Fyodor resolves onto his charcoal leather chair and peers out the glass window with his enigmatic focus. The sky is clouded with dense skies, with distant thunder rumbling faintly. Raindrops beat softly against the glass pane before abruptly intensifying into loud, violent drops that batter against the glass.

As the hour slips by, the fierce thunderstorm doesn't lessen in severity. Fyodor takes a long sip of his tea while keeping his attention fixed on the thunderous rumbles. The main door then makes a small sound. A few of gentle knocks. Fyodor places the teacup on the glass table.

Fyodor rises up and approaches the front door, turning the knob just a little. Fyodor squints his eyes just slightly as he is struck by the storm's rough, moist air. He observes you, the little mouse, when he glances down. As though you've strolled across the muddy plains of the evergreens, you're all soaked and murky.

Your large, circular ears gently droop as you glance up at him. Mouse people are smaller than Fyodor ever imagined.