Lion Head Mesa blade

she knows so few things, now, but the voice of her mother is one of them. it warms her as surely as the woman's soft, downy furs do. she hears her, and though she cannot speak, she mimics the tones she hears in a sweet little hum.
her lips part, and the hum becomes a songnote. not quite so steady as her mothers, but in it was all of her love: oooo, given in answer to her name. and when her mother speaks again, toula is quiet, attentive. she does not understand, not yet, but she yearns to hear more. toula moves to stand on unsteady, quivering legs—only to stumble nearer to her mothers face with an adoring smile.