Draven was in a very, very bad mood today. He had wanted to go out playing with his siblings today - he missed playing with them sometimes, and anyway after his hunt he felt like going on a more exciting adventure today. But he couldn't have kept up with them at all like he was! His stupid toe hurt more and more every day, instead of getting better like it was supposed to. The bite that dumb little mouse had given him was still red, and now it was starting to get puffy and gross-looking. That would have been fine if it didn't hurt so bad! He couldn't walk or stand on it for very long without having to lift it off of the ground again or sit or lay down...

It was really starting to scare him a little bit, although he tried to hide how bad it hurt and didn't tell anybody how scared he was. But he was really scared, because this wasn't like the bumps and scratches he got from wrestling with his siblings or playing outside the den. Those all stopped hurting and went away after a few days, but this bite was hurting worse and worse. What was wrong with his foot? Was it dying? Was his toe coming off? Would they have to take his toe off so he could keep his foot?

He whimpered and crouched low against the ground, squeezing his eyes shut against the images in his head. Oh, no! That was it, wasn't it? He must have waited too long to clean the bite when he got it, and now his toe was dying and his foot might come off or be crippled forever and then he wouldn't ever be able to hunt or fight or even scout around because he'd have to stay cooped up in the den forever so he didn't get hurt--!

A loud, distressed yelp tore its way out of the little black prince, followed by a long series of more yelps. He was going to lose his foot! He was going to be crippled and have to stay in the den like Calanthe had had to when she first got here, and while she started doing things he was gonna have to sit around and never do stuff because he was going to lose a foot and how was a three-footed wolf supposed to do anything useful for a pack?!

Nobody's going to want me, I'm gonna be broken and look like a freak and everybody's gonna be embarassed with me and nobody's gonna want me anymore because I'll look weird and different and I'm never gonna hunt again or fight or run or play or jump or walk and Momma's gonna kick me out of the pack and I'm gonna die because I'm gonna be all alone and never see anybody again and-- Draven's whining cut off into a much more startled yelp as Gent's voice finally cut through his panic, clearing away some of his frantic thoughts for a moment.

The boy's coal-colored head snapped up. “Gent!" he called, at first relieved to see the giant. Gent could fix his foot! Gent knew all kinds of things; he could bring Draven straight back to the den and fix his foot... right in front of everybody. Oh. "I... n-nothing!" Fern green eyes locked with Gent's icy blue gaze as Draven scrambled clumsily to his paws, ears still flat against his head. Oh, no! He should never have let Gent hear him! If he told the towering man what was wrong, he'd make Draven tell everybody else, and then somebody might take his foot off - or maybe he'd just make him tell Minka, and then she would send him away without even trying to help him and he'd end up stuck out all alone with a withered up old twig for a leg and--

Caught up again in his own imagination, Draven failed to notice the feather laying quill-up beneath him until he stepped right on it with his bad foot, driving the sharp end into his bite.

OW! Draven stumbled to the side and fell over, his paw burning and seeping again from the feather jab. At least the feather didn't stick - no, except now Gent could see what was wrong! Oh, no, oh, no!

“It's only a little hurt!” the terrified pup insisted, heedless of whether or not Gent had actually said anything. “It's just a cut! Please don't take my toe off or send me away, please!”

The youngest Crest prince squeaked in surprise (and maybe a tiny bit of fear) as Gent scooped him against his side and cradled him between his big forelegs. Oh, no! He was gonna bite Draven's toe off anyway! The dark pup squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head away, hoping it wouldn't hurt too much...

"Why would I do any of that?" The giant's voice was kind, not mocking or mean or angry or anything like what Draven had thought it might sound like. That and the fact that his toe and foot and leg all still seemed to be attached to the rest of him gave Draven enough courage to peek up at Gent with one eye - but he kept the other one closed, just in case Gent was just looking for a good spot to bite.

“Because my toe isn't getting better.” Did Gent really not understand what was wrong after all? Maybe he couldn't help Draven. Then again, if he didn't know what the problem was, maybe the enormous black wolf also wouldn't try biting off any part of Draven's foot or leg... But then that also meant Draven didn't know whether or not there was a way to get his toe fixed without having it taken off, either, and the suspense was killing him. “It's hurting more and more, even though I cleaned it after the dumb mouse bit me. It's not going away like all the other times I get scraped or bump into something.”

His ears started sliding back against his head again, having pricked for a moment at Gent's question. He really couldn't think of anything else Gent could do but take off his foot, just to make sure he got rid of whatever was keeping his toe from getting better. Obviously something was wrong with it, and if that something had gotten into his cut, how did they know it wouldn't get into the rest of him, too?

“...Are you gonna have to take my toe off?” he asked in a very, very small voice.

Draven practically melted with relief as he listened to Gent assure him that, no, they didn't have to take off any part of his foot or leg - although it was scary to think that he could have lost something if he had waited any longer to tell somebody he was hurt. But how was he supposed to have known that, anyway? What if he had told somebody right away and ended up losing the toe after all because they didn't know as much as Gent did about this kind of stuff?

Oh, well. At least Gent was the one who had found him first, and now everything would be okay because Gent did know how to fix his toe without taking it off. That was a relief; now he wouldn't have to go through life hobbling around on three and a half legs. He could just hear Ari or Kino having to explain that to any strangers: "This is our little brother, Draven. He only has three legs, so we have to be careful not to play too rough with him." The humiliation ate at him even just thinking about it.

His coal-black ears pricked at Gent's question about Lugh's den. “That's the funny-smelling place with all the plants,” he informed the towering giant. “Why? Do we need to go there?” He wasn't exactly thrilled about the idea of walking all the way back to the den, but the black prince wasn't about to let Gent know that. He could manage limping around a little bit more - it was only a... a... what had Gent called it again? An infection?

“Hey, Gent?” the pup asked. “What's an infection?”

Draven limped along after Gent, trying not to slow the giant man down too much despite the pain in his foot. He had done it to himself, after all, and he was too big to be carried around anymore without being hurt by that, too, so the dark pup knew he didn't really have much room to complain. Besides that, his pride stung too much already for him to be able to bear the shame that would come of hearing himself start whining over his war wound. Bad enough it wasn't fixing itself like it should be.

Hearing Gent answer his question made him tilt his head a bit. On one hand, what the man said made a great deal of sense to the little pup - it sounded kinda like his skin was a border and the pain was Guardians in his body fighting off the stuff that crossed that border. But then, shouldn't that also mean more of his injuries got infected?

“If it's infected 'cause of mouse spit, how come other scrapes I get don't get infected, too?” Pain momentarily forgotten, Draven trotted forward a bit until he was shoulder-to-front leg with Gent, his attention trained on the man. “I get scrapes from logs and rocks sometimes, or from Ari when I play wrestle with her.” Not from Kino. Not anymore, anyway; he'd gone to great lengths to avoid that litter mate as much as he possibly could, even when that meant going to fewer interesting places and doing less with Ari, who was often with Kino. “The rocks and Ari's claws are dirty, right? How come those scrapes don't get infected, too?”