“I don’t… I don’t think so…” Shorttail responded. Handy thought he could detect his voice crack. “I think I hurt my wing… My arm h-hurts as well…” he said. Handy clenched his fist and hit the wall impotently. He looked up at the wellhead. The rope the bucket had been attached to, had run its course entirely. Shorttail’s weight and momentum snapped it off of where it was tied to the pole. There goes guiding him up the rope. But that plan was shot as well. If his arm was busted, he wouldn’t be able to climb. He ground his teeth in frustration, the day already quickly deteriorating.