Heron Lake Plateau Never mind the slacks and bashers

Forward-dated a day or three after my previous one. :P

Unsurprisingly, Quixote wasn't exactly fond of the warmer days, and there would certainly be more of those up ahead on the calendar, even if today wasn't too bad out.  As he mentioned when they moved here, he did rather think the whole place would have been a lot better if it had more trees.  It was unfortunate they didn't just sprout like the spring grasses.  He'd just had an unsuccessful hunt -- unsurprisingly, as he still felt like he'd been run over by a bulldozer and definitely wasn't running on full cylinders --  which had definitely raised his internal temperature, so he'd turned his paws towards the lake.  Quixote planned to get a drink, maybe cool down a bit or something considering he was still panting pretty heavily.

His pace was uneven.  He'd run through the bruises and stiffness, almost certainly against Raven's suggestions orders, but Quixote was probably about as stubborn as he was a bad patient when he felt he had other obligations.  At least he was back to being just his normal level of scruffy instead of being an animated mudball.  At the shore, he lowered his head, lapping up a few mouthfuls of water.  It was lukewarm around the shore, so he moved farther in to the lake where the water was slightly cooler.

Thugh Niamh didn't want to go far from her den, she had to leave it every now and again either to eat or drink. She would do a partial patrol- just around an edge of the pack's territory, before returning to her feather-filled den once more. Her main target, for prey, was still birds of any kind, but particularly ducks or geese, who'd begun to lay their eggs along the banks of the lake, simply because she liked the taste of them, and she also used the feathers in her den...Which had gone from being organized and actually quite stunningly decorated with pretty and colourful feathers, to becoming a mess of fluff and down. 

She felt angry whenever she did it, but she continued to add the feathers and down to her den, pushing them in and around @Screech's prone body so that he lay upon a bed of down which grew into a nest as she continued to add feathers around him. She didn't care to organize the feathers by colour anymore- and what had once been her personal, beautiful collection of feathers had also been thrown into the pile- she could always catch more birds and start her collection over. Right now, she went into a feverish maternal mode, and had to build a nest for Screech. There wasn't anything else she could do. 

"I'm going out for a drink. Don't go anywhere, dipshit. But you better be awake when I get back," She warned, though her voice softened with the threat. She meant it- she wanted him to wake up. The guilt ate at her, and part of her still wanted him to wake up so she could tell him how unfair it was that he chose to headbutt her, and then make her worry about him. He'd also screwed up her tracking mission, with that particular herd of elk. She'd told him that, of course, probably thirty times; whenever she was in the den with him, which was a considerable part of the day, she talked to him. Some part of him had to hear her, after all. And it certainly didn't occur to her that if he could hear her- maybe he was choosing not to wake up because he didn't want to be conscious for all the blame she wanted to place on him. 

She walked toward the lake with tired steps- even though she hadn't been getting as much exercise as normal, she felt drained, as though she was trying to use her own energy to wake Screech up. She didn't notice Quixot at first, as she drank, but by the time she did, she was still too zoned out and tired to avoid him. In fact, she felt nothing. No jealousy, no guilt, no feelings she couldn't control. If anything good had come from this entire situation, it was that she no longer had feelings for Quixote. She nodded her head to him, and tiredly lowered her head again to drink a bit more.

As he raised his head and then turned back to shore, he spotted Niamh had appeared while his back was turned.  There was a face he hadn't seen in a while.  A lot happened since they'd met, but it was hard to tell whether his promotion and all that garbage would do much of anything.  He and Niamh had gotten along, sure, but that was like one meeting and a passing stare.  Quixote headed back to shore, finding a reasonably dry spot as he slowly lowered himself to the ground like some ancient creature.  As his ribcage brushed the ground, he stifled a not-quite-yelp of pain as a clump of grass hit a sore spot.  At least once he got settled it wouldn't hurt any more -- unless he bumped it again.  This was so stupid.

He'd almost certainly been told what happened to Screech, but Quixote wasn't sure what to think about it.  He hadn't left a particularly good impression -- just some kid who couldn't get his life together and was too stubborn to let people help.  Honestly, he figured Screech was going to screw something up and get the boot or end up on the wrong end of someone's fangs again.  Call him a pessimist but just... It didn't seem like Screech would have the longest lifespan for a wolf.  He still -- a pause.  Should he be nice about it?  His default setting was gallows humor, but if she actually gave a damn about that fool, -- out of it?  He sounded a little perplexed that was even the right set of words.  It wasn't like Screech was probably gonna last that long if he couldn't eat or drink.

