Bearclaw Valley distant stars come in black or red.

Unbidden shivers wracked the silent neonate, drowning out all other sensations and most other emotions. At his tender age, he knew only contentment, discontentment and reverent fear. It was the latter that consumed him as he curled into a tight, fetal ball in the grass, for although he had not the sight nor the hearing nor the sensibility to realize what as going on around him, he knew danger. Smell and sixth sense alone communicated to the babe's instincts, telling them that he was in a supremely dangerous place. All he could do was curl up as small as possible and shiver.

Aventus was seized again, and once again, the newborn strained against his constraints, unable to recognize that these jaws were gentler. Kinder. Everything was too frantic for that. His mouth yawned wide in another garbled cry as he was roughly transferred from, if not outright knocked out of, Fraser's jaws to somewhere else. By now, no matter where he ended up, Aventus was vibrating with fear and discomfort and cold and lacking any control over any of it.