Something Prickly

The warrior remained quite still with her eyes tightly closed, only daring to let her brows twitch under each cold splash of the water. Admittedly the cold aided in easing the sting of the thorns a bit, but in the same instance they smarted as the downward pressure dislodged a few and moved others out of the way. Though none embedded themselves deeper into the tissue. For that, she was grateful. When at last it came time to remove the small thorns, the red of her ridge stiffened as her shoulders bunched anxiously; her dread for the following step returning with full force. Yet she kept herself still, holding a strong, steady face even as the felt the breath of the other near her eye. Her lips shook upon reflex, but her jaws remained tight. Her control, the muzzle to keep her teeth sheathed. Softly, she breathed and let her mind slip to more pleasant thoughts than the present. The sooner this was done, the sooner she could return to the den. And perhaps on the way she could bring something back for her companion. If not the fawn as she had intended, then perhaps a plump vole. Something they might share…