Swiftcurrent Creek to be the wing that fans the flame

It was hotter here than he was used to; his thick winter coat was still in the process of slimming down, and there were places his legs couldn't reach to scratch. The top of his back, mainly, and the front of his chest, and his hind haunches themselves. He looked a bit ridiculous, truthfully, but there was nothing for it. The fur would come loose in its own sweet time, and all King could do was try to encourage it.

Which was why he was rolling in the dirt, just a few-dozen yards off from the gurgling creek where he'd last stopped to drink. Dust and fur was flying everywhere, but it felt so good to scratch at his back, and to feel some of his thick winter pelt coming away from his skin. When the gravel began to hurt more than scratch, King hopped back to his feet and shook out his pelt. His jowls shook and splattered drool as he tried to loosen the grit and fur that now clung to him, and eventually, the male realized that a quick dunk in the river would probably do him some good.

Anxiously, King approached the water, remembering just how cold it had been when he'd taken a drink twenty minutes before.