Swiftcurrent Creek It's our hearts that make the beat

Sleep was still the second-most important thing for little Morena, but it was surprisingly easy for her to escape it nonetheless. This time, it wasn't hunger that brought her snuffling from her dreams, though what it might have been instead she was too young to recognize. Color and sound meant nothing to her, still, but the familiar scents of her family were soothing and banished the cold. She was already well on her way to waking when she felt the nuzzling, and she flailed the rest of the way to consciousness with a squeak, tiny mouth opening—as it almost always was while she was awake. Morena wiggled her way toward the warmth of her dad's face, sticking her tongue out as though trying to lick him.