Herbalists' Cache into the unknown

the world is warmth. the press of mother’s body, the steady pulse of her breath, the slow rasp of her tongue—it is all fa’liya knows. all she needs to know, now that her belly is full and the gnawing ache that had clawed at her from the moment she first came is soothed, dulled beneath the milk settling warm and heavy inside her.

she does not understand relief, but she feels it. her limbs, weak and trembling, slacken against the curve of her mother’s chest. the warmth holds her. mother holds her. then—pressure. a shift. her body is moved, guided by something vast and firm, repositioned in a way she does not have the strength to resist. her tiny frame stiffens, instinctively clumsy and uncertain, but she does not fear. mother is safe.

then, another pressure—strong, steady, firm against her back. 

a sound escapes her. small, startled, something between a mewl and a whimper. she does not know what is happening, but her body reacts on instinct, tightening then releasing. the pressure inside her shifts. her little mouth parts, and—burp! her limbs give a tiny twitch in response, but it does not hurt. it does not make her cold. mother does not move away. 

mother is pleased. she does not hear the soft exhale but she feels it against her fur. feels the press of lips against the crown of her head. feels the tongue return, smoothing over her face, pressing comfort back into her. 

the world shifts again. she is gathered close, curled against the heat she knows. the warmth of her mother’s body, the steady sound of her breathing, the gentle rise and fall of her chest. 

safe. she is full and warm and safe. that is enough.