The child was small enough to take the change in routine easily. Travelling was rough on the small boy, but his belly was full and so was his heart. Eyes and ears still firmly shut, he was content to snuggle into anything he was placed on, today being the one who smelt of saltwater and sand. Despite not being the one who fed him, Solda buried into her and promptly fell asleep, content for a short while until his stomach begun to rumble once again.

Roused, he began to fuss, small, plaintive whines bubbling up from his tiny throat, shaky head wobbling as he started to seek the one who smelt of sap, and milk. Being the first-adopted, he was indulged, and soon enough, he was placed before his other mother. Cushioned by the skins he'd been previously swaddled in, he immediately settled, mouth full of milk, free to wriggle about as he pleased. He feels a familiar weight be placed tenderly along his back, and he begins to doze again, as if being awake for a few minutes and screaming some was simply too much for his tiny body to handle.

He can hear the way his mother calls for the other, now, and he whines softly in protest as he is carefully moved, wriggling. What could possibly be more important than him? He feels more than hears her pawsteps heading away, and he is left alone for the first time since he was found. Forgive him if he acts a little spoilt, because he is.

Solda cries openly, now, confused. Where are his mothers? Why did they leave him?