Whitebark Stream Travel light, let the sun eclipse you.

He brightened a little at his father's compromise, though did not turn his gaze away from the rainfall in the clearing beyond their den. Instead, he acknowledged it with the happy swishing of his scruffy little tail.

"Morrow?" Winter asked at last, voice hushed at his golden-furred parent's request to avoid rousing their snoozing family. "We go morrow, Отец?" Only then did the ashen youngster lift his head to blink expectantly upward and seek Artyom's earthen eyes.