Emberwood Well I think that there's a problem here

Silence fell in upon the forest after a high-pitched shriek. Big, fluffy snowflakes drifted down through the bare tree branches, coating the earth in a fine layer of white, muffling the echo there might've been from the young wolf's scream. Not even the wind lifted to stir the branches or shift the snow- the silence haunted him, made him all the more aware of just how pathetic he'd sounded.

He'd found a log that barely covered a small burrow and when he'd traipsed close enough to check it out, the porcupine inside turned its back and smacked him with its tail. It caught him in the chest, jabbing quills into his cheek, shoulder and leg. He stumbled backwards and sat in the snow, uttering a high, soft, frustrated trill as he worked his jaw in the wake of it all. 

He grabbed at a couple of the quills stuck into his shoulder and ripped them out. He screamed again; it hurt much more than he'd expected, and there were still so many quills left. Feeling sour and sorry for himself at the same time, he huddled against a tree, and began to pluck the quills out of his skin, one by one.

The snow had made trekking long distances harder than it had once been. The dark tripod had ventured away from the hollow and toward the mountain, interest bubbling as he passed through the trees of a beautiful forest. Crowfeather felt growing peace among the trees. He did not think that he could live beneath the churning grey skies, with nothing to protect him.

Tired but pleased to have made it that far, the young wolf sniffed at the snowy grounds in search of something to eat. He hoped that he could tide himself over, prepare for the journey back to the hollow. He would need to be swift before Silvertongue realized he’d gone too far.

A shriek rattled him, shaking his legs so hard that he stumbled into the cold. Eyes wide, Crowfeather scanned the area. It sounded like a wolf- whoever it was sounded like they were in pain. Fear spiked inside of him. The shadow crept through the wood until he had set his sights on an unfamiliar figure. That figure was prickled with porcupine needles.

H- Hello, a- are you… hurt? Do you ne- ne- need help?

Jackie II had been so focused on his own misery that he'd let another wolf creep up on him. He uttered a muted honk of surprise when he both pulled out a couple quills and was startled by the voice, looking up to see the raven-furred shadow of a wolf before him. Instinctively, he shrank back against the tree and bared his fangs slightly. His surprise melted away when kind words were spoken and in its place, grew resentment. 

He noticed the wolf was missing a leg. Even still, he'd managed to come not only within sight, but earshot. His brow furrowed. 

"D-d-d-you n-n-need help?" He mimicked in a high, nasal voice. He sneered. "You have a st-st-st-st-stutter, y'know that?" He droned, rolling his eyes. He grabbed a quill and pulled it out. "Way to point out the obvious, tripod. I'm poked fulla quills. Doesn't hurt a frickin' bit." He growled, grabbing at another quill too hastily, and as he fumbled it, it lodged itself in his tongue. "Hhhhhuck hhhhakes!" he exclaimed, sitting upright as he tried to grab the quill between his teeth, and jerk his tongue back so he could dislodge it- but the quill was stuck.

The shadow was shocked at the response he received. He thought back to his days as a young pup, tormented and teased by the other children until he had become a pariah. If the other wolf hadn’t been riddled in porcupine quills, Crowfeather might have turned and scurried away. Instead, he convinced himself that this sour nature was in part due to the needles that were stuck in the stranger’s skin.

I, there was a lengthy pause in his speech, fearful that he would stutter again. Can help you – get them out, give you some herbs so- so you don’t hurt. Only one mistake in his speech. That was better than the stammering mess his greeting had been. Crowfeather did not want to incur the wrath of his wounded stranger, if he could help it.

The dark figure stepped forward, wary and watchful. The wolf who had been spiked with quills had really gotten a good swipe from the porcupine. The needle that had lodged itself in the man’s tongue was horrifying to look at. Someone was going to have to remove it…

With effort, it seemed that  Crowfeather could drop his stutter almost entirely. It was likely his intention to prove himself capable to Jackie II, but the stubborn male didn't like being crowded. And as slinky and careful as Crowfeather thought he was being, Jackie II's natural defense was to get meaner and meaner. 

"Oh, hhho you non't have a thtutter. Or oooo you only thtutter wheh you wein' lazy?" It was hard to speak without touching the quill in his tongue against his teeth or lips. He growled, clenched his teeth on the quill again, and jerked his tongue back enough that it was pulled free. He spat the quill on the ground, spilling a few little drops of blood from his lips with it. He glared at Crowfeather, glad he could at least speak now. "What do you want from me anyway, huh? Nobody does somethin' without wantin' somethin' in return. An' I'm way outa yer league, ya mimsy, three-legged sawhorse, so don't you get any ideas."

