A Lost Boy

Ceto's early days had been a struggle. He didn't move correctly and needed constant tending to ensure that the both took breath and ate. Had he been born into a gam with only younger mothers, he might have been lost. But it happened at the time that he was born that there were a number of females past the age of birthing who assisted the younger mothers.

"Oh, that one is work," Gerontia, the eldest of the gam, had said to her sisters after taking a shift with the infant male, "Can't do much for himself."

"And such a strange one too," said Asher, a younger matron, "Have you seen his color."

"Yes," said Gerontia in a whisper, "But let that be - there's not been one like this for all my time."

"Why," said Asher, "What is there in it?"

"Never mind that," said Gerontia, "You'll come to know in time. It doesn't mean the thing for certain. It's just not a welcome thing considering all the other challenges with this boy."

Neither remark had been made with any rancor or bitterness. Gerontia and Asher had both raised children of their own and helped with many others. Their words were more in the tone of a sculptor presented with an odd piece of marble.

"What can we do," said Asher, "But to help him live. That is the only thing to do."

And live he did. When a few months had passed, he began to show signs of both independence and stubbornness - he slapped his keeper more than once.

"Did you see that one hit me," said Asher when her time was changing, "Slapped me with that little flank of his."

"Good," Gerontia replied, "Good. Got some fight in him. He'll need it."

"He can't go straight though," said Asher with less humor, "He pulls to one side."

"I know," said the older female, "Not sure how to stop that."

To help him, and to encourage him, they took it in turns to reign him in on his driving side. This made things slow and tedious and required more of the gam to assist.