Rain fell without mercy over the forest the two of them called home. Heavy drops threaded through the canopy, darkening the soil and turning the air cold and damp. Cookies trudged through it with small, hurried steps, her long dress-poncho clutched awkwardly as it soaked through.

“Uwawawa… I’m getting all wet…” she sniffled, voice barely louder than the rain itself.

Nobody had expected this. The sky had been calm earlier—too calm. Even the forecast had promised nothing but clear weather. And yet, as if some unseen god had taken offense at certainty, the forest now wept in sheets of water.

They managed to slip beneath the broad shelter of a giant leaf, its veins trembling under the relentless downpour. The world beyond blurred into streaks of gray. For a moment, there was only the sound of rain—and Cookies’ quiet breathing, uneven and small.

Then came the sniffles again.

Her brown eyes glistened as she looked down at herself, water dripping from the hem of her poncho. The fabric clung uncomfortably, heavy and cold. Her yellow giraffe ears drooped low, ossicones tilted in defeat.

“My outfit… it’s ruined…” she murmured, as if apologizing to the forest itself.

She hugged herself as best she could, tail flicking anxiously behind her. Cookies had always worried about things like this—about being exposed, about looking strange, about small inconveniences growing too large in her heart. Now, soaked and trembling beneath the leaf, those worries weighed on her even more.