Bearclaw Valley Cat Eyes

ahniska had been dreaming of warmth.
she dreamed of her mother’s chest, of milk and the soft rumbles that vibrated through her fur, of the way aurelian’s feet twitched against her side and arlen’s nose always seemed to find her ear.
but now… something called to her.
light.
a pale, strange glow that seeped through her sealed lids. a pull, like a song without words. the air was different. new. she stirred with a little whine, a flutter of her paws as if she were trying to catch the feeling.
then her eyes opened.
at first, it was only color and blur—smudged light, shifting shapes. but then came her mother. like the sun rising over the hill, gentle and giant and hers. a face she'd never seen, but knew all the same. her eyes, large and stormy blue, reflected the haze of the den as her little mouth opened to sing—
a high, breathy coo. not quite a howl, not quite a cry, but something in between. a song, thin as morning mist.
she sang again, louder this time. her small body quivered with it, a heartbeat turned to melody.
then she rolled—clumsily, into a tangle of limbs. her head bumped against arlen’s. she sneezed.
a laugh-like sound fluttered from her throat.
her world had bloomed. her song had begun.