Cone Head: I remember days like this when Pops took me to the forest and we ate wild blueberries. I was just a pup of four or five months. The leaves were so dark and green then. The grass smelled sweet with the spring wind.
Cone Head: Almost 20 years of pitiless cumber! No rest, no sleep like other dogs. And yet the spring wind blows.
Subotai: Have you ever felt such a wind? They blow where I live too. In the north of every dog’s heart.
Cone Head: It’s never too late, Subotai.
Subotai: No. It would only lead me back here another day. In even worse company.
Cone Head: For us, there is no spring. Just the wind that smells fresh before the storm.
Although not a spring wind, Cone Head the Bark-barian discovers that there is a spring and partakes in a drink