Felltree Marsh Don't Be a Stick in The Mud!

”Rude? Naw. I mean, maybe for some, but it don’t bother me.” 

He walked more for a second, recounting the event. 

”Was maybe a few months older ‘n you. Me and my brother were fightin’. Or, started fightin’ after an argument got heated. It’d just rained, so the big boulders overlooking the river by our den were slippery. I was kick in’ his ass, had him bleedin’ from his nostrils. Crippled one of his paws pretty bad, but I didn’t realize I’d moved so close to the edge. I went to lunge at him and my back paw slipped. The other three followed, and I landed on my chest, which knocked the wind outta me. I tried to scramble back up, but it was too slippery. Ended up fallin’ bout eight feet onto the riverbed, which was covered with rocks. I fell on my side, and my poor muzzle took the brunt of it. Never did find the rest of my tooth.” 

He didn’t mention how bad it hurt, how hard adjusting to life without it was. How many times he cut his tongue on the sharp stub before it wore down. He’d also broken a rib or two—or, it felt that way.