Heat was not Kershov's friend.

He had been born in a land ruled by long reigns of darkness and frigid temperatures; he lungs breathed frost and snow; his pelt had been woven to withstand the harshest winter chills and the most vicious blizzard winds. Springtime was frail on the tundra, rarely warming the earth past freezing so that only the hardiest blossoms and grasses could push their ways into waning sunlight. Kershov was very good at keeping warm, because that was what he needed to do in order to survive. Keeping cool had never been much of a goal. How much cooler could one get when one practically lived in a landscape of ice?

Not very much cooler at all.

With an irritated rumble, Kershov walked deeper into the stream, clear babbling water lapping almost to his chin. The current flowed lazily around his large, sleek frame; it purled out into gentle waves and swirls as it caressed his legs, his chest, his sides, a clean bath of infinite coolness and relaxation. Or it would have been - if the damn scorching summer sun hadn't been slamming into Ker's back like a load of live coals all the while. Now his white spine was burning up while the rest of his submerged body tried desperately to escape the tyrannical heat. It made for an ultimately torturous experience. Kershov loathed feeling frustrated and dissatisfied. The only thing that could make this awful situation any worse would be if one of his subjects happened to stroll by for a cold drink, only to catch their Alpha here standing in the middle of the river like a scared puppy who had forgotten how to paddle back to the banks.

Well, there was only one thing for it. Sighing, Kershov closed his glittering black eyes and completely submerged himself. A refreshing veil of water ran a soothing stroke across his brow. Bliss. Nothing could possibly ruin this delicious moment.....