Silvertip Mountain Let's trade shoes, just to see what it'd be like

Mason had gnawed the wound more open by the time Alphess arrived on the scene. Despite his worrying of the wound, he did look up from his task when she appeared. Her agouti fur frosted with snow until she looked like a festive yule log, here to bring him tidings of comfort and joy. With her tail sky high, Mason’s immediately bottled it and dropped to the ground – it couldn’t curl beneath his belly only because he was already flattened against the rock. 

It didn’t take long before she nuzzled his snow-spotted neck. Mason blinked up at her, dazed by her touch. Why did she have to keep doing this? Turning up and making his legs turn to jelly? Mason wanted to hate her, but unfortunately he could not muster the feelings. He had been thinking his amour for her had dimmed, but then she swanned up and touched him, so close he could smell her sweetness. Mason lay stiff until she was finished her inspection… or so he thought.

One keen-eyed sideways glance was all the warning she gave him. Suddenly Zaria nipped at his wound. Somehow, through blinding pain, he realised she had caught the pads at just the right angle he couldn’t, and she had removed the rock. But as he was realising this, his body was acting unbidden. Mason leapt to three paws, his injured one tucked up towards his chest, and backed away from her three paces whilst he roared at her. Alpha or not, she had invaded his personal space whilst wounded, prodded him, hurt him. Worse, she did this whilst knowing what her touches did to him. Now he was an unreasonable and very sore bear. Droplets of blood quivered from his paw onto the snowy white ground, marring its freshness with his taint.

“GRAAAAAARGGRHHHHHHHHH STOP IT!” he fumed the last part after his wordless roar had ceased, staring at her vehemently from under furrowed brows, breathing heavily. Stop it, stop everything, please.