One ear tilted in his direction, and out of the corner of her eye she could see him lower himself to the ground beside the lake, and only turned her head to look at him when she noticed how gingerly he was doing so, just in time to see him try and stifle a small noise. She couldn't hear it- but she could see the pain on his face, and her ears flattened. She looked him over, from a distance, then, trying to see if she could catch sight of any new or opened wounds...But from where she was, she couldn't quite make anything out. She opened her mouth to ask- but he asked a question that made her snap her mouth shut. 

She sat down, promptly, and returned her stare out over the lake, gaze hard and cold. Of course- she'd end up being the one everyone would ask about him, like she was his nurse or something. Even when he was in a coma, everything Screech cared about was himself, and he got other wolves to do things for him. Her whiskers twitched. "Yeah." She said, finally, and realized that perhaps she'd spoken too quietly. "Yeah, the bastard's still in a comma," She said. Niamh wasn't exactly a medic, after all, and didn't know the difference between one being unconscious and one being a form of punctuation. Of course, the tough facade she put on was not much more than a guise, as she tried to keep herself together. Of course Quixote knew, too- he and Raven would have talked. She wondered what else Raven had told him...And figured it was best not to dwell on that. "I dunno. If he's still out tomorrow, I'd assume he's just faking it because he doesn't want to wake up and hear me shouting at him." She said. Not like someone could go into a coma out of spite but...If anyone could, then Screech definitely would...

...And so would Niamh.

So she was taking care of the dude, but should he have just not mentioned it?  Uh.  Maybe it was a good thing he hadn't asked if he was still pretending to be a rock.  Or maybe that would have gone over better, hell if he knew.  Either way, hard to miss that reaction.  He blinked a few times, trying to mentally feel his way in to what the most appropriate response would be.

Well, since she was ripping on him... As far as I can tell, he doesn't listen to people at all, so don't think volume's gonna change much.  Quixote's experience with him had pretty much proved that.  Can't be fun.  Maybe it would be a mercy if Screech just didn't wake up to whatever screwed up, hate-filled world he obviously lived in.  But Quixote was also not the best at sympathy.

Should he change the subject?  Uh.  Honestly, he didn't know what to think.  He was the antithesis of a social butterfly, Um.  Before that happened, how've you been?  Stuff happened, on my end of things.  There was a trip and all the sheer nonsense on his end of things.  But if she wanted to talk about something else she could go right ahead.  Quixote wasn't gonna be moving any time soon, it hurt too much, even if it wasn't too visible.  He was mostly just bruised, but the few new scrapes were hard to see since he was usually scruffy.  Other than that, the only (potentially) visible change from when they'd last crossed paths was a slight drop in his weight.

Though it did sound as though Quixote was trying to figure out the right thing to say, by the hesitation in his voice, his choice of words caused Niamh to bristle visibly, and she turned her face away. It was fine for her to speak about Screech like that- but that didn't mean she wanted someone else to say those things. She didn't want to hear someone else trash talk him, or say anything that might hint that they believed he'd never wake up. Niamh held her breath and bit her lip, squeezing the tender flesh until she could taste blood. "Mmh," Was all she answered, as she sucked at her lip to try and get the little bit of bleeding to stop. 

He changed the subject and asked how she'd been before all that happened, but she wasn't sure how to respond. What did that matter now? What did it matter that things had been alright? She had a wolf in her den who was unconscious and probably going to die from thirst and hunger- so why should she reminisce about how things had once been actually half decent? So when Quixote shared how he'd been- and that he'd gone through 'some stuff,' she turned to face him sharply, eyes glassy. 

"I'll bet. You got alphaship, a mate and kids on the way." She said flatly. She remembered that feeling, then, probably just because she was bitter about Screech's situation. The cold cut of jealousy was there again, simply because she was vulnerable to emotion. She opened her mouth to say something, but an odd little bit of movement caught her eye. 

It was a crab. 

Either hers or Tegan's, she wasn't sure- but the little crustacean scrabbled sideways along the side of the lake, and her jaw dropped in surprise. "You little shit! You're still alive!" She exclaimed, suddenly distracted- as she often was- by the surprising discovery that at least one of the crabs was still alive...It was, however, moving very slowly, and its claws drooped. It wasn't doing terribly well. She stood then, and moved so she looked directly down at it, and gently set one foot atop its gently rounded shell...And that was when it hit her. 

