
All because he couldn’t reach the damn stick that had embedded itself in the base of his tail, right near him rump. No amount of scratching could dislodge it, no span of rubbing against things managed to get near it. His paws couldn’t reach, and flailing his tail only seemed to make it hurt more.
Oh God, he hated it so much. SO MUCH.
The pain, admittedly, wasn’t all that extensive, but it was still more than he was used to. Such a passive, respectful guy had never really gotten into a lot of rough situations. Even as a cub, he hadn’t been a wild thing. Injuries never really found their way to him. That, alone, was what had him in such an uproar. This whole thing was unfamiliar territory for him.
He didn’t like the experience and wished it to be over.
Of course, his wailing only seemed to gain him funny looks from the other pride members. What’s with the crazy guy running around like he’s ready to die? Why does he had a stick in his butt?
They didn’t seem too keen on helping him. Whimpering, he plopped down on the floor, beating his tail against the ground before rolling himself onto his back. Dirt be damned- he needed to get the stick off of him. Never again would he sit down without looking behind him first.