Bramblepoint Choke the chicken

This wasn't the first time something had gone down the wrong way (or the wrong pipe entirely), yet try as he might to clear himself of the obstruction, Peregrine simply couldn't budge the stubborn bone. His breathing became ragged and he made some truly disturbing noises as he began to retch in earnest. He could still breathe, though only partially, and the vision in his single sighted eye began to darken around the edges as he struggled to oxygenate.

Something struck him from the side, the unexpected impact knocking him clean off his feet. He went down like a sack of potatoes, the bone finally jarring loose. It came up with a gush of chewed meat and gore and Peregrine immediately righted himself to avoid asphyxiation. He blinked, still gasping, and finally thought to look sideways for the source of the blow.

Recognition nearly made him choke all over again. It had been nearly a year—seven in dog years—since he had last laid eyes on Lasher. By now, all the memories of him, both good and bad, had acquired a motion blur and faded, frayed edges. But Peregrine remembered all too well his hot, seething words screamed at him beside the lake. And for all his hideous death wishes, Lasher had just abruptly saved his life.

Peregrine didn't speak. He couldn't. His throat just rasped and clicked emptily as he continued sucking in deep breaths.