Redhawk Caldera [m] worth it

For a time, there had been a grey, swirling vastness, where time ceased to exist, where one could soar with the comets, hug the planets, and float carelessly on purple clouds of stardust and see, know, feel all. There was comfort in the pure and sublime nothingness that surrounded him, and he simply existed, his spirit a part of the fabric of the universe itself. Thoughts of the family he had left behind flashed but briefly through the nebulous clouds of his scattered consciousness -- or what was left of it after his soul escaped the confines of his earthly body -- yet they were never forgotten, ephemeral and infinitesimal as they were now.

And then somehow, there was a sense of gathering, movement, as if all the pieces of him were being drawn from the corners of the universe, condensed and spun into yet another fleeting glimmer of life. Sucked into some vast vortex, he felt himself being spun faster and faster as he was pulled downward...downward...


...and hit the ground with a soft, moist thud. The tiniest whimper of protest escaped her lips as the girl-child was jarred awake by the hard impact with the den floor. Chilly air clawed at her as sweeping motions of something warm and soft cleared away the gunk that was stuck to her charcoal fuzz. There was no comprehension or emotion yet, only physical needs and primitive reflexes. The first of those was hunger, and it came alive at the touch of her mother's tongue. Aside from that first whine, the black child was otherwise silent, even when her mother pushed her roughly into place at her belly. Warmth surrounded her as her face pressed into a wall of softness; almost involuntarily, her mouth found a teat and she settled down to suckle.