“Its alright!” Timothy said in response, leaning further. “I’ll be careful.” He reached over with his free claw, gripping the wooden pole the rope of the bucket was wrapped around. “Tartarus that’s far down…” he muttered. “Hey, Handy, what do you think all these-” He didn’t get to finish the sentence. The bucket gave way under his weight, the rusted gear, long since seized up, surrendered under the pressure building up upon it, and Timothy Shorttail plummeted down the well with a yelp. Handy’s eyes widened as he ran towards it.