Whitebark Stream Our future days, days of you and me.

A small thud on the ground behind him, and Artyom peered over a gilded shoulder to investigate. His pale brow furrowed and the corners of his mouth tugged downward in a frown at the sight he found: a sterling son, not where he was supposed to be. He exhaled in a sigh.

"Zima," he said, earthen gaze cool as it swept over the boy. "Что делаешь?"

He turned then, and made to close the distance so that he could reach with his muzzle to nudge his mischievous cub to his feet.