Morningside Cuesta Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens..

He didn't rightly know what had drawn him back this way, but here he was — decently fed on a noontime's bounty gathered at a river henge, with residual pep in his step despite the lengthening shadows. Spring had indeed sprung, and with it came an unfurling of a great green carpet across everything he could spy. The hillside where Mink lingered was decorated with all sorts of colors and floral arrangements; he lingered with his snout inches away from a puff of dandelion for a moment, amused by how it seemed to sway with every tiny breath he took. One inhalation too many — and a tuft of dust or some such tickled at the inners of his nose, causing him to, of course, sneeze.

Mink held off for as long as he could. One eye squinting while his snout contorted and his head lifted up, up, up, as if he could escape the moment if he found the right altitude - and then came the boom. It was lively enough to carry across the rolling cuesta and startle a distant herd to lift their own heads in surprise; further on, a cacophony of bird-things exploded against the sky and winged away. As the moment concluded he looked at the passing shadow of this flock and with a sniff, began to stride along through the weeds again.