Shimmering Sands let me be your killer king

Had he been near a still pool of water, he could've taken stock of the visual his limp body represented; or perhaps if he had been experiencing some kind of out-of-body experience, staring down at himself from afar, as if in a dream. Certainly any beast that came upon him now would witness his current state: prone upon the sand, eyes flickering open, one pupil dilated oddly out of proportion from the other. He blinked and tried to rise. His shoulders lifted and his forelimbs propped him up for a mere moment, then down he went again, feeling a spasm of pain between the blades of his shoulders and the junction of his neck to the base of his skull. Down again, the boy breathed deeply of the saline-filled air, then yawned. Tetsubo vaguely resembled a hippopotamus—or some form of crocodile— as he yawned, his teeth flashing above the irregular dunes of sand around his face. Some grains slipped free and pooled at his jowels, other bits scattered upon his tongue, which he then worked over within his mouth and without much thought.

What are you doing? came a disembodied voice. Tetsubo was usually much faster with his reactions. He should have heard them coming, or smelled them, or been in some manner aware, but his conciousness had been sullied by the fall. He lifted his head—then his shoulders, despite the fierce protest of the rest of him—and forced himself to his feet. Then, against all better judgement, he shook the sand from his scruff. His ears flopped uselessly on either side of his head. His jaw smarted with pain, yet he fought to remain composed, and only bore his fangs for a split-second as it came and went. There was a crunch as he settled his rear in to the sand again, and once he had finished his shaking and the world stopped its spinning, he looked lazily towards the other wolf. His gaze narrowed—and the large pupil in his left eye grew another size.

Watashi wa ochita. The boy rumbled in response. While he spoke plainly, his words sounded more like an assumption than a declaration; as if he was confirming with himself what had earlier transpired. Then, licking the sand from his lips, his features relaxed, and he looked around. Parts of his body throbbed, and his head swam, like it had been filled with seawater that threatened to drip from his nose; something was dripping there, slowly tinting the sand in front of him with a streaky bright red. It dribbled over his lip, and as he tasted the blood, Tetsubo remembered his travels and the encounter—and he was thus made aware that his home was gone, and this place was completely new to him.

He also remembered that few spoke his language, so he would have to adapt.

I appear to be resting, his voice finally rang out again, this time more speculative, but firm, directed at the stranger. And I... Am injured. The blood collected on his tongue and Tetsubo, thoughtful and a bit worried, let it roll around there, before swallowing. He did not ask the stranger anything—nor would he apologize for being present—but he still regarded them with a curious expression, made more surreal by the dilation of that one pupil. Perhaps this entity was the reason for his fall? But no, he had sensed no wolves nearby before—and that could have been hours ago, or days. There was no way for Tetsubo to know for sure.