Even through the lisp of his quill tongue, Crowfeather understood that he was asking about his stammered words. The dark figure’s ears fell flat to his head. He burned hot beneath the stare of the stranger with the sharp words. Embarrassment filled his stomach like molten lava.

I- I think it’s… nervousness. If I calm down… or if he went faraway in his mind, he could usually make his way through it. Around those he trusted, the words could flow freely. This injured fellow was unknown to Crowfeather. He was a stranger, and he was unafraid with his words. This made the tripod even more nervous. The desire to turn and run still played in his mind.

When he was called a mimsy, three-legged sawhorse, Crowfeather withdrew – his head jerked back in surprise. He’d never been called such a thing in his life. For a moment, the three-legged figure blinked stupidly at Jackie. He shook his snout and exhaled a breath of a laugh.

I don’t want anything from you. Except maybe for you to stop- stop making fun of me. I just- he lifted his head a little higher. I just wanted to help.

"Nervous?" Jackie II echoed the word, and stood as he did so. His short, stump of a tail twitched delightedly. This stranger was doing marvels for his self-esteem. Every time Crowfeather withered a bit, Jackie II gained a bit of ground, fuelled by his ability to finally have some level of dominance over another wolf. It was about damn time, too. It was his turn to get to be the bully. "Why do I make you nervous?" He asked. A small thread of drool fell past his lips. He was ravenous for this. He wanted to feast on the experience of being the Big Dog. 

He tensed when Crowfeather lifted his head a bit. Help was what he likely needed, but not what he wanted. "Why would I stop makin' fun of you when you make it s-s-s-so easy, Stumpy? Boy, wouldn't it be funny if someone were to am-pu-take yer other leg. Then you'd just be scootin' yer ass around like coyote with worms." He grinned. He took a step forward, trying not to wince when the quills shifted and prickled him beneath the surface of his skin. He looked the stranger up and down.

A lump had formed in his throat. The more he talked with the stranger, the more he understood why a porcupine had thumped him on the neck. Crowfeather wished that he had not approached. He wished that he had scurried away when he heard the man being struck. There wasn’t much of a chance to assist with the quills. The most that the tripod was good for was being a verbal punching bag.

Fine… good luck with the quills.

The relief of letting it go was welcome. Crowfeather cast the taunting figure a forlorn glance. His golden eyes were saucers, ears flicked back so that his features were more pronounced. It wasn’t worth all that trouble. He had to learn to step away from things that hurt him. He couldn’t let this stranger belittle him, taunt him, talk down to him.

The three-legged figure turned south, aimed to return to the hollow.

Good luck? Good luck wouldn't get him anywhere. The man, with his doleful, hurt gaze, turned and began to wander away, leaving Jackie II there with nothing gained- and nobody else to bully or tease. This guy had been such an easy target, and those didn't come along very often. 

Jackie II could be belligerent. So he would be. 

He huffed, loudly enough so that Crowfeather might hear him. He sat back down, heavily. "Some medic. Real medics don't turn their back on 'difficult' patients." Jackie was used to being abandoned, or stripped of whatever it was that he wanted- but it didn't mean he'd let it go that easily. He held his breath, waiting to see if the stranger really was going to ditch on him, or if he'd stick around when he was chastised.

It worked well enough to stop him.

The tripod grimaced, eyes squinting tight. The ornery stranger had called him a poor medic, saying that he’d turned his back on someone who needed help. Crowfeather was conflicted. On one hand, the man was aware that he was being particularly difficult. On the other, it sounded like he had a harsh way of admitting that he didn’t want to figure out his quill problem on his own.

Crowfeather looked back over his shoulder at the man. He was certain he would belittle him, still.

Are you going to be like this the whole time?

A setting in his jaw offered him some strength.

I’ll help you but you can’t b-bite me. You can say whatever else you want.

Was that an acceptable deal?

The man stopped, and looked back over his shoulder. Jackie pretended he had no idea what the stranger was talking about, and tilted his head to the side, giving him an innocent look. Then he shrugged. "Mkay. I won't bite." He said simply, and turned himself so he could lean up against the tree, presenting his quilled leg and shoulder to Crowfeather. He reached around, and started grabbing and plucking out the ones he could reach as well, one by one while keeping his eye on Crowfeather.

