Zara's Wolf (Book 1 of the Zara's Wolf Trilogy) BWWM

5. Quills

Hands up in a defensive pose, I slowly back away. My eyes are glued to his and I'm terrified to look away.

"Easy there, Wolfie. Let's be cool, aight? I won't hurt you and you won't hurt me. We're cool."

Tail tucked under his body and ears pulled back in a submissive look, he lowers his head and whimpers.

That's when I see it. There's something wrong with his muzzle. There's something sticking out of his muzzle.

"Oh wow," I say in a breathy voice.

He lowers himself to the ground, and tentatively crawls over to me, whimpering as he inches closer and closer.

As he nears, I cringe at the porcupine quills protruding from the left side of his muzzle. His upper lip is all swollen and bleeding a little. The mere sight of it screams agony in my mind and I can't help but cringe.

Wolf or not, I immediately feel compelled to help him.

Hesitantly, I lower myself into a squatting position and warily reach out a trembling hand to him. I click my tongue and keep my voice soft. "Come here, boy. Do you need some help?"

Five feet away. Then four. When I can see flecks of brown and green in his gold eyes, mere inches from my fingertips, I cautiously withdraw my hand until he is a foot away.

A pained moan rumbles from his throat as he sits before me, slightly hunched.

I frown, wondering what I can do for him to get the quills out. I don't have any veterinary tools, nor access to anything close to a pair of tweezers. I can't let the quills stay lodged into his muzzle though.

All I have are my fingers. Gulping, I say, "I'll try to get them out, but if you bite me, I'm going to punch you in the quills. Got it?"

Sighing, I shake my head at the foolishness of my words. As if he can understand a single thing I'm saying.

Pursing my lips, I reach for one of the dozen or so quills lodged in his muzzle.

His lips curl back and I quickly retract my hand.

His eyes soften and he whimpers as he lowers himself even lower to the ground. If wolves could apologize, I'd say that was exactly what he is doing.

I understand though. He knows it's going to hurt and he's scared. Heck, I'm scared to do it! I don't want to hurt him, but if I don't try to get those quills out, they could cause more damage and create an infection.

I shudder at the possibilities.

Inhaling a deep breath, I say, "Aight. This is going to hurt."

Clenching my jaw, I reach for a quill with shaking hands. Squeezing one between my fingers, I clasp my eyes shut and yank with all my might.

He yelps as I pull away and fall backwards on my hands and derrière. The quill falls next to me on the ground, its tip dipped in crimson.

He's shaking his head, emitting loud high-pitched whimpers of pain.

My heart aches at the sight and sounds. "I'm sorry!" I say, and I mean it.

I reach for the khaki backpack, wondering if the bloodstains on it are his, and withdraw the water bottle. Unscrewing the cap and beckoning the wolf closer, I wait for him to sit before me once more, with tears in his eyes, as I dribble a little bit of the cold water on his muzzle.

He snorts, as if to tell me he's ready for more torture.

My eyes well with tears. With trembling lips, I nod my head and return to the gruelling task of plucking out each and every one of his porcupine quills.