Lake Rodney death and burial were locked up in my chest [m - gore]

Totally good! :D

Bits of leaf-litter clung to him in patches, mostly where the blood had clotted in his fur. There were brambles from his most recent excursion through the adjacent forest, twigs, even chunks of dirt and rock embedded in parts of his sides and back - a good chunk across one side of his face which had crumbled partly out of place, like he was deteriorating with his absence from the mountain. Across his body, where the white of his pelt was tangled by blood and pus and bits of the earth, his skin was creased with road rash. Lazarus sank in to himself as he collapsed upon the lakeside, breathing heavily, but still breathing. Still going.

The fact he was still alive after his fall, hours spent sleeping and letting the blood seep out of his wounds, and then even this hike with broken parts. It was a miracle. He clutched to life the same way he had clutched to Amekaze, or the mountain, or his own pride and desires - with a hostile obsession. A great and overwhelming need. When the stranger came upon him Lazarus was oblivious. He heard nothingness, felt only pain, and concentrated fully on keeping himself awake.