Heron Lake Plateau But I'm ten toes down, I will not fold.

They both looked her way, though before Fen could possibly react (although it was seriously doubtful she would comprehend the sign, much less respond to it directly), Fig launched himself over his sister. And for the sake of continuity, we'll say he managed to latch onto Towhee's poor, unsuspecting mitt. She looked down at him, agog, wondering how a pup had just managed to get the drop chomp on her. Then he began to apply pressure and her face quickly curdled into a wince.

Trying not to do it too violently, Towhee shook her leg to prise him from it. When that didn't work (and some ancestor in her head scolded her to never, never shake a baby), the Beta bent over him, scruffed the little scamp and yanked him free. She felt his teeth scrape across the meat of her lower foreleg and winced again. It would've been a big, fat lie to say she didn't momentarily entertain the idea of dropping and stomping him. Towhee didn't have motherly instincts to sugarcoat these things.

But the feeling passed quickly and she more or less gently plopped Fen on the gr—no, let's make that on the sister.