"# *** The Great Latah County Adventure of Pete the Puggle ***"🐾
## Chapter One: The Morning of Adventure The sun hadn't even fully stretched its golden arms over the hills of our suburban neighborhood when I felt a familiar nudge against my velvety white snout. It was Roman's foot, dangling off the edge of his bed, and I took it as my personal invitation to begin the day. My name is Pete, and I'm a Puggle—a delightful mix of pug and beagle with bright, expressive eyes that my family says are accented with what looks like playful streaks of makeup. My short, velvety white fur glistens in any light, and I have a heart that beats for only two things: adventure and my family. I bounded onto Roman's chest, my tail wagging so furiously it could've powered a small windmill. "Roman! Roman! Wake up!" I barked with all the enthusiasm a twelve-pound puppy could muster. Roman groaned, pulling the pillow over his face, but I could see the smile creeping beneath it. "Pete, buddy, it's six in the morning," he mumbled, but I knew he wasn't really upset. We had a bond that went beyond words—he was my best friend, my protector, and sometimes, my worthy rival in the great game of backyard tag. The house smelled of coffee and something wonderful—pancakes, perhaps—drifting up from the kitchen below. I could hear Mariya, my mom, humming one of her enchanting melodies that always made the ordinary feel like it was sprinkled with fairy dust. Dad's booming laugh followed, and I knew instantly that he had just told one of his famously terrible jokes. "What do you call a fish wearing a bowtie?" Lenny's voice carried up the stairwell. "Sofishticated!" Mariya's laughter was genuine and warm, the kind of laugh that made you feel like the whole world was a safe place. I scampered down the stairs, my little paws clicking against the hardwood floor, and skidded into the kitchen where the whole scene unfolded like a painting of perfect domestic bliss. Dad was at the stove, flipping pancakes with the flair of a circus performer, while Mom sat at the table with her journal open, sketching something that looked like a butterfly with a top hat. "Good morning, my little adventurer!" Mariya exclaimed, scooping me up and pressing her nose against mine. Her eyes, always filled with wonder, sparkled as she looked at me. "Today is a special day, Pete. We're going on an adventure to Latah County!" My ears perked up. Latah County? I had heard whispers of this place—a land of rolling hills, dense forests, and winding creeks that stretched like silver ribbons through the Palouse region of Idaho. My heart hammered with excitement, though somewhere deep in my belly, a tiny flutter of nervousness stirred. New places meant the unknown, and the unknown, well, it could be a little scary. Lenny turned from the stove, his warm eyes crinkling at the corners. "That's right, little buddy. We're packing up the car and heading out. Latah County has some of the most beautiful trails, waterfalls, and camping spots in all of Idaho. And who knows? Maybe we'll run into our old friend Bruce Lee." Roman appeared in the kitchen doorway, his hair sticking up in twelve different directions, still half-asleep but grinning. "Bruce Lee? The martial arts legend? Dad, he's not just going to be wandering around the woods of Idaho." Lenny shrugged with theatrical mystery. "You never know, son. Bruce Lee is a man of many surprises." What none of us knew at that moment was that Dad wasn't entirely joking—and that our trip to Latah County would become the greatest adventure of my young life, filled with challenges that would test every ounce of courage in my small, furry body. But for now, standing in the warmth of that kitchen, surrounded by the people I loved most, I felt invincible. --- ## Chapter Two: Into the Wild Beauty of Latah County The car ride was a symphony of sensory delights. I sat perched on Roman's lap in the backseat, my nose pressed against the slightly cracked window, inhaling a kaleidoscope of scents that painted pictures in my mind—pine trees, distant rain, fresh earth, and something wild and untamed that made my whiskers tingle. The landscape transformed before my very eyes as we left the familiar suburban sprawl behind and entered the rolling Palouse hills of Latah County. The hills rose and fell like the breathing chest of a sleeping giant, painted in shades of gold and green that shifted with the angle of the sun. Mariya narrated from the passenger seat, her voice taking on the quality of a nature documentary. "The Palouse was formed over thousands of years by wind-blown silt called loess. These hills are some of the most fertile farmland in the world. Isn't that magical, Pete? The wind literally sculpted the land." I barked in agreement, though honestly, I was more captivated by a hawk circling overhead, its wings catching the thermals with effortless grace. Roman scratched behind my ears—that spot that makes my back leg kick involuntarily—and whispered, "Pete, this is going to be epic. Just