Emberwood Well I think that there's a problem here

A lump had formed in his throat. The more he talked with the stranger, the more he understood why a porcupine had thumped him on the neck. Crowfeather wished that he had not approached. He wished that he had scurried away when he heard the man being struck. There wasn’t much of a chance to assist with the quills. The most that the tripod was good for was being a verbal punching bag.

Fine… good luck with the quills.

The relief of letting it go was welcome. Crowfeather cast the taunting figure a forlorn glance. His golden eyes were saucers, ears flicked back so that his features were more pronounced. It wasn’t worth all that trouble. He had to learn to step away from things that hurt him. He couldn’t let this stranger belittle him, taunt him, talk down to him.

The three-legged figure turned south, aimed to return to the hollow.