A fine drizzle fell gently over the Reed River, stippling the water's surface with countless delicate ripples.
The dark clouds on the horizon were not thick, and a few shafts of daylight even filtered through. In the distance, snow-capped peaks washed clean by the rain gleamed pure silver-white through gaps in the clouds, as though foretelling that the gloom would soon scatter and good fortune was on its way.
And Old Beaver Kenken by the riverbank seemed to be proving this auspicious sign true.
He was no longer drifting listlessly on the water as he had in recent days, giving up on life.
At this moment, Kenken was squatting spiritedly beside a newly chosen young poplar tree, his signature buck teeth hard at work.
"Crunch! Crunch! Crunch!"
The sound of wood being gnawed was crisper and louder than usual, ringing through the rain in a rhythmic beat.
As he gnawed, his little eyes darted about with nervous anticipation, repeatedly stealing glances toward the opposite bank.
There, beside reeds that looked especially fresh and tender after the rain, a newly arrived lady beaver was grooming her sleek, glossy dark-brown fur.
Her figure was well-proportioned and round, her movements elegant. Especially those wet, black-pearl eyes—whenever she occasionally lifted them toward the opposite shore—
"Crunch!"
Kenken bit down too hard and nearly cracked his front teeth.
He hurriedly lowered his head, pretending to be utterly focused on gnawing the tree, though his tiny chest felt as if it held a lively frog, thumping wildly.
Lightning!
He felt as though a bolt of lightning named "love" had struck him!
Ever since that beautiful lady had settled on the opposite bank a few days ago, Kenken's heart, which had fallen silent after the dam collapsed, had instantly been infused with boundless motivation.
Sorrow and laziness