you and me, exploring the wilderness." We arrived at our destination—a campground nestled near a creek that fed into the larger Palouse River system—and the world that greeted us was nothing short of breathtaking. Massive ponderosa pines stood like ancient sentinels, their bark smelling of vanilla and butterscotch, their canopies forming a cathedral ceiling that filtered the sunlight into dancing golden coins on the forest floor. Wildflowers dotted the undergrowth—lupines in shades of purple and blue, indian paintbrush with its fiery red petals, and small white daisies that looked like fallen stars. The creek rushed nearby, its sound a constant, soothing murmur that mixed with the chatter of birds and the rustle of wind through leaves. Lenny unpacked the car with efficiency while Mariya set about making the campsite feel like home, hanging small lanterns from branches and laying out a blanket that she declared would be "our storytelling circle." Roman and I explored the immediate perimeter, my nose working overtime to catalog every new smell, every rustling bush, every fascinating rock. "This place is amazing," Roman breathed, and I barked my wholehearted agreement. But then I heard it—the creek. Not just heard it, but really noticed it. The water moved with a power and presence that made my stomach clench. I had never been close to a real body of water before—just the small bathtub in our home, which I tolerated only because Mariya filled it with bubbles and rubber ducks. This creek was different. It surged over rocks, creating little rapids that foamed and churned. The sound was a low, constant roar that seemed to vibrate in my chest. I froze mid-step, my tail tucking between my legs, my ears flattening against my head. The water looked dark and bottomless in places, and I imagined terrible things lurking beneath its surface—shadowy creatures with long tentacles, whirlpools that could swallow a small puggle whole. Roman noticed immediately. "Hey, buddy. What's wrong?" He knelt beside me, his hand gentle on my trembling back. I couldn't tell him in words, but my wide, terrified eyes said everything. The water frightened me. It was vast and unpredictable, and I felt as small and helpless as a leaf in a storm. "It's okay, Pete," Roman murmured, pulling me close. "The water isn't going to hurt you. I promise. But we don't have to go near it until you're ready." His words were a warm blanket around my shivering heart, but the fear remained—a cold, heavy stone in my belly that wouldn't easily dissolve. --- ## Chapter Three: Enter Bruce Lee, the Dragon of the Forest We had barely finished setting up camp when a familiar voice rang out through the trees like a bell. "Hey there, Lenny! I brought the marshmallows!" I turned so fast I nearly toppled over. Striding through the trees with the confident, flowing gait of someone who could disarm five attackers before breakfast was none other than Bruce Lee. He was dressed in simple hiking clothes, but there was something about the way he moved—every step deliberate, every gesture graceful—that made even the birds seem to pause and watch. His smile was wide and genuine, and when he spotted me, his eyes lit up. "Pete! My favorite little warrior!" He crouched down, and I launched myself into his arms, my tail wagging so hard my whole body wiggled. Bruce Lee had been a family friend for years. He'd appeared in some of Dad's favorite films, and over time, he'd become a regular visitor to our home. To me, he was Uncle Bruce—the man who could balance on one finger, who could catch a fly with chopsticks, and who always, always had time to scratch my belly and tell me stories of his own adventures. Bruce Lee settled onto the storytelling blanket, and the whole family gathered around. He produced a bag of marshmallows from his backpack and began roasting them with a precision that made even stick-roasting look like a martial art. "So," he said, his eyes twinkling, "Lenny tells me you're all ready for a big hike to the waterfall." Roman's eyes went wide. "Waterfall? There's a waterfall?" Mariya consulted her guidebook. "Yes—about three miles upstream, there's a beautiful cascade called Shadow Falls. It's one of the hidden gems of Latah County." I felt the blood drain from my face—or it would have, if dogs could blush. A waterfall meant more water. A lot more water. Bruce Lee seemed to sense my discomfort. He looked at me with those deep, knowing eyes and said, "Pete, let me tell you something my master taught me when I was young. He said, 'The fearful are caught as often as the bold.' Fear is not your enemy. It is your teacher. When you feel afraid, it means you are standing at the edge of something that will make you grow." His words washed over me like a gentle wave, and for a moment, the knot in my stomach loosened just a little. "You mean fear is... good?" I cocked my head, and he laughed—a rich, full sound that echoed through the trees. "Not good or bad. Just useful. It tells you that something matters. The question is what you do with it." Lenny clapped his hands together. "Well said, Bruce. Alright, team, let's eat up and hit the trail. We've got a waterfall to find!" The family cheered, and even I managed a tentative wag of my tail. But inside, the fear still lingered—a whispering shadow that said, *What if the water is too big, too deep, too loud? What if it swallows you whole?