I remember it well, those first few breaths, the pressure of contractions squeezing them, and all the mucous that had settled there, out of my lungs. It was an ungraceful entrance into the world, but then, whoever did have an elegant fall from their mother's womb? The first thing I felt was that cold, that naked breeze stroking my hide, those shivers taking hold of my slim body and forcing me to quiver much like a leaf precariously perched upon the end of a thin branch in autumn. My eyelids flutter, once, twice, and the second thing I register is the brightness of the world surrounding me. Then, instead of just brightness, I see a dazzling array of colours, contrast, shades and lights, hues and saturations that all form this picturesque image of my birthplace. The third thing to settle upon my young, impressionable mind, is the smell of the world - the smell of my mother, who had surrounded me for so long, the smell of my sister, who was my nestmate forever more, the smell of my father, who was too alike me to be anything else, the smell of my family, who all smelt so unique and yet all held that salty, timbered air about them.

It was overwhelming, to say the least.

I bleated a tune, my chest vibrating with a curious warmth as a golden one danced before me. I look to spy the silver one rise next to me, and I mimic her, rocking my form until the limbs that have sprawled all around me gathered some semblance of order beneath me. There was a swift motion and suddenly, behind me, I felt a counterweight swing. Turning my small tiara, I notice protrusions jutting out from my sides, offering me more (or was that less?) balance. I snort and as I look to my sister, who stands at my height. She walks, albeit with some hesitance at first, and I follow, though my path takes me on a longer trip, my feet apparently keen to let my senses taste just about everyone who was present before finally settling upon the gold and black form of my mother. Mother, I think as I touch her warm flesh, oblivious to the hardship she endured, blissfully unaware of the near death experience our birth had been for her. We stand as she stands, and we find comfort in the closeness of her body, in the nourishment of her milk. I drink deeply, and then I lean my shoulder gently against her leg, I have lost track of which one. I doze upon my feet, the first few minutes of my life peaceful and calm, welcoming and wonderful.