Whitebark Stream Hate is a fine antidote for fear.

Someone he hasn't met yet would be great!

The frost was thick that morning, and Artyom was greeting by the pale haze of mist as he roamed through the forest's edge where the firs grew more sparse. It hung over the meadow and the ranger paused to look out over the frozen fields, testing how far he might see but finding himself unable to find much beyond his own nose.

Salmon pink tongue traced his lower lip briefly as he dipped his head and carried on, venturing into the fog and finding the crunch beneath his heavy paws to be quite satisfying. He wasn't sure how much longer Winter would remain in these lands, so he was content to make the most of it while he could.