Swiftcurrent Creek Insidious disaster

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She didn't want to tell him, and had this been an earlier time, he might've insisted on an answer. If he had stayed, this wouldn't have happened, he was sure of it. But while out hunting whatever coyote scum -- omg, coyotes are the bane of his existence -- was left after the attack on their borders, he'd abruptly succumbed to a massive headache that rendered him disabled and seemingly injured for several days.

And by the time he'd overcome that, his mind was already too far gone to return to the Creek. It had taken weeks, months even, but soon he remembered, or rather felt he was meant to be somewhere else. This foreign feeling, in the back of his crazed, flea-bitten mind, had led him back to Swiftcurrent. Back to Fox.

He was more coherent now than he had been in quite some time. Some days he'd thought himself sane. Some days he thought he was back to normal. But none of those feelings ever encompassed this. He felt safe with the tiny fireball. The sun, her brightness chased away his paranoia and ate back at the madness that was slowly eating him away.

He followed her to the shore, watching curiously as she curled up in the grass, and he appeared fascinated, confused, and delighted in his eyes, wondering about her, wanting to know her all over again. On instinct, he circled the small wolf, curling up behind her as he'd done many a stormy night at the last clutches of winter. At the beginning of spring. He remembered that here, repeating what had become so familiar to him, and easily his long muzzle settled into the crook of her neck.

"Tell me as soon as I wake," he murmured, burying his nose into her fur so that she was all he could smell while he slept.