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T H E slight whoosh, whoosh, whoosh which had been her entire existence suddenly increased in speed. It was a disorienting, panicky type of increase; this was not the type she'd been used to. All about her the pressure increased, tighter, tighter still and confusion was the first dull thought to enter her little mind. She's unsure how long she remains there, only that the time seemed endless, before there is an odd sound....like a muted "pop" and all of a sudden there is no more whoosh, whoosh, whoosh. Instead, the muffled sounds she'd heard for months prior come painfully loud. She misses the Whoosh. She wants Whoosh back. This new situation is hard to lay upon and loud and lonely without Whoosh. A grimacing flinch is the reaction to her eyes being firmly licked open. Something is removed from her and all of a sudden she feels cold. The more she experienced this new place the more it annoyed her. Instinctively, she felt curious as to this new predicament and how she might remedy it.
Her pale optics pry themselves loose from the sticky restraints of their eyelids. Everything is blue. Then something warm and velvety shoves her a bit, the world tilts, and everything comes into focus. There seems to be a rather lot of wet stuff and a lot of long things(legs) strewn about everywhere. A wobbly neck drunkenly turns about until her eyes alight upon the form she instinctively knows as Mother. Pleasure at her brilliance rolls through the filly's tiny body.
She fixes her unnerving, yellow gaze upon the form of Mother, etching this first memory into her mind. The moment is all warm and fuzzy as she reaches out her nose to touch Mother's older one. The mare smells like slimy-blood-but-not-quite-blood right now, but, underneath that, there is just the slightest hint sweet smelling pine. Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh come the breath and, suddenly, the filly is struck by the comforting realization that Mother WAS Whoosh. But never mind that now, all these earthquaking kisses were getting annoying. Rather done with all the cleaning, she lets mom know with a scratchy grunt at the next one followed by a sassy pawing foreleg. Mother is still laying down, so the plump food sacks are still hidden, but the rumble in her stomach makes her scoot towards them anyways, tongue at the ready as it slides across her lips. No, there was never any rest for the wicked.
"speech, speechity, speech, speech"
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