Micah wasn't ready to be a father. At least not yet; not since his wife hadn't even been by his side in months and wasn't present for the actual creation of their child. Life had, however, presented him with another case of morning migraines. A case being the appropriate way of calling the mystery case which happened at dawn.

His second sense began ringing upon opening the barn doors, smelling and feeling something extremely out of the ordinary on a Saturday morning like the start of this day. Most mornings consisted of milking cows, plucking chicken feathers, shovelling horse turds and praying they're the last for a while. So what other catastrophe was waiting for his sorry ass?

Of all the haystacks that could hold a sleeping kid, life had given him the lucky chance. Life really must have thought of Micah's wellbeing if a letter was included too, placed neatly onto the top of the haystack like a feather. Micah was having a hard time taking his eyes off of the scene as his eyes were pained with questions on 'why?' and 'what the fuck?'.

Then he moved. As did the straw-like blankets within the basket. At first, Micah was scared to move an inch until the hay started moving into a frenzy of flicking itself around until a short whine started ringing in the air, so painful-sounding that Micah found himself cringing.

This was indeed a day unlike no other and no matter how hard he blinked he still could not see the supposed child clearly in the bundle of hay. What looked like a small arm was thrashing in the pile of straw, sending loose particles towards Micah's boots and the floor beneath them.

He knew his duties as an uncle, brother, and decent citizen, even if he had wished against it.

“Hello there little fella, or missie. Looks like your momma left you all on your own here, in a haystack, no less, hm?” He spoke aloud as he knelt onto a single knee, peering his head at a better angle to get a peek.