The world had been bright. So bright in fact, that the boy had spent a good measure of an hour squinting through dust-riddled air trying to make out shapes in the not-so-far distance. Every shape had a colour on top of it's own distinct, rigid form, but there were no names to such things. Everything around him was relatively nameless, and even though things smelt like other things, and some things felt soft and others were not so soft... everything was just everything, and all the same, was it not?

Mother had not bothered to tell him the intricacies of the world. She had forgotten to remind him that there were trees and bushes and branches all around him, and they all had names, as a matter of fact. Bushes were bushes, branches were branches, and trees were trees. Perhaps eventually he could have muddled his way through the words and figured out the appropriate title for the appropriate object, but that would take time. For now, he was quiet and had lulled himself into a relatively dreamless sleep. The only images that came to mind were the comforting fleshy-pink images that he remembered of his first home, before he had been forcible uprooted from his bed and dropped into this bright, colourful world.

While he slept, mother was off somewhere, perhaps weaving her way through some of those nameless 'everythings', looking for something or somewhat. He wasn't entirely alone, so he though, curled up in a small ball of brown fur and long, spindly legs. Mother had been somewhat flattered to note his eccentric stripes running over his knobby little knees and the way the brown darkened around his shoulders and formed a delicate strip of dark black-brown fur that lined his back. She had fussed over his little legs and his little face for quite some time before he had been allowed to soothe his rumbling stomach, wiggling his head in desperation to stop her from cleaning away the remnants of his birth just so he could feed.

And what a glorious thing it had been.

He had hiccoughed and promptly made a bed of the ground beneath his small mother's feet, curling himself up and becoming the tiny ball now that someone was bound to stumble upon. Perhaps Mother was unattached to him, or perhaps she quickly grew bored with him sleeping so soon after his own laborious birthing, but he was tired and he was full, and the small thicket that Mother had chosen to drop the boy in was generously lit by a gentle beam of sunlight that warmed and dried his coat while he napped.