Swiftcurrent Creek Danger in the fabric of this thing I made

Since opening his eyes for the first time, the sprite has learned many things about the world around him. Already the pale boy has categorized each entity and influence in his life — and he's decided that he Does Not Like the dark blob of warmth and food that sustains him. It's rather unfortunate, really. The other dark blob, the larger one that isn't around quite as often, is fairly alright — but that blob doesn't provide milk. The whole thing is terribly unfair, and he can't help feeling a little agitated by it. So naturally, he attempts to flee as soon as he gets the chance. He doesn't know where he's going, really; maybe to find dark blob #2, or that vaguely reddish blob that gives him so many unwanted baths. Anywhere but here.
He doesn't make it very far, unfortunately. An unexpected noise interrupts him, and he freezes in his tracks with a startled cry, head whipping clumsily around to fix on the source. To his relief, it's only dark blob #2. He goes still and limp when the blob approaches, whimpering quietly when warmth surrounds him and he feels a familiar tongue against his head and back. He curls against one of his father's forelegs at the sound of his voice, sighing and relaxing in a way he seldom can in his mother's embrace.