Hideaway Strath i live inside my own heart, matt damon

Most days, Mallaidh resembles a swollen belly with attached legs that aren’t quite able to keep up. They are wobbly, at best, and uncoordinated to boot. However, it does not stop her from trying to make use of them and find her perimeter within the den. Her vision has cleared up significantly and she’s able to differentiate now by faces and she’s fine tuning her ability to read expressions. In addition, her hearing has sharpened from vibrations to hushed mumbles, to words and accents and languages that she doesn’t have the comprehension for but they are a pleasant experience to listen to.
 
The sun sweeps in the opening of the den where she’s taken a liking to when she can for a few minutes at a time. She is often swept back into her mother’s clutch but it is harder and harder to keep the growing girl still. She’s mumbling words of incoherence, half speaking in a tongue only God can understand, but each syllable and sound makes complete sense to her. Mallaidh follows it with a series of sharp barks, turning her head sideways and swatting at something crawling toward her with terrible inaccuracy.