Wheeling Gull Isle renege

The wood creaked, and the pile moaned, but he didn't get very far with his tugging before something happened. It was almost like he'd caused an avalanche of branches — and with a breathy yelp he released the piece of arbutus. It hadn't been a shifting of the pile that spooked him. When he finally could fix his good eye on the figure, he noticed it was Moorhen and she was snapping at him, throwing herself at him and warning him away from the pile.

He bristled (more out of necessity than aggression) and his tail went straight up, the tip twitching. He side-stepped to try and get around her and aimed to grab at another segment of wood sticking out of the pile but, adjusting quickly to her odd defense of the mess, duked the other way and tugged at a third spot. Why a wolf would collect sticks and stuff like this was beyond Titmouse — he didn't realize their appeal, and wanted to get to work clearing them away before the rains returned and weighed them down with more rain.