She glanced at Quixote, and then down at the crab, and she faltered for a moment. "I...I brought these back when Tegan and I went to Drageda, to tell Wildfire that Raven was pregnant...Tegan and I wanted to start a colony here, to feed everyone." She said. It felt good, to talk about something different, as much as it pained her, knowing what she had to do. "I...I haven't...I couldn't think of a way but now..." She said, still looking down at the crab that tried to move from under her paw, but it had become too weak, after being deprived of the nutrients it needed from its salt water home. "Screech needs water. This...This should do it." She said, and with a movement deft but precise, she lifted her foot, grabbed the crab and cracked through its bottom shell. She tore away piece by piece, pulling the legs off what should have been the prime breeding stock for her crab colony until nothing was left but the rounded top shell. She lowered it into the lake, and lifted it, setting it down carefully, full of water. She glanced at Quixote then, and finally heaved a resigned sigh. "Sorry. I'm just...Glad I figured out a way to get water to him."

Yep he was ruining this one fast.  At the retort about what he'd been up to, he did look kind of hurt, his ears tilting slightly back on his skull.  What was he gonna say?  Quixote looked away from her, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but that never came.  Alpha or not, it seemed like if she was gonna go off on a rant, he was just gonna sit there and take it since he was apparently a socially inept fool.

Instead, Niamh was distracted by something else, and her exclamation drew his attention back to her, but this time way more confused.  The hell was going on?  Slowly, she started to explain, and while hie mentally was still being barraged by cartoonish question marks, things started to slowly make sense.  A little.  He craned his neck to try to get a better look but gave up as soon as he felt he was going to put weight on something that hurt.  So much for that.  Does it hold enough?  It wasn't like he could see it particularly well.

The whole thing was just awkward.  He didn't know if Screech actually meant something to her or if it was just some weird guilt/obligation thing from the incident that had trapped her in case the worst happened.  Like what was someone supposed to say to that?  He'd tried agreeing, he'd tried changing subjects but he was just bad at it all, apparently.  What else would Quixote say?  That he fell off a cliff?  Somehow that sounded like it wouldn't have gotten a good response either.  Maybe he should just leave -- oh wait, that required moving.  He lowered his head to his paws, Sorry.  I'm just a gallows humor sort of guy.  And not good at talking.  Okay, he could talk in general but not about this heavy crud.  Raven was the one who always knew the exact right thing to say in this particular kind of scenario.

Quixote asked a question, and she frowned down at the crabshell. Maybe it wouldn't be enough- but then again, she could simply make trips back and forth. Getting the water into him was another issue she'd have to face, but if anyone was stubborn enough to do it, Niamh was. He said something else- something that came across as an apology, and when she looked over, he looked pretty darn defeated. Her ears flicked back in uncertainty, and she realized, then, just how negligent she'd been to be friendly in her conversation with him. He'd been mostly ignored, and she'd even spoken out of line to him, in a tone that could have been perceived as critical when she'd commented on his life changes. She was being a brat to him. 

She carefully picked up the crab shell, still full to the brim with water and gingerly brought it over to him, setting it down beside his muzzle. She sat down then, before she too slumped to the ground. "You're right, though, it's probably not enough." She said. She was doing everything wrong, it seemed. "Dude's gonna die, and it's all my fault."

Quixote raised his head as she came over, looking at the water-filled shell with some speculation.  Yeah it wasn't all that huge, but it wasn't like wolves had glasses of water to know how much they drank in a day.  He shrugged, Might just mean walking to the lake more.  I dunno what would be a better option, though. Not a lot of stuff I can think of could carry water well.

Screech himself, though.  What happens, happens at this point.  All your fault though?  Nah, not if what you said happened.  Then, kind of annoyed, Who the hell who's seen more than two different seasons tries to headbutt someone like a goddamn mountain goat-- or a bison or something?  Like how's that a good idea?  Quixote was kinda biased against Screech, but dude, that kid did some dumb stuff and this went on his high scores list.  Either way, irritation faded,  Can't blame you for wanting to yell at him.  Okay, he couldn't entirely keep himself from some kind of snark.

