Lake Rodney Too long till the weekend

There was a quiet, distant woof that made Lagan raised his head and swivel it about to find the speaker. She wasn't difficult to pick out: stark cinnamon on snow, impossible to miss. The youngster turned his ears toward her, but it was only momentary; the surface of the lake rippled as another splash plinked across the water, drawing is attention back 'round to it.

When he looked back Brandy's way after the surface smoothed itself out, she was heading back the way she came. Lagan's brow crinkled quizzically and he murmured a good-natured, "weirdo," before crashing through the ice gathering at the edge of the lake in an effort to get closer to the splashing. The water proved far too cold for him, however, and eventually he departed back to the Caldera with the fur on the lower half of all his legs freezing in the cold air.