Swiftcurrent Creek i think it burns my sense of truth to hear me shouting at my youth

Forward-dated to March 31st
@Helios; open to @Polaris, @Kavik, @Rosalie

The sprite does little but sleep in these early weeks. His rest is fitful, interrupted periodically by wheezing fits that wrack his slight frame with such violence that the consciousness is often bled from him again by the end. The boy's waking moments are hazy, though there is little to be done at this stage but eat and sleep. Still, milestones have passed forgotten, and Zephyr's early apathy has not gone unnoticed.
These last days, he has become accustomed to waking to gentle nudges and an early bath; he doesn't much like either, but protesting has gotten him nowhere, and so he remains quietly sullen on the matter. But today — today when the bath begins, he feels a strange sensation in his face. His eyelids twitch, parting just barely, then squeeze together at the tiny sting of air between them, muzzle wrinkling at the feeling. The grooming reaches his face just then, and he flinches with more vehemence than usual, flinging one limb out as if to wave the tongue away in disgust. The last thing he needs is a slobbery face while facing this latest crisis. Yet the tongue returns, insistent, and this time his eyes fly open as he shrieks his displeasure. This time his assailant retreats, but the damage has already been done. Zephyr goes silent, shell-shocked and breathing hard, though his eyes remain wide open as he studies the blurry shapes and colors around him. So the world isn't all darkness and funny noises and weird squishy things. Everything makes so much more sense to the sprite now — and he hates it already.