Shane was fuming, figuratively. He wished he was fuming literally, as without his fluff, he was shivering even in the slightly warm saferoom.
“Dummeh Pistow take pwetty fwuff, nao Shane hab cowdies an dummeh Sawwy stiww hab happies.” Shane’s abdomen rumbled “Shane nee go poopies tu, huu huu huu.”
Shane spent a few hours feeling sorry for himself, slowly growing angrier and angrier at Sally and Pistol. Eventually, his rage was boiling over, and he was shaking not with cold, but with fury. He slowly got up and walked over to Sally, who was napping on the floor, legs all spread out and looking comfortable and content. By the time he was next to her, the manga of this story would show him radiating heat and anger lines.
“DUMMEH ENFIE MAWE! DIS AWW YU FAWT!” Shane shouted as he kicked Sally in the vagina as hard as he could. Predictably, his head tried to slam into the floor to punish him, but instead his sharp, broken horn slammed into Sally’s lower back, breaking the skin and punching through muscle and fat while cushioning Shane from the impact.
“OWWIES! WOWEST OWWIE OWWIES!” Sally wailed as Shane tried to figure out what happened. Not entirely sure what was going on, Shane punched Sally again, this time hitting her swollen teat. Again, down went his head, this time his horn stabbed her in the upper part of her rear leg as she tried to roll away from him.
Finally having some way of getting revenge on Sally, Shane kept punching and automatically stabbing her. He managed to stab her twice more before something slammed into his side and he lost consciousness.
Two minutes earlier:
Pistol had been on the phone, trying to talk his way out of a fifth Nobel prize when he heard Sally scream. He sprinted to the safe room, hearing more screams on the way, skidding around the corner to see Shane punching Sally, and then his programming stabbing his horn into her leg, where there were already several obvious puncture wounds. Without breaking stride, he kicked Shane away from her, not even noticing the fluffy ragdolling through the air, and subsequently hitting the wall horn first, hard enough that his horn stuck into the drywall, leaving him dangling there limply.
Pistol scooped up Sally’s sobbing form and rushed her to the nearest vet. By the time they got there, Sally had quieted to loud HUUHUUing, which she was still doing when Pistol kicked the clinic door open.
The Veterinarian happened to be walking through the lobby at the time, and started treating Sally immediately. After a quick ct scan, he had bad news.
“I can’t save the leg, there’s just too much damage, and even if I could, the nerve fibres are shredded, so she’d still be unable to use it at all.” Doc Vickers told Pistol, pointing to the screen showing Sally’s scan.
“This one on her lower back was worse though, it destroyed a kidney and punctured her large intestine, so she’s going to need major surgery to have any chance of living. It’ll be expensive, do you want me to proceed?”
“I’m rich, it’s fine, just save her. Also, instead of just amputating the leg, can you replace it with a donor leg?”
“Sure, we keep a small supply of foals and adults for just that purpose.”
“What if I bring a fluffy in, could you take his leg and give it to Sally?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“Okay then, why don’t you get started, I’ll be right back.”