Niamh had to think back, to try and remember what it was she'd told Quixote. It likely would have been fairly close to the truth, but she couldn't seem to recall, exactly, what she'd said. He criticized Screech for having headbutted her, and she flushed. That wasn't exactly the truth- so obviously, some of the details were missing. Niamh was a very honest wolf- often honest to a fault- but this time, she couldn't make herself confess that she had been the one aiming to headbutt him in the first place. She couldn't admit it- not if he ended up dying. That would make her a murderer- or, in the very least, simply responsible for his death whether she'd intended it or not. 

"I dunno." She replied, shrugging. Yeh, she'd learned her lesson, and Quixote had shamed her lightly, without knowing he was doing so. Headbutting was best left to animals who had the skulls built for the job. Wolves, obviously, did not possess a thick enough skull for that...Or, maybe she did- but Screech didn't, which was hard to imagine. 

He ended up siding with her, though, which was appreciated and made her feel a bit better. "I was tracking those elk." She said. "I'd caught their scent a couple days earlier, and had been following them- some of the females are gonna give birth soon, so I wanted to see where they might stop to pop." She said. "And that idiot... He just had to intervene and get us both chased away by the bull." She said. "I can't believe what a...Just what a freaking...Numbskull that dude is sometimes."

Quixote knew... Uh.  Basically what was said in the thread where the thing happened, assuming nothing happened offscreen other than Raven re-summarizing what he missed.  As Niamh talked, Quixote tried to carefully stretch one of his front legs so he could settle back down into a more comfortable position.  It still felt kind of weird.  He's got issues for sure, some I just don't understand.  Being just kind of stupid was usually pretty obvious, but what about that attitude?  Talked to him recently -- didn't seem like he liked me nor thought I should be alpha. Hell if I know why.  It obviously still seemed pretty weird to him.  He'd never properly met the dude before then, but unless some random person had been feeding Screech some mean rumors, it was all crud created in the comatose wolf's head. 

There was also another issue he wasn't going to mention -- that sometimes those that got conked over the head ended up acting different later, and from Quixote's limited experience with it, it often made them more unpredictable.  In the alpha's eyes, Screech was already a wildcard that might cause trouble, but this might make it even worse.  Would Quixote be hated by everyone else in the pack if he had to give Screech the boot for being a danger to the pups?  Ok, he doubted it'd be everyone but there might be a few.

Niamh comfortably nodded when Quixote diagnosed Screech as a wolf with issues. That she could believe, for sure- but she could see where it came from. He'd been misunderstood, and had maybe developed his attitude simply because it fit- others saw him a certain way, so why not just fit the glove? She assumed he'd simply given up on trying to justify his actions, or prove himself as a good guy because others weren't necessarily willing to give him the time. Quixote definitely seemed comfortable more or less writing Screech off as a wreck. She couldn't help but feel a bit bad for Screech- but the feeling didn't last long. 

As soon as he began to confess that his own interactions with Screech had been bad, Niamh clammed up. Her ears tilted back and she clamped her mouth shut when Quixote mentioned that he felt Screech didn't feel like he should be alpha- and that he didn't know why Screech felt that way. Niamh, being a horrible liar, could do nothing but turn her head away. Because he thinks either you're covering for a stupid mistake Raven made, or because you're oblivious to the fact that she cheated on you and got knocked up, she thought. Her expression might have given the same thoughts away- but she kept her face pointed away, and held her breath. She shrugged and murmured a sort of 'I don't know' sound from the back of her throat. The truth was begging to slip out...Not slip out- explode out of her.

Quixote could be pretty obvious at times, but that was pretty hard to miss.  It was complete overkill for trying to avoid a subject, so it didn't seem likely to him that it was just because Screech was pretending to hibernate.  There was something else and Niamh for whatever reason didn't want to say.  But why?  If he'd done something wrong, he wanted to know.  Did he say something to you?  Quixote did seem to be genuinely curious about it.  He'd tried to be fairly nice, and the only answer he'd figured out was maybe Screech just really did hate everyone..

Ohhhhh shhhh-

Niamh looked back at Quixote with large eyes and a mouth sealed shut simply by the fact that she was biting her lower lip to keep her jaw where she needed it to be. Her ears flicked back and she shrugged, making a sort of strangled sound in her throat. She released her lower lip and mumbled something completely nonsensical that sounded fairly indecisive and vague, before she cleared her throat. "I dunno, I dunno, Idunno," She said, the pressur obviously starting to make her crack. She sat up, then, and considered excusing herself to go back and check on the sleeping little liar. 

