Scents grew familiar with every passing minute. She already knew the mass of soft fur, undulating rhythmically with breath, as security. Safety. Food. Another, a hard surface, unrelentingly cold; the earth. She didn't like the ground. It lacked the soft touch that her mother's fur could provide. Already was the little one spoiled, refusing ardently to part from warmth, pathetically caterwauling any time so much as a single limb would rest on the stone surface.
Sasha, she was named. Sealed ears could not yet hear the name she'd been given, yet her body still squirmed as Dimitri pointed her out, as though deep down, a part of her knew. Not because she heard her speak the title, not because she could see her mouth move with the shape—Sasha. Divine, perhaps, or spiritual; the mass of fuzz whined, nestling against Fiadh's body where she could feel a soft vibration each time the mother spoke.
