Wheeling Gull Isle salt sting

He jerked awake with somewhere between a gasp and a yell, jerking his head away from what — in his sickened state — he had assumed to be sand somehow slowly suffocating him, landing on his face to kill him. It was actually a tongue, but still, even now, staring at the black wolf-like creature in front of him, he had a vague sense of impending doom from anthropomorphic sand. He could smell some kind of sweet, tangy scent at his paws, but the act of moving his head to look down between them caused immediate pounding and his vision swam. He groaned in pain and general feelings of hopelessness and the fear of death. Then his vision cleared some and he dipped his head down and ate the berries without thinking about it. He didn’t taste them much, for the salt was still too strong on his tongue but they had a sort of quenching quality about them that revived him enough to start looking around for more. He realized shortly and with disappointment that there were no more. He lifted his head then and stared accusingly at the black female who was so close to him. Why didn’t you bring more?