Mother’s presence thrums with life. Sometimes it is near, sometimes it is not, bathing you in radiant closeness or relaxing silence. There is more to your mother’s presence than just her being, however. You recognize instinctively that she is projecting emotions to you, though your young mind struggles to comprehend them except in the broadest of strokes. Happiness. Warmth. Welcome... And one day, like light filtering through water refined into filaments of radiance as the sun brightens behind the clouds, you understand. She is speaking to you. Little words, beads on a string of thought, carried by emotion flow to you from your mother. It takes you longer still to form them yourself.
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When your mother speaks, what do you hear? Is she speaking to you, or are you eavesdropping? What does she sound like? Do you seek to emulate and reflect her words, or do you search for something else? What is your first word? What is your strongest?
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the language of eggs is unintelligible to those already struck with Impression; your mother cannot understand you