"He's just...So full of shit sometimes," She said, and shame bit her as she realized that even if she was saying he was full of shit- she'd believed him. "He's probably just....Protective of his sister." It wasn't technically a lie...But then again, the things he'd said about Raven hadn't been terribly nice, and hadn't exactly been something one would say in an attempt to protect someone else. "I dunno." She reiterated. She wasn't willing to tell Quixote what she'd heard, and sort of hoped he might just catch on to the fact that she knew and he might just openly confess to her what the real story was between him and Raven.

Oh yeah, she definitely knew something that she wasn't keen to tell, and that disappointed him a little.  For a moment Quixote considered trying to pry it out of her, but that was probably something better spent on Screech than her.  If he didn't act like a complete twit about it, maybe Niamh would be more willing to come to him about it later.  Or not, who freakin' knew, but it sounded good in his head.  Look, if you think it's something like that, there's no rationale behind it.  I'd been willing to give Screech a chance to prove he wasn't just some jerk, and I was probably more forgiving to him than I should have been, anyway.  And if he thinks I'd hurt Raven, that's a laugh and a half on its own.  Basically, what was the point of him being protective of his sister when there was no danger at all?  Though he doubted it really was the reason since Screech was so adamant that he needed to be around for his pups, which seemed kind of like he accepted the fact? Maybe?  None of it made sense and he wasn't well versed enough in Screech's antics to be able to dream up other options.

He'd kind of forgotten that getting up would hurt and budged maybe an inch at most before he stopped and gritted his teeth and rocked back down to his former position.  Quixote shifted his gaze out to the lake morosely, I was going to do a dramatic exit to let you think about it, but I guess I'm just going to, uh, stay here a bit instead.  He didn't really need to move right this instant, after all, and his ego wouldn't let him show Niamh the extent of his world of hurt if he could avoid it.  Quixote did want to make it clear that she was free to go if she wanted to flee the scene, though.

If it's something like that, there's no rationale behind it. She glanced at him then, and didn't altogether believe him. He had no idea, then. That was the only reason he would have said something like that; if he'd known that Raven had been with some other, grey male, then he would have surely shown some sign of knowing something. He would have lied to her, then, and he really did not look like he was lying, or trying to cover something up. Niamh was left to deduce, then, that Quixote had no idea that Raven had had sex with someone other than him- someone who very well could be the father of the pups he thought were his. She bit her tongue. She wanted to tell him...But at the same time, now wasn't the best time- she still needed Raven to take care of Screech, and if she and Colt had a fight, she might not do her job as a healer well enough...

...She'd wait, then, until after Screech was healed, if he healed up at all. 

So she stayed silent, obviously still troubled. She didn't believe what he'd said about this meaning nothing...Quixote didn't know what Niamh knew- or, rather, what Screech had told her. Raven's words echoed in her mind- about Screech only ever caring about himself, and that he could very well have been lying. But at the same time...Who should she believe? Who could she believe? She didn't know Raven or Quixote well enough to take their word- and while she'd known Screech for some time, apparently he was a pathological liar. 

Quixote moved, but halted, showing signs of pain. Her brow furrowed. "What happened?" She asked, quietly. She glanced over him, and didn't see anything that she could pick out, but he certainly hadn't moved much since she'd laid eyes on him. Something else was up.

Quixote wondered whether or not that mystery would be revealed eventually, and whether he should expect more trouble from Screech if he got up again.  He'd thought that he was the leader of whatever band of misfits he'd collected here before the Caldera wolves arrived, right?  Maybe it was some sort of weird plan for him to get into power -- make Quixote sound untrustworthy and awful or something.  Ugh.  If only he'd made it more clear before the whole coma thing, since now everyone probably felt bad for Screech.

He kept his focus out over the lake, Disagreement with the plateau.  Or close enough to it.  Just was stupid.  Which had pretty well screwed up his ability to provide for Raven easily, but he'd figure something out.  Maybe.  Possibly.  At least it wasn't anything permanent, and he could (kind of) still stand up to fight if an emergency happened.  It was just... Not ideal.  But he was also a stubborn fool about certain things, hence why he'd ended up in this state, and why he was pretty much just going to suffer through things as much as he could, partially punishing himself for his err.  Sure, Raven could help him out, but he was currently about as cooperative as she was kind.  Should be fine eventually.  It'd just feel like a million years, especially since at a passing glance, he looked fine.