* I pushed the voice down, burying it beneath the excitement of the group and the smell of roasting marshmallows. Bruce Lee caught my eye and gave me a subtle nod, as if to say, *I see you, little warrior. We'll face this together.* And with that unspoken promise burning in my heart, I decided that when the trail called, I would answer. Even if my legs were shaking. --- ## Chapter Four: The Trail of Trials The trail to Shadow Falls wound through some of the most magnificent forest I had ever seen. Douglas firs towered above us, their trunks thick and straight, their branches reaching toward the sky like arms in prayer. Ferns carpeted the forest floor in lush, green waves, and moss clung to every rock and fallen log, creating a world that felt ancient and alive. Sunlight filtered through the canopy in shafts of pure gold, illuminating motes of dust and tiny insects that danced in the air like fairies. The trail was narrow and rocky, climbing steadily, and I navigated it with careful paws, my nose working overtime to process the overwhelming symphony of smells. Mariya stopped every few minutes to examine a mushroom, identify a bird call, or sketch a particularly interesting leaf in her journal. "Look, everyone—a varied thrush! You can tell by the orange band across its chest. Isn't it gorgeous?" Her curiosity was infectious, and even Roman, who usually preferred to charge ahead, slowed down to appreciate the small wonders she pointed out. Lenny brought up the rear, keeping a watchful eye on all of us while occasionally testing the terrain with his hiking stick. "Watch your step here, team. These rocks can be slippery when wet." About a mile into the hike, the trail brought us close to the creek, which had grown wider and more turbulent as we climbed. The sound of rushing water filled my ears, and I felt the fear rising again—cold and sharp, like ice water being poured down my spine. My paws refused to move. I stood frozen on the trail, my body rigid, my breath coming in short, panicked gasps. The water was right there, maybe twenty feet away, but it felt like it was right next to me, reaching for me with invisible, cold fingers. Images flooded my mind—dark water closing over my head, my little paws paddling frantically, the muffled sound of my family calling my name as I disappeared beneath the surface. I whimpered, and the sound was so small and pitiful that it broke my own heart. Roman was at my side in an instant. "Pete. Hey. Look at me." His voice was calm and steady, an anchor in the storm of my fear. I looked up into his brown eyes, and he said, "The water can't reach you here. You're safe on the trail. I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere." Bruce Lee appeared on my other side, his presence as solid as a mountain. "Pete, remember what I said about fear? It's telling you that this matters. That's all. You don't have to love the water today. You just have to keep walking." One step. Then another. Then another. My legs trembled, but with Roman on one side and Bruce Lee on the other, I moved forward, past the creek, past the fear, and deeper into the forest. Each step was a victory, small but significant, and I began to understand that courage wasn't the absence of fear—it was the decision to keep going despite it. The trail grew steeper, and the trees grew denser, their branches interlocking overhead until the sunlight was reduced to a dim, green twilight. I noticed the change gradually—the shadows lengthening, the sounds of the forest shifting from bright bird calls to the lower, more mysterious chirps of insects and amphibians. The air grew cooler, heavier, and a sense of unease settled over me like a damp cloak. I had always been afraid of the dark. At home, I slept with a nightlight shaped like a star, and when the power went out during a storm last winter, I had crawled under the covers and stayed there until morning, trembling. Here, in the forest, the approaching darkness felt different—vast and alive, filled with shapes that shifted and moved, sounds that had no visible source. Every snap of a twig made me jump. Every rustle in the underbrush sent my heart racing. I imagined eyes watching me from the shadows—hungry, patient, waiting. My velvety fur stood on end, and I pressed closer to Roman's ankle, drawing comfort from his warmth and the steady rhythm of his footsteps. Lenny noticed the sky darkening and checked his watch. "Looks like a storm might be rolling in. We should pick up the pace if we want to reach the falls and get back before dark." The word "dark" echoed in my mind like a tolling bell, and the fear that had been