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

This season, for all of its beauty and bounty, was his least favorite. It was difficult for him to determine what it was exactly that set him off about it, but there were a myriad of things. The too-bright sun, maybe; the way that every blade of grass, branch of tree, or clod of dirt seemed adamant about finding its way up his nose or down his throat, making the corners of his eyes burn and his nose drip on the best of days; the bipolar nature of the weather, going from cold-and-breezy to hot-and-humid to suprise! Snow! Sometimes all within the same day. Make up your mind.

At least today he wasn't oozing out of his nose - but the sneeze was just he beginning. If he didn't get a handle on it now he'd probably keep going, rattling off enough to give himself whiplash or at least a small concussion. The easy, breezy, beautiful weather served up a low-hanging smog of pollen particles that Mink had started out trying to avoid, but by now he'd resigned himself to the dreaded burning sensations, the itchy skin, and general lethargy that threatened to drown his usual enthusiasm if he let it. He wouldn't let it.

Then again, maybe the universe was really trying to cut him down today. He'd gone a few more strides before noticing that one of the deer he'd startled was still staring at him. He blinked through a haze of fluid building across his vision and paused mid-step, and settled first a raised forepaw and then the opposite hind limb against the grass. This deer had a pale face — and it was short. And as he squinted, Mink could make out just enough features to determine that this was not, in fact, some stupefied ungulate.

Whud? He balked at first.

They'd said something — but he had been too distracted by the staring. Swallowing a fresh wad of phlegm as he stood there, he wheezed, sniffled, and — ACHU! — Did a pretty good impression of a dunking bird toy, complete with splash zone.