Whitebark Stream A grass blade flashed with a gleam.

Winter peered ahead, staring at the unidentified shapes before him. They were familiar to him, he knew: a source if warmth and companionship that he'd never been without. He blinked once, twice, then lifted his oversized head in automatic response to the gesture delivered atop his ashen crown. He sought the face of his mother without thought, but she was simply a blur of sterling hues. She was the one thing he adored above all else, however, so earned a content mewl in response.