It was cold in the den. Skyfall only understood this when he moved away from where his father slumbered, up toward the light that he'd recently discovered.
His eyes were open. Bright blue. He didn't know when that had happened. Things were so new to him, over and over each and every day, that the shock of seeing things was mundane in its novelty. He felt as though he'd always been able to see, and yet he'd never seen the light before.
The light was the mouth of the den. He was half-waddling, half dragging himself toward it. Why shouldn't he?
He did not know that it was snowing outside, and that his little body needed to be kept warm. He knew only that his mother had exited through the light sometime before.
"Sky," a voice rumbled behind him.
Skyfall ignored this voice, and the sigh that followed, and continued trying to scrabble toward the den's entrance and, even more unwittingly, fresh white snow.
His eyes were open. Bright blue. He didn't know when that had happened. Things were so new to him, over and over each and every day, that the shock of seeing things was mundane in its novelty. He felt as though he'd always been able to see, and yet he'd never seen the light before.
The light was the mouth of the den. He was half-waddling, half dragging himself toward it. Why shouldn't he?
He did not know that it was snowing outside, and that his little body needed to be kept warm. He knew only that his mother had exited through the light sometime before.
"Sky," a voice rumbled behind him.
Skyfall ignored this voice, and the sigh that followed, and continued trying to scrabble toward the den's entrance and, even more unwittingly, fresh white snow.
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