a whisper became a roar. --- ## Chapter Five: Lost in the Shadow of the Falls We reached Shadow Falls just as the first drops of rain began to fall, and the sight was both magnificent and terrifying. The waterfall cascaded down a rocky cliff face, sending up a mist that hung in the air like a veil. The sound was deafening—a thunderous, constant roar that drowned out all other sounds and vibrated in my very bones. The water pooled at the base in a wide, dark basin before continuing downstream, churning and foaming over rocks. It was beautiful, yes—Mariya gasped and immediately began sketching—but to me, it was a nightmare made real. The power of it, the sheer, overwhelming force, made me feel tinier than I had ever felt. I retreated behind a large boulder, pressing myself against the cool stone, my eyes squeezed shut against the sight and sound of all that water. Rain began to fall in earnest, fat drops that pattered against the leaves and turned the trail into a slick, muddy channel. Lenny made a quick decision. "We need to find shelter. There's supposed to be a rock overhang about a quarter mile back down the trail. Let's move!" The family scrambled, gathering their things and beginning the retreat down the trail. The rain came harder, and with it came fog—thick, gray curtains that reduced visibility to almost nothing. In the chaos of the moment—the rain, the fog, the scramble down the slippery trail—I lost sight of my family. One second, Roman's red jacket was visible ahead of me, and the next, it was gone, swallowed by the fog as if it had never existed. I stopped, my heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. I looked left—nothing but gray. I looked right—nothing but gray. Behind me—gray. Ahead—gray. The world had been erased, replaced by an endless, featureless void. *Where are they? Where is Roman? Where is Mom? Dad?* Panic, raw and primal, seized me. I opened my mouth to bark, but the sound was swallowed by the wind and rain. I ran forward, my paws slipping on the wet trail, but I didn't know if I was going the right direction. I ran another way, but the trees all looked the same—dark, looming shapes that offered no guidance. The fear of being separated from my family was the worst fear of all—a hollow, aching terror that felt like my heart was being ripped from my chest. They were my world, my safety, my everything, and without them, I was nothing but a small, lost puppy in a vast, indifferent wilderness. And then the darkness came. Not just the fog, but real darkness—the sun had set behind the storm clouds, and the forest plunged into a darkness so complete that I couldn't see my own paws. Every shadow became a monster. Every sound became a threat. An owl hooted nearby, and I nearly jumped out of my fur. Something rustled in the bushes to my left, and I imagined a coyote, hungry and sharp-toothed, emerging from the dark. I was shaking so hard that the ground beneath me seemed to vibrate. I found a hollow beneath a fallen log and crawled inside, curling into the smallest ball I could manage. The darkness pressed in from all sides, heavy and suffocating. I thought of my warm bed, my star nightlight, Roman's steady breathing in the room next door. I thought of Mariya's gentle hands and Lenny's silly jokes. A sob escaped my throat—a small, broken sound in the vast, dark forest. *I'm lost. I'm alone. I'm scared.* The thoughts spiraled, each one darker than the last. But then, like a candle flickering in a window, I remembered Bruce Lee's words: *Fear is not your enemy. It is your teacher.* And I remembered Roman's voice: *I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere.* They weren't here—not physically—but their words lived inside me, a light that the darkness couldn't touch. I took a shaky breath. Then another. My heart still hammered, my fur still stood on end, but somewhere beneath the terror, a tiny spark of determination flickered. I would survive this. I would be brave. Not because I wasn't afraid, but because I was afraid, and I chose to keep going anyway. --- ## Chapter Six: Bruce Lee's Wisdom and the Light Within I don't know how long I huddled beneath that log—minutes that felt like hours, each one stretching into an eternity of darkness and fear. But eventually, a sound reached me through the rain—a voice, calling my name. "Pete! Pete, where are you?" It was Bruce Lee. His voice cut through the darkness like a blade, sharp and clear, and my heart leaped. I scrambled out from under the log, my paws slipping in the mud, and barked—barked with everything I had, every ounce of breath in my small body. "Pete! I hear you! Hold on!" The sound of footsteps, rapid and purposeful, splashed through the puddles toward me, and then, like a vision appearing from the mist, Bruce Lee materialized from the darkness. He was soaked through, his hair plastered to his forehead, but his eyes—those calm, deep eyes—were fixed on me with an intensity that made me feel like I was the most important being in the world. He