. mother holds her. keeps her.