Bramblepoint The Parting Glass

Shrike had passed unconscious the moment after he'd spoken those words, and in doing so, had left the choice to Sassafras, whether she would fulfill the task or not. Had he been a wolf bitten by a zombie, he would have asked her to do the same- make sure that he could do no harm to any other wolves by taking care of him before he even became a threat. Of course, Shrike wasn't bitten by a zombie, or bitten at all; he was poisoned by inadvertantly tasting the blood of another wolf who had been freshly poisoned as well. Naturally, Shrike had absolutely no concept of what happened when poisons, in great or small amounts were consumed. All he could assume was what he gathered from his current state of being, and he felt as though he was dying. 

By the time Sassafras had finally managed to begin pushing dirt toward the den, Shrike had begun to pass from unconsciousness and into a warped sort of dream. Not that he could fully grasp what was going on in his mind or in his body, but his breaths had gone from ragged to steady, albeit faint, and surely inaudible over the slow, dogged drag of earth. He couldn't have been summoned form his slumber at that point had anyone even tried- his body was doing its best to fight off the poison and recover, though it was an uphill battle. 

He wouldn't know how long it took, eventually, but by the time the air began to grow close, the sun had risen, the birds had gone from chirping to singing, and the flowers had turned their bright faces to the sky to absorb the warmth. Shrike was still far from waking, but his throat tickled. He continued to breathe, but the raspiness began to itch his throat, and finally, he coughed four times, licked his lips, and continued to slumber, unaware of the fact that his own tomb had been closing in on him.