Whitebark Stream So take this feeling, make it grow.

Artyom regarded Dawn quietly as she ventured into the cold to greet him, fondness in the liquid brown of his irises as they followed her sleepy stride. His ivory tail swept the air behind him happily and as she drew near, he lowered the bouquet to rest on the snow at his mate's pale paws.

"Snowdrops," he said enthusiastically, wondering if she'd ever before seen Winter's pallid blooms or if she was simply more accustomed to seeing them later in the season. "They come from the soil beneath fresh snow; the first suggestion of Springtime. They've come a little early this year, though." A pause for thought then, as he considered what reason Mother Nature might have to brighten the world much sooner than was normal.

"How are you feeling?" Artyom asked then, aware of the flutter in his belly as his gaze studied her briefly. She seemed exhausted and, having only experience in pregnancy from afar before his mother delivered her second litter, he had no real experience for how things were meant to progress. He was both excited and fearful of the outcome, and pricked his golden ears forward in excited anticipation for Dawn's response.