Blackfeather Woods the cookie jar

Squirrel. The little brat called him a squirrel. He referred to him as some nutmunching piece of prey. The fierce little hunter did not take kindly to this at all, his nose twitching and wrinkling into an insulted sneer, the hair along his back starting to stand up and his muscles tensing, ready to spring... but Twitch paused when this 'Damien' shouted the okay, accepting his truce offer but with a term of his own. He wished for the weasel to accompany him back to his mother, so that he might show off his budding prowess as a defender of the pack, or at least that was the weasel's interpretation.

Twitch thought on this for a moment. On one paw, once he freed the little devil he had what he wanted, unless Damien decided to stick around and make a nuisance of himself. So, on the other paw, if he went back with the pup, then he could be sure that it was gone from the vicinity of the cookie jaw, and that he was free to return to it for an uninterrupted feast. "Ok," Twitch said, "but I get to ride on your back until we get there. Then I will play dead by your feet and if you try to pick me up, I will bite your nose off." The weasel gave a curt nod to emphasize his point, then set to work freeing the pup's paw.

He jumped down from the log, confident that this pup, who needed his assistance, would not try anything stupid while he had his back turned. Twitch worked the edge of the hole beneath the trapped paw, chewing and tearing at the bark to widen it enough for the paw to slip out.