In the soft, quiet dimness, the newborn stirs. He is impossibly small, a fragile constellation of instincts wrapped in swaddling. His tiny mouth opens, rooting blindly against the sheets, searching for the sweet, warm scent of milk. He makes a soft, bird-like sound, his delicate fingers curling and uncurling against the cool air.
Beside him, his mother sleeps the deep, heavy sleep of absolute exhaustion. Her breathing is a slow, rhythmic tide. Sensing her near heat, the baby inches closer, nuzzling into the boundary between them. He waits in the stillness, a tiny life seeking the comfort of the only heartbeat he has ever known.
