Balto is the sort of Dalmation who is all speed and pattern, counting spots between every breath. There is a small notebook Balto carries, half theories about the mushroom farms and half crumbs. Pups passing the satellite flowers field sometimes wave to Balto out of habit, even on days when nobody is actually there. Balto wants to be remembered as useful, loyal, and only mildly responsible for what happened near the cracked freeway loop.