scooped me up, and I buried my face in his chest, my whole body trembling with relief and the remnants of fear. "I've got you, little warrior," he murmured, his voice a warm rumble beneath his rain-soaked shirt. "You're safe now." Bruce Lee carried me to a small rock overhang where he had taken shelter, and we sat together, watching the rain sheet down outside. The darkness was still there—thick and pressing—but with Bruce Lee beside me, it felt less like a monster and more like a blanket, soft and protective. He wrapped his jacket around me and began to speak, his voice low and contemplative. "Pete, do you know why I train so hard? Why I spend hours practicing the same movements over and over?" I looked up at him, my bright eyes reflecting the dim light. "It's not because I want to be the strongest or the fastest. It's because I want to know myself. When you face your fears—really face them, not run from them—you discover who you truly are. And what you find is always stronger than what you imagined." He paused, his gaze distant, as if seeing something beyond the rain and the dark. "When I was young, I was afraid of many things. Failure. Being misunderstood. Not being good enough. But every time I stepped onto the training floor, I faced those fears. Not with fists, but with honesty. With willingness to be vulnerable. That's the real martial art, Pete—not fighting others, but conquering the fears within yourself." I snuggled closer to him, the warmth of his words seeping into my chilled bones. The darkness outside still frightened me, but I realized something profound in that moment: the darkness wasn't trying to hurt me. It was just... there. Neutral. Neither good nor bad. It was my fear that gave it teeth and claws. And if I could change my relationship with the darkness—from enemy to companion, from threat to teacher—I could take away its power over me. The rain began to ease, and through the parting clouds, a sliver of moonlight touched the forest floor, painting everything in silver. The transformation was magical—what had been a dark, terrifying world became a luminous, enchanted one. The raindrops on the leaves sparkled like diamonds, the creek's surface shimmered like liquid mercury, and the trees stood like silver pillars in a cathedral of night. Bruce Lee smiled. "See? The dark was never your enemy. It was just waiting for you to see its beauty." I looked out at the moonlit forest, and for the first time, the darkness didn't make me shake. It made me wonder. It made me feel part of something vast and mysterious and beautiful. A new sound reached my ears—distant, but growing closer. Voices. Calling my name. "Pete! Pete!" My heart soared. I knew those voices. I would know them anywhere, in any darkness, in any storm. Roman. My family. They were coming. --- ## Chapter Seven: The Reunion and the Trail Home I burst from under the overhang like a small, white cannonball, my paws barely touching the ground as I raced toward the sound of Roman's voice. The moonlight guided me, turning the trail into a silver ribbon through the trees, and I ran with everything I had—my ears flying back, my tail streaming behind me, my heart a drumbeat of hope and joy. "Pete!" Roman's voice was closer now, raw with emotion, and then I saw him—a figure emerging from the shadows, his red jacket dark in the moonlight, his face streaked with rain and tears. "PETE!" He dropped to his knees, and I launched myself into his arms, my whole body wiggling with a joy so intense it was almost painful. I licked his face, his neck, his ears, anywhere my tongue could reach, and he held me so tight I could feel his heartbeat against my fur. "I thought I lost you," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I thought I lost you, buddy. Don't ever do that to me again." I whimpered and pressed my nose into his neck, breathing in his scent—the familiar mix of soap and sweat and home—and the fear of separation dissolved like morning dew. Mariya and Lenny appeared moments later, and I was passed from hug to hug, each one warmer and tighter than the last. Mariya's eyes were red from crying, but she laughed through her tears as she held me. "My brave little adventurer. You came back to us." Lenny's hug was bear-like and all-encompassing. "Don't scare us like that, Pete. Dad's heart can't take it." Even his joke was delivered with a tremor in his voice that revealed how scared he had truly been. We made our way back to the campsite as a group, and Bruce Lee walked beside us, his presence a steady, comforting force. The storm had passed, and the sky above the clearing was a breathtaking tapestry of stars—more stars than I had ever seen, scattered like diamonds across black velvet. The creek, which had terrified me so much earlier, now caught the moonlight and glittered like a ribbon of light winding through the forest. It was still powerful, still rushing, but I saw it differently now—not as a threat, but as a part of this beautiful, wild world. When we reached the