The first thing she knew was hunger.
Alone in the dark, she opened her eyes to see nothing and stretched to find the smooth, gentle curves that trapped her, hard as bone. She was warm, and she had been nourished, but whatever had nourished her was gone. She was hungry.
Her first sound was a sigh of discontent. Though it was born of discomfort and unhappiness, the sound delighted her, and she crooned softly, finding that she liked these sounds even better. Soon she was singing, full-throated and wordless, the sounds echoing back at her in the close confines of her little trap, filling the space and rocking her on a wave of sound.
But she was hungry, and eventually the singing was not enough to content her anymore. This made her angry. She liked being cradled within the hard curves of the walls that surrounded her. She liked casting her voice out to echo back in ever-increasing breakers. How dare this pitiable need invade her safe space and cause her those small, cramping pains, distracting and frustrating.