Bearclaw Valley When will you realize Vienne waits for you

the world is warm. soft. it smells like something he knows but does not have words for.
he is tumbled, pushed, pressed into something steady. it beats. he knows the sound—he can't hear it, but can feel it. it was there before the light, before the cold, before the voices.
his mouth finds something, and he latches, tiny paws kneading instinctively. he drinks deeply, greedy without knowing why.
the world shifts, jostles. a new shape—big, different, but close. his ear twitches at a feeling, something deep and rumbly. he does not understand it.
his tail wiggles.