Moonspear woah its lit in here

It is too soon to pick up on his mother's admonishment, harmless as it is. In the throes of Hydra's sentence, he thinks he'll have to mosey back on over to the puppy pile. That would not be too terrible were it not for this inescapable chill that has sunk into his tiny body, sapping him of strength and resolve.

Before he could curse his analytical nature, the milk-giver plucked him from tortuous cold and placed him between two familiar (and warm!) bodies. His mother's attentiveness earns a quiet trill.

Atlas nuzzles into the crook of Osiris' neck and rests. Warmth climbs up his limbs and into his core; a steady ember nurtured into a healthy fire. It's like he had never been cold in the first place! Even so, this misadventure he'll not soon forget.

In his intermittent sleep, his front paws push into one of his mother's teats. No more expeditions. Not for a while longer. Waiting won't be too bad.