Ankyra Sound Remember, lads and lassies, fairy tales weren't fun stories. They were warnings.

The sonorous cadence of the shifting water slowly drifts in to his unfurled ears. Its been about eight hours since the boy's curled nubs became useful to him; the sounds of his siblings confused him at first so he sought refuge further from them, by the opening to the den, and that was where the white noise filled his head.

He felt sleepy — but he was always sleepy, being so young — and the whispering of the distant sea had a calming effect, like the steady beat of his mother's heart. It was colder here, which was a drawback. A spring wind cut through the reeds and murmured across the den mouth, catching the crimson boy and making him shiver. He turned away from the world outside and glanced with new eyes at his little family, together, asleep and content.

It wasn't enough to lure him back to the warmth of his sisters, or the lethargic body of his brother squished between them. The sound of the breeze was sharper than the sea and when Reyes heard it, he turned his nose up, sniffling and then shuffling his lump of a body, and opened his mouth to imitate the sound - managing an off-key whistle between his tiny teeth.

It was the whistle that woke her up.  So quiet, at first it seemed like a part of her restless dream.  But as she came to consciousness, she glanced over to the entrance and blearily saw Reyes aside, lying near the opening.

Reyes, she said softly, rising from the pile and stepping over to join him.    He was not leaving, but she wouldn't chance it.  Children could wander, even so young as these.  Little one, what are you doing?  

She sat down beside him and ran her nose along his flank affectionately, looking out to see if something had caught his attention.  Nothing but the sea.

Maybe if he tried, he would hear the calling of gulls — but the den is too far from the water. A good call by the mothers, considering the many lives they have birthed. If he were older then Reyes would eagerly investigate the world outside. Climb the slopes up to the jagged black trees, or draw as close to the water as he could to watch the waves unfurl. For now he is cowed by his youth, and the sound of his mother's voice calling sweetly to him. It won't be this way for long.

He hears her voice and it drowns out the white-noise that has him so focused. It is loud; made louder because of the earth walls around them. Loud enough to startle him, make his sleepy heart wake and tremble, but only for the newness of the sensation. He does not know what she is saying but she is trying to call to him, and he is lured back from the den mouth.

The words are like a spell. Within moments he has tumbled back to the pile and wedged himself by some part of his mother, draped in the shadow cast by her raised head. He has stopped his whistling until he's placated on the floor of the den — and with a curious lift of his blunt nose, he calls again, Weeeeooo-oh, and plants a slobbery little kiss against her chin.

It was unimaginable to her, as he tumbled toward her and buried himself in her flank, that she could have ever worried about not loving them.  There was no limit to the lengths she would go to for the sake of her son, and she loved his siblings no less.  Motherhood had taken root in her and now that it had, her own mother had never been more of a stranger to her.  How had she done it?

Shhhhh, she breathed softly, pressing her lips to his forehead and smiling as he licked her chin.  You wanted to see the ocean, didn't you?   Perhaps in the morning.  They were nearly old enough to at least explore outside some, as they'd gained their ears and their eyes.

She began to softly hum and tucked her nose beside him, keeping watch on the others as well.  All seemed to be sleeping save him.

It is rare for him to be awake while the others are asleep — not that he would have been aware of the difference at any other time. He settles in against his mother now, listening to her, feeling the words in the air more than anything. One of his sisters stirs, croaking lowly like a toad, and then quiets against another warm body. Reyes can hear the soft whistling of noses, the frog-song of the babes as they sleep and fuss with their dreams, but he doesn't feel the same somber pull. He does not let the night numb him.

He would much rather be fussed over while wake; he could sit here with his mother 'til the dawn slides its gray fingers through the clouds. His mother is barely more than a blur — a dark one at that, cast to shadow by the late hour — but she is present, and warm, and giving him attention which pleases him. 

For a moment Reyes suckles against her chin even though the sensation of her voice through bone tastes strange. He hums, perhaps forgetting that it is impossible to whistle when one's mouth is full; the sound is blocked and instead he blows a raspberry against his mother's face, soaking it with his spit until he feels the wetness chill, and draws back from her.

The babe blinks and stares, as if studying his handiwork, but cannot make out the details with his too-new eyes in the too-dark den.

She paused briefly in her soft humming as he blew spit against her face, and she grinned, wiping it on a foreleg.  They were disgusting but they were hers, and she'd take every bit of drool they decided to bathe her in.  They were still politer, and cleaner, than a good deal of the men she'd known.  This was preferred, any day.

She resumed her song, but still only the melody.  It was an old one, so old that she no longer clearly remembered the words.  Just the tune that was for some reason caught in her mind.  It reminded her of home way back when.

As she did, she lifted her head to look at him, then brought her muzzle closer again.  She'd be tired tomorrow, no doubt, but she blew a quick raspberry back, quietly, into his side.

She kissed him and fawned over him, pressing close, lifting his plump belly with the cold point of her nose. He giggles without meaning to; quarrying laughter from the coal-black of his shadowed abdomen and making him plop against the earth again, roll, reach with graceless limbs for anything he could grasp between them. He opens his mouth to squeal and closes it on air a few times.

His belly is exposed. The babe doesn't see a significance in the language of his body but he knows he does not like the feeling of being on his back, of not feeling the dirt beneath his toes. But from here he can rest semi-comfortably against the outstretched limbs of his mother and look up at her, at the jagged protrusion of her snout that juts like a blackened obelisk in the dark. He doesn't notice the glimmering of her eyes, the dawnlight is still so far away.

She would teach him a good many things as he grew, and the rest too.  She felt Erzulie shift beside her and slid closer, glancing up at the ceiling over them.  Soon they would move them from here to the open, and the pack would greet them.  Her lip lifted when she thought of the Dragedan.  Not him, if she could help it, but after a time it would be impossible to prevent.  Forgiveness wasn't in her nature.

It was hard to think of such unpleasant things while her son pressed close.  His soft little belly was upturned to her, but she didn't go for it just yet.  Instead she stared back at him, wondering just what was going through that small mind.

He watched her in the dark as best he could, but the glimmering of her lovestruck gaze was swallowed by the shadow. His eyes could not focus yet, could not make sense of the shapes that shifted in the mire. He saw more than he could understand. His brain made connections that were almost like memories - something ancestral - and the dark stirred, became faces and scenes playing out as a pantomime of grey-light against the dark recesses of the den, taking facets of his mother's shape and morphing them, or the blaze of gold from Erzulie's shifting form and adding to the cacophony. The babe would not remember this.

He sighed and reached for one shape or another and smacked at his mother's nearby nose, kicked his heels and somehow stretched to touch toes against toes (pawing his rear feet); he laughed breathily and cooed, rolled, fell against the plush of his mother and drifted in her warmth.

She gave him adoring attention for a bit longer, but eventually, her eyes got too heavy to keep up the silent distraction.  When that happened, she shifted back into position and pulled him in once more, then snagged Clementine from where she had been restlessly pulling herself as well.  Settling her in beside her brother, she gave both one last pass with her tongue.  Then she lay down with a gentle sigh and enjoyed their cuddled warmth as she drifted off once more.

As always, the mother was alert for any changes, even in sleep.  But the night was quiet and cool, perfect for the quiet calm of dreamless sleep.