Crowfeather gathered all his self-control to stop his features from dropping in surprise. The ornery stranger was agreeable to the terms presented. If the shadow hadn’t heard it, he would have thought the other wolf had cackled something else about his stump or his face, or something else that he couldn’t change.

The quilled leg was presented to him. The dark figure drew closer to it, careful to be slower with his approach so he wouldn’t risk the wolf going back on his word. Crowfeather knew he could get them out. Quick as he could, if the grey-furred figure held reasonably still.

I’ll pull quick. Should only sting a little.

Crowfeather knew he had to pull them out quickly and as straight as he could manage to avoid the tip breaking off.

The slim, dark wolf came closer and Jackie II eyed him warily. It wasn't in his usual habits to let another wolf come so close to him, but this one...Well, he only had three legs, and he seemed half-scared anyway. He sized the other up, keeping his mouth shut as Crowfeather bowed his head to start plucking the quills from Jackie II's shoulder. He growled, but he held still. This was going to help him. It was going to hurt, and goddamnit it was too hard to stop himself from biting at Crowfeather for hurting him. He continued to growl, and began to shake a bit from the tension. He could feel an ache building in his jaw from how hard he was clenching his teeth together to keep his mouth shut. 

It wasn't the first time he'd been quilled. He likely still had some quills inside him somewhere, working their way through him. The other boys had mocked him, and had let him be with it, without offering help- and his grandparents had only had so much patience to spend on him, especially when he was in pain. But being left in pain made him carry more of that pain forward- and he'd use that pain to inflict the same on others. 

He wanted the quills from his face removed, and he was tired of waiting for them to be done. Once Crowfeather had plucked another quill from his shoulder, Jackie II growled and lowered his head, as though to bar him from accessing his shoulder anymore. He bared his teeth and growled, but tilted his chin up, angling his gaze away. "These ones," He uttered on a harsh breath. The ones in his face were driving him nuts. If he was already as wound up as he was about the quills in his shoulder, he figure it'd be better to get his face done sooner rather than later.

Each pluck of the quills was like testing the pressure of a bear trap. Crowfeather couldn’t swallow the lump that had formed in his throat. Even if the other wolf had promised he wouldn’t bite the shadow, there would be no telling if that word would be kept. In truth, the tripod couldn’t have blamed Jackie for lashing out. Pain was no laughing matter. Crowfeather hoped that he could most swiftly, seriously, and that he would leave little room for error.

When the silver-furred figure offered his face, blocking the shoulder from further pulling, the three-legged wolf paused.

Mothwing had told him there was no time for hesitation as a medicine wolf. There was no time to stop and wonder at the horror others suffered. Sometimes, wounds were so severe that any moment wasted was one that could have saved a life. This situation was not nearly so drastic, but Crowfeather wished to take his old friend’s words to heart.

Can you tighten the muscles in your face? If they come out crooked, they have a chance to break the tip off and leave it in there. I- I don’t want that to happen. A fluttering of his eyelashes over his eyes. He only wished to be honest. If you keep yourself stiff and tight, I’ll move as q-quick as a fox.

Teeth reached for the first quill.

He frowned as deeply as he could, trying to pull the skin tight. He bit onto the corner of his lip, so that Crowfeather might not just be tugging at his loose lip for a while, and remained still, whale-eyed as the caretaker's face came closer and closer. Just the touch of his teeth to the porcupine quill made his eyes water and when one was plucked, Jackalope yelped, and then groaned. A tear spilled down his cheek. 

"I'm not cryin'!" He declared. "It's just so close to my eye," He said, bracing himself- as there were still four more facial quills to go.

The first was out!

Crowfeather had to bite his tongue to refrain from sighing in relief. The injured wolf hadn’t lashed at him. He’d kept his word. It was a weight off the tripod’s shoulders. He’d thought that there was a good chance his face would be bitten to shreds, only out of reaction. They weren’t through the thick of it yet, however.

There were four more quills. As Crowfeather leaned in to clasp at another, Jackie mentioned something about crying – the sharp needle was close to his eye, that was all. Honey eyes searched the face of the other wolf.

Sometimes my eyes water j-just because it’s cold out. I- I know you aren’t crying.

A small nod was offered. The dark figure reached to pluck out the next.