The mosquitoes are loving this weather. A faint buzz fills the air as Dakota approaches the marshland, washed out despite the surrounding greenery—if it can be called green. In these conditions, even the lushest flora is subdued under indiscriminate layers of rainfall. It’s about the furthest thing from Paradise he can imagine, and he welcomes the challenge.

He wonders if he’d make it from here, along the eastern edge, to an island of tall grass a few feet inwards in a single bound. Just how deep is that water, especially in the downpour? Dakota’s never encountered terrain like this, but he’s had a few swims in too-cold arctic seas, and the dauntless braggart in him wants to conquer the humid waters just as well. Hey, better this than a river, righ—SPLASH.

The decision is made for him when, while walking across stone by the water’s edge, he misjudges just how slippery rainwater can be. Whoopsie-daisy is his glorious last thought before he falls, taking a crooked nosedive, into the shallows. Not deep enough to drown, but just enough for his legs to flail in an airborne display of grace and dignity. Good boy!