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

There was nothing he could do but float, and so float he did. The stranger who tended to him was a figment in the back of his mind, something non-corporeal, and Lazarus would not remember these next traumatic moments no matter how hard he would try in the future. It was just as likely that the stranger's antics would only spell Lazarus' end. That his help would result in his body becoming infected, or his soon-to-be stump of a leg becoming necrotic, but through it all he would not remember.

When Sebastian left him, he was still murmuring something. The man did return. First with some sort of seed, which Lazarus had no intention of eating, but when he opened his mouth to ramble wearily again and again, Sebastian had ample opportunity to shove things between his teeth - and then Lazarus' murmurs ceased, because he began to truly drift. The pain in his body seemed to dissipate like the blood in the water, drifting over him, around him, away, and back, and away again - always moving. At this point his mind went dark, and he slept.

Whatever happened next, Lazarus was not privy to the details. He sank in to a pit of darkness and drifted apart - feeling every inch of his body melt away as if he had become some kind of liquid, or maybe one with the lake. The injured male was so heavily dosed that he did not feel Sebastian's teeth sink in to his flesh; or if he did, he made no sound, nor did he appear to awaken from his forced slumber. But even this did not last. As Sebastian began to layer his seeping limb with leaves and honey, as his wounded limb dissolved and streaked the lake with crimson, Lazarus woke up.

The light around him was far too bright, so he squinted. He felt no ground beneath him, having forgotten that he was in the lake itself, and tried to reach for it, to kick, to do something - Sebastian had settled upon the bank to rest after the arduous task of amputating the broken part - and when the beast could not touch down upon anything solid, he began to panic. His head slipped from the branch that kept his snout afloat, and he slurped water, sputtered, coughed, felt the lake invade his lungs. The water splashed around him as he struggled to find purchase on the soil, and by luck he managed to root himself to a spot of the bank, and so his flailing became less dire.

He looked around for a moment as if dumbstruck. Lazarus had no memory of arriving here, or of pulling his sorry excuse for a body away from the Moonspear. He was still heavily drugged too, so everything was just... Difficult to comprehend. He stared down at the lakeside, at the stones, and was surprised at how beautiful they looked - they were shiny and red, and so so bright, they were unlike any stones he had ever seen before. They were redder the closer they got to him, and to his feet, which he took to staring at for a solid few minutes before he realized... Something was amiss. He couldn't really pinpoint why the image before his eyes was so odd, but there was something wrong here. The rocks weren't supposed to be that color. His paws weren't supposed to be so violently bright either. The blood had soaked between his toes - one, two, three, four - rocks. One, two, three, four... rocks. 

Where... was his other foot?

Lazarus dumbly glanced to and fro beside himself, first to the left, then the right, in slow motion (or it seemed slow to him). The fact he was missing a limb didn't fully register. The horror of being torn apart like that had been masked by the poppy, and even now he was idled by it. When he finally spotted a foot, it wasn't his, but it belonged to a bloodied stranger who appeared to be quite frazzled, as if he had just experienced something deeply harrowing. Stoned out of his mind, Lazarus reacted with an abrupt snort, which transitioned in to a deep and wheezing chuckle, and then he slurred, Guess... started off onna wrong.. foot...

He swallowed thickly then, sucked on his tongue to get the taste of blood off of it, and promptly passed out. His body slouched upon the lakeside thereafter, and Lazarus' rhythmic breathing instilled a sense of disquiet upon the scene.