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

With Winter back on his paws, Artyom lifted his head to better look at his young son. Earthen eyes swept over his sterling pelage, ruffled from the fall, but he was satisfied that the boy appeared unharmed. 

"Alright," he agreed after a contemplative pause, and moved to carry on, "I was looking for someone. How do you suppose we do that?"