Arrow Lake Bring along a good strong umbrella capable of handling falling animals

Sploosh! went Dragomir's paws as he hopped through a puddle outside the thicket, giggling raucously to himself with his sodden tail swaying jovially over his damp hindquarters. Sloshsloshslosh, went his legs through the water. The rain had fallen hard and fast earlier in the day and abated only recently, allowing the cubs to leave their thicket and explore as they did most every day now that they were big enough. He'd lost track of Isilmë; no doubt she was somewhere nearby, but he was too preoccupied to go looking for her just now.

He kicked a paw through the puddle, sending water splashing in an arc ahead of him. A squeal of laughter had him darting for the puddle's edge, where the ground had turned to mud. Soi! proclaimed Dragomir, who by now recognized at least five different things and could (sort of) name them, too. Soil was the first. It was a prominent word in his world; don't eat soil, balaur @Aurëwen would gently scold sometimes. His father, who was fast becoming a distant memory (he would never forget, but he was little and memories grew hazy rapidly), might say soil is for worms, not goufas. It was repeated so often in his earlier days that it was Dragomir's very first spoken word; he knew dirt more intimately than he knew most things besides his family.

Soi, soi, soi, the cub chanted, flicking his tongue out over the soggy ground to sample it.