She found tears leaking from her eyes, but felt no sadness in her heart. Their tiny son was perfection itself, and she wanted nothing more than to protect him from the world around them. His tiny bleat of answer made her smile broadly, and she found herself hoping that it was an indication of his father's confidence. She hoped that their son would go fearlessly into the world the same way that Fell did... eventually. Much later, of course, when he was older and stronger and not so tiny and fragile as he appeared now.

Kohelet pulled back as he began to try out his legs, her lower lip clenched between her teeth as she fought every instinct within her to help him. If there was one thing she had heard often around the other soon-to-be-mothers, it was that he needed to learn how to stand on his own. But she held her breath each time that their son tried to rise, unable to help herself from worrying that he'd be hurt. She restrained herself with small little nickers of encouragement each time he fumbled, and gentle, brief touches to his shoulder each time that he crashed back to the ground.

"Look at you," she crooned softly to their son as he finally managed to lodge one limb in each corner of his stance. He still wobbled like a young pine, but he had done it all by himself. His second bleat, more demanding than his first, made her laugh. His cries were awakening a different instinct in her altogether, prompting her to stand as well, despite the exhaustion. In the excitement of his birth, Kohelet had almost forgotten how tired and sore she was, but her body was quick to remind her as she slowly propped one leg forward and tried to stand.

She almost didn't make it, her legs wobbly with exhaustion and cold from her prolonged time on the ground, but she managed it with a breathy little pant. Pins and needles raced up and down her legs, but she ignored the feeling and took a tentative step toward their son, eager to reassure herself that he was okay. Though she could guess at what her little boy (and her aching body) wanted, she still trailed her lips down the ridge of his neck to reassure herself, and left kisses across his shoulder blades. As she reached his rump, she shifted her body so that they were side by side, only in opposite directions, and nudged him gently forward toward her udder.

What she hadn't prepared for was the feeling of their son latching on for the first time. The foreign sensation on her painfully full udder elicited a soft squeal that she could not fully suppress, and she turned her head away from their son and pressed her lips tightly against her own foreleg to dampen the sensation. It passed quickly, thankfully, and she came back to the moment with a swallow, already looking to make sure that Fell had not mistaken the brief, sharp pain as an outside threat.

"Sorry -" she murmured, her eyes seeking his in the dim light. "It just hurt, a little," she tried to explain, but the whole notion of their son nursing being painful after the monumental pain of childbirth was shockingly funny to her. Between the tiredness and the release of stress that came with a healthy delivery, she was punch drunk and chuckled helplessly. Shaking her head as tears of laughter and relief once more gathered on her lids, she tried again to explain. "I mean it hurt a lot, I just wasn't expecting this to hurt too."