ass over tea kettle

Had he gone a bit over the borders on his hike back north? Perhaps. Maybe. But the Grove was filled with small prey and inviting berry patches. Surely they wouldn't mind if a squirrel or a chipmunk went missing, along with some blackberries. Cutting across the northern corner of the land on his way home, still limping from his run in with the tunnels. A hitch in his gait, hindering his ability to focus entirely on the landscape. Baitboy was sore, okay?

As he wanders, the boy doesn't see the patch of brambles. Tripping over a downed branch from their recent winter, and going solidly ass over tea kettle, an involuntary oof. Ears pinning to his skull, the boy struggles to disentangle his right foreleg from the tangle. "Mother fucker," he grumbles, feeling the way the thorny plants dig into his skin. By the time Tide pulls free, there are more than a few thorns embedded in his already sprained paw. Of course. Why not.

"Tide"