“Slow down. You wouldn’t want to overwhelm it.”

Fyodor had opted to tackle the task of raising a litter of pinky rats with you— they’d barely grown a fuzz of fur, squirming in your hand as one clumsily nosed at the milky syringe positioned at its maw.

Tiny paws fumbled in an effort to knead at a nonexistent mothers stomach as the newborn nursed off the syringe, balanced between your thumb and index finger.

“Just give it enough that it can swallow comfortably, hm?” Fyodor instructed.