campsite, Lenny built a fire, and we all gathered around it—Mariya with her journal, Roman with me in his lap, Bruce Lee cross-legged and serene, and Lenny tending the flames with quiet, contented focus. The fire crackled and popped, sending sparks spiraling upward like tiny stars rising to join their siblings in the sky. "So," Bruce Lee said, breaking the comfortable silence, "what did everyone learn today?" Roman spoke first, his hand resting on my back. "I learned that I need to be more aware. I should have known Pete was falling behind. Being a big brother means watching out for the people—even the little, furry ones—who depend on you." Mariya looked up from her sketch. "I learned that nature is more powerful than we are, and that's not a bad thing. It reminds us to be humble and prepared. But it also shows us beauty that we'd never see if everything went according to plan." Lenny poked the fire thoughtfully. "I learned that the scariest moments are the ones that bring us closest together. And that there's no joke in the world that can replace the feeling of having your family safe and sound." --- ## Chapter Eight: Reflections Under the Stars The fire burned low, collapsing into a bed of glowing embers that pulsed like a heartbeat, and the night wrapped around us like a soft, dark blanket. I lay curled in Roman's lap, my eyes heavy but unwilling to close, savoring every moment of this warmth and togetherness. Bruce Lee leaned back on his hands, his face illuminated by the ember-light, and looked at me with those wise, kind eyes. "And what about you, Pete? What did you learn?" I couldn't answer in words, of course, but I looked at him—looked at all of them—and tried to pour everything I felt into my bright, make-up-streaked eyes. I had learned that fear was not a wall but a door—something to walk through, not run from. I had learned that the water I feared was the same water that carved those magnificent Palouse hills, that fed the wildflowers, that gave life to the ancient trees. I had learned that the dark was not empty but full of stars, of moonlight, of beauty that could only be seen when the sun stepped aside. And I had learned that being separated from the ones you love doesn't mean you're alone, because their love lives inside you—warm and bright and unextinguishable, even in the darkest night. Mariya closed her journal and looked around the circle with that expression she wore when she saw magic in the ordinary. "You know what I think? I think this trip was perfect. Not because everything went smoothly—it didn't—but because we faced challenges and we faced them together. And Pete—" she reached over and scratched my chin, that spot that makes my back leg kick, "—Pete faced his fears with more courage than any of us. He was scared of the water, scared of the dark, scared of being alone, and he kept going. That's the bravest thing I've ever seen." Roman tightened his arms around me. "He's the bravest puggle in the whole world." Lenny nodded solemnly. "Agreed. And tomorrow, we'll tackle the next adventure. Maybe something less wet. Like a desert." Everyone laughed, and the sound rose into the star-filled sky, joining the chorus of crickets and the distant murmur of the creek. Bruce Lee stood, stretching his limbs with the fluid grace of a cat, and bowed—a deep, respectful bow that encompassed all of us. "Thank you, family, for including me in this adventure. And thank you, Pete, for reminding me that the greatest strength is not in the fist, but in the heart." I barked once—softly, happily—and the fire flickered, and the stars shimmered, and the creek sang its ancient song, and I knew, with every fiber of my small, velvety being, that this night would live inside me forever. As the fire finally surrendered to ash and the first blush of dawn crept over the eastern hills, we packed up camp and loaded the car. The forest, which had been a place of fear and wonder and transformation, now stood quietly around us, its trees like old friends waving goodbye. I sat on Roman's lap once more, my nose at the window, watching Latah County recede behind us—the hills, the forests, the creek, the waterfall—all of it shrinking into the distance but growing larger in my memory. Roman scratched my ears and whispered, "You did good, Pete. You did really good." I closed my eyes, the rumble of the car lulling me toward sleep, and I dreamed of waterfalls and moonlight and the sound of my family's laughter echoing through the trees. I dreamed of Bruce Lee's wise eyes and Lenny's terrible jokes and Mariya's wondrous gaze and Roman's steady, protective arms. And in my dream, I was not afraid—not of the water, not of the dark, not of the unknown. Because I had learned the most important lesson of all: that love is the light that never goes out, that courage is not the absence of fear but the choice to keep walking, and that home is not a place but the people—and the puggle—who share your heart. *** The End ***
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