Whitebark Stream Travel light, let the sun eclipse you.

Artyom smiled knowingly down at the boy as he studied the rainfall beyond their burrow, fully expecting his son's big puppy eyes to turn toward him with a plea to better investigate. "No, Zima," the father said with gentle firmness, though the sharp glint of his eye communicated that he would stand for no complaint.

"If you go outside in the rain, you will get wet," he explained, as he saw this as a learning opportunity as well as a deterrant, "then you would need to be washed." An arch of his brow then; no kid ever, ever willingly wanted to be groomed, right?