Born of Fear

The tiny being that would eventually come to be known as Oleander squirmed, straining against the tight space that he was confined in. For the longest time, he had been comfortable and cozy, snugly sharing the space allotted to him with his brother, but for days now that space had become constraining and stifling. There was little enough room to move, and even less for comfort. It made the unborn babe more restless and undoubtedly caused his mother more discomfort as well. He was entirely unaware of what his movements did to her, or to his brother who had nowhere to get away from him, but selfishly he squirmed, fighting for some amount of space inside the womb.

It was finally making a difference. He hated that it did - the whole birthing process itself was strange and uncomfortable - but by the time he was released and freed from his confinement his ability to move was almost completely unlimited. As he was cleaned, Oleander flailed his tiny limbs, worked his little jaws, and eventually found his voice with a pleading cry. It was frightening, going from the womb to the openness of the den, but he was far from alone. His mother's tongue caressed him, cleaned him, soothed his fear, and as he began to wriggle about, nudged to her side, he felt another soft, damp presence beside him. And smelled something that he wanted.

Determinedly, the dark child cried as he crawled and pushed against his sibling to nose against his mother, searching for a means to nurse as well.