Heron Lake Plateau it's easier than just waiting around to die

Owen's mouth hung ajar as he sat huddled there frozen and staring at the mudball's tableau before him. The tree flailed itself back upright—well, mostly; Raleska's teeth had definitely done a number on it— and it stood there cocked at a jaunty and smug angle as it vibrated the last of its hijinks out of its system and gazed down on its puppy victim with what Owen imagined could only be a supercilious wooden sneer. As Tywyll rolled helplessly around, Owen's eyes locked onto the sapling in horrified fascination. Its prey was right there on the ground before it, belly-up and thoroughly humiliated, its muddy brown armor obviously no protection whatsoever against even very small angry trees. Cringing Owen waited as Tywyll rolled about there and sucked in a few gurgling mouthfuls of mud: at any moment, surely, that small gloating tree would move back in for the kill... but no, no, it seemed apparently not. After a long and very tense few moments Owen allowed himself to relax just a fraction, though he made sure to keep the tree still in the periphery of his vision just in case it might decide to go for him next. It obviously seemed rather extra-partial to particular bits of male anatomy, after all... No, no, don't even THINK about it, Owen! he ordered himself in dismay. What a horrible thought— and ouch, poor Tywyll over there had to live it!

His attention was jerked away rather suddenly however, as with incredible and even somewhat dainty elegance Raleska went stepping blithely past him—gosh, how could she possibly ever have remained so calm, after what the three of them had just seen?!—to get a better look at Tywyll in his throes of agony. It was rather like a trainwreck one couldn't look away from, in its fashion, Owen had to admit... but the expression on little Raleska's pointed peppery black face was a strange one indeed. Owen's brow furrowed in puzzlement as he stared now instead at her, trying to figure out just what she was thinking—right up until she opened up her mouth and burst into mocking laughter, as suddenly loud and harsh and jibing as the cawing of a teasing crow, causing Owen to jerk back in stunned startlement as he blinked at her in bewilderment. What... what?! In other circumstances Owen might have found her coolness under pressure and slick, even callous detachment from it all to be admirable, but in this case... his eyes drifted back to Tywyll to see if the other boy could make any better sense of all of this, as the widely-smirking Raleska all-too-casually went gliding past the other boy. Owen's lip twitched up just a tiny bit in a feebly half-hearted attempt to find something to laugh along with her at (... Heh...) though for the life of him Owen couldn't figure out just what she found so funny about all of this. Or was she simply laughing in the face of danger, all the while taunting the tree itself or poor Tywyll for having gotten it its way and given it the wrong puppy victim to sup on? Owen's spinning head was so confused.

Wai... whuh... uh, Rales...ka... Owen's voice seemed rather creaky and crackly and strange, all of a sudden; a feeble and pitiful thing compared to the much louder and harsher ringing of Raleska's derisory cackles, to be sure. Owen wasn't even sure how audible he might be in its bewildering echoes' afterwake; though to be fair, even if Raleska heard him he wasn't sure she'd even bother to so much as turn around and look at him, much less to genuinely respond. Owen cleared his throat a little as he scuffled cautiously sidewise, inching a wee bit closer to Tywyll in a very roundabout fashion that took him in long ars carefully wide of that vicious tree. Slightly closer, and in a slightly quieter atmosphere as Raleska's strides took her a little further away from them both, Owen tried again: Whuh, bwuh... oh my gosh Tywyll. His voice still didn't sound quite normal but at least it should be a little more audible and coherent now. Shock and awe held it down in volume to something between a reverent murmur and a horrified whisper still however, as Owen craned his neck out to regard his fellow male pup with eyes like the round shining face of the full moon. Are... are you dying?

Owen couldn't quite bring himself to actually laugh, of course, but on the other hand he wasn't quite sure what he felt. He'd never seen a wolf actually die before, and wasn't at all certain if that was what Tywyll's pathetic thrashing on the earth here spine-down was portending or not. And what was he supposed to do, if so?! Shit, he was the alphas' kid, and his mother was a healer—surely Owen ought to have some idea of what to do here! If, that was, Tywyll was actually dying. Owen shuddered, but wondered all the same just how stupid he'd feel if he went panicking and yelling for help when Tywyll wasn't trying to be dead over here after all. Or how embarrassed poor Tywyll might feel, if so. So instead Owen sat there staring and dithering. He didn't want to actually touch Tywyll himself, though he crept a few cautious steps closer yet... what if this excruciatingly painful-looking death thing was contagious, after all, or if helping its prey of choice might make the tree decide to go for Owen instead! But he next impulse, which was to poke Tywyll with a stick from a safer short distance away, on balance also did not seem like it was likely the greatest of ideas, either. A stick was probably the last damn thing little Tywyll wanted within miles of him right now! Owen dropped the twig he'd grasped between his teeth and with some embarrassment of his own quickly scuffled the thing off to the side and halfway-behind himself, hoping that maybe Tywyll hadn't seen.