Perhaps had he been older, he might have seen the nuanced pain, the fleeting bitterness behind her eyes. One day, when he was grown and had learned the small tells of faces and expressions, he would speak with more tact - or maybe he wouldn't. Nen'tah did not like to mince words, if he even cared for them at all.

As it was, he noticed nothing. Just a dark-furred woman with a troubled stomach.

The child looked down at his dirtied paws. While it wouldn't normally bother him, Mother might possibly hold higher standards in that regard; he'd never seen her with vomit-soaked limbs, after all. Nen'tah followed her without question, trotting along like a silent shadow at her side.

Until a question popped into his mind.

Smell like... Caan? he said curiously, gesturing toward her with his head. Same eyes.