Redhawk Caldera The crow flies straight

Elwood was so focused on trying to extract the quill from his teeth that he didn't hear Tempest approach -- until she greeted him. "Feather trouble, dearest Twiggy?" she quipped, and he froze. Slowly, he tilted his head up to look at her. Oh, he was going to kill Finley.

"Yesh," he admitted sullenly, failing to see the humor in the situation. Had he been in Tempest's position, he likely would have been rolling on the ground laughing. But not only had she caught him in a compromising situation, but she had added insult to injury by using the damn nickname that Finley was apparently hell-bent on spreading around the pack.

He remained still as the black-and-white she-wolf carefully removed the feather from between his fangs. She made it seem a lot easier than he had expected, and he was poised to thank her, when suddenly she spit it out and it hit him right between the eyes. Elwood blinked, glad that its point hadn't damaged his vision, then used a paw to knock it off of his snout. "Thanks," he said, sitting back on his haunches. He canted his head to one side and narrowed his eyes at Tempest. "How much do I have to pay you to get you to stop calling me Twiggy?" he asked, though he was fairly certain her price would be entirely too high.