A disagreement with the plateau...She'd had one of those. She remembered the day well- it was the day she'd sprained her ankle- or rolled it, one or the other. It had been wet, and she'd been going a bit too fast down the slope leading away from the plateau and it to make it worse, she'd ended up rolling down the hill and into a burrdock bush...Then Colt had made fun of her- but that part she remembered fondly. He wasn't nearly as bad as she'd originally thought he was; Colt was actually kind of cool. 

He seemed a bit vague about when his healing could be expected, so she oggled him with a furrowed brow and a frown. "Did you like...Twist anything? Or just like...Bumps and bruises?" She said. "My dad always said 'no blood, no sympathy.'" She recalled, with the faintest hint of a grin.

He gave her a sort of over-the-top-of-the-glasses type of look.  It wasn't like he was looking for pity, and Raven had done more than enough fussing over him since. Quixote loved it when she showered him in attention, but that just wasn't the right kind.  Though if he thought about it, he wasn't going to think that was totally right either.  It was complicated -- he was still garbage at that whole figuring out feelings thing, let alone being able to explain it.

I think I'm a giant bruise at this point, with a few nice scrapes as a bonus.  He tried to wiggle his scraped up elbow, which had probably gotten the worst of it, but dark scabs and dark fur pretty much meant it was basically hidden.  I'm already tired of it.  And it'd just keep keep dragging on and on... Ugh.  Obnoxious to do things now.  And hunting was, as he'd found out, off the list.  Sooo.. What was left?

Oh...Right. He'd probably already heard enough from Raven about his injuries, let alone having her ask about them too. She wasn't the kind who liked to have attention drawn to her when she was injured either, nor did she like to have others tease her when she was hurt. His main complaint was the fact that he couldn't get around much, and that was another thing she could understand, so huffed and rolled her eyes. "Oh, I know what it's like." She said. "I like...Sort of slipped down the hill leading up to the plateau, after it rained? And like...Rolled my ankle when I rolled down the hill. Into a goddamn burrdock bush. Had to do fuckall for a few days, and that sucked." She said. "And just like...Just when that herd of elk was passing through. I coulda kept tracking them," She said, but then she trailed off. The elk...She had picked up their trail again- and in following it, she'd come into conflict with Screech. 

Sighing softly, she pushed herself up into a sitting position and looked down at the crabshell full of water. "I should...Get going. Check on Screech. Will you be ok?"

The pack had certainly been keeping Raven busy, that was for sure.  Hopefully all the injuries were out of the way for the season and things could soon roll along without trouble.  Or not, there was always the option for something else hellish to happen.  It wasn't like Quixote's rank gave him the power to control fate.  The rain's the damn dangerous thing, I think.  The wet grass tried to kill me too -- maybe that's what herbivores are good for.  I guess the edge of the plateau itself is another thing I hadn't realized the negative of.  I mean, it's just so obvious if you're looking for it and the weather's great and stuff, but then...  So... How good were pups about staying away from deadly drops?  Somehow he figured they were probably not very good at spotting them.  They had a water hazard on one side and a cliff on the other, sounded like a great place to raise a family.  Why had Towhee picked this place again?

Yeah, as long as the ducks don't eat me or something. --  I'll move eventually.  It just isn't pleasant.  Honestly, it could have been a lot worse, but he was pretty used to pretending to be a super tough dude and bearing the pain of his stupidity.  Besides, he could still howl for someone if things got really awful.

Quixote trailed off, and his thought process was the same as Niamh's. Maybe it was something about the worried thoughtfulness on his features that told Niamh he was wondering about the safety of the children that would be born to him soon. Niamh frowned; the thought of Quixote being possibly the father of those pups...Or not being the father of those pups made her feel strange. She said nothing, but nodded. She too would have to be more careful around the hillside, if it was wet and slippery. She hoped in the winter that the hillside simply got covered in snow, not ice- otherwise, they'd all be in danger.

She snorted when he mentioned getting eaten by ducks. "As if." She replied. "You wouldn't taste good. Ducks know better." She said, giving him another thin smile. "Thanks, Quixote...I'm sorry I'm kind of...All over the place. But, I appreciated the company. Thanks." She said softly, and willed his injuries to get better as soon as possible- whether that would do anything or not. She reached down for the clamshell, but moved forward and touched her nose to his cheek, gratefully. She nodded to him, then, and carefully picked the clamshell up. She gave him a final, appreciative glance, and began to pick her way carefully back to her den, the teetering, water-filled clamshell clutched in her teeth like a precious gift.