Redhawk Caldera [m] worth it

In the womb, Nightjar was capable of nothing. His brain was a dead thing, his body moved only by instinct and stimulation. His awareness of his siblings was nonexistent, even if one reached out with their prenatal paws and punched him in the face. He lacked the capacity to understand it as a reflex, or to realize there were others there with him. In fact, he was about as brain-dead as a vegetable.

Post-birth, nothing much changed. He fell the several inches to earth and hit it with a sick squelch without ever realizing anything was different. He was unable to breathe, but that was nothing new, because he wasn't breathing in the womb either. Only when a blast of extremely cold air hit his face did the child open his mouth and squeal, even though he wasn't even capable of feeling offence at the world's cruel debut. Hell, he still didn't really notice that he wasn't in the womb anymore.

His barely churning mind had only one blank thought rolling through it, one he was scarcely aware of, but his body knew. He was nudged toward the stomach and a beige sibling, not that he knew anything of it or felt any connection whatsoever. When his mouth found Fox's teat, the first spark in his brain went off, but it was brief; a flare of knowledge that this was what that one thought was about, and then a return to his instinctual unawareness as he sucked greedily without even knowing he was supposed to.