A Tong sprawled on the mat, mouth stretching wide in a giant yawn that swallowed his tiny face. Hunger weighed on him like a stone. His eyes drooped, then snapped open, searching for mom. Morning had been long. Waiting felt longer. Each breath came with a soft whine, a tired protest from a body running on empty.
He tried to sit, failed, and sighed. Another yawn. Bigger this time. His belly rumbled, loud enough to scare him. He slapped the floor, annoyed, then paused, conserving strength. Hunger steals patience first. Energy follows.
Mom noticed the signs instantly. The yawns weren’t sleepiness alone; they were exhaustion mixed with need. She knelt beside him, touching his back, counting breaths, checking warmth. A Tong leaned into her hand, too tired to cry properly now. His mouth opened again, asking without words.
Milk warmed slowly. Too hot would upset him. Too cold would refuse. Mom moved carefully, speaking softly so hope arrived before food. A Tong watched the bottle like a promise. He smacked his lips, impatient, then yawned again, jaw stretching comically wide.
Finally, the nipple touched his mouth. Relief flooded in. He latched hard, drinking fast, eyes closing halfway. His shoulders dropped. The tightness melted. Hunger released its grip sip by sip.
Mom paced gently, letting him drink, pause, breathe. No rush. When he pulled back, exhausted but calmer, she burped him softly and wrapped him close. A Tong sighed, a deep sound, heavier than any cry. His mouth opened once more, not for food this time, but for sleep.
In her arms, the yawns slowed. Hunger had been loud; comfort was quieter. A Tong drifted, belly warm, body loose, trust restored. Today ended with milk, patience, and a resting, full enough to dream.
