Wheeling Gull Isle you were beautiful

There were times he would sleep, but one might not call it that, for certainly it was not restful in any way. When he'd been awake too long and he just could not stay coherent, then he would drift; any noise, pressure of movement nearby, or slight twinge would pull him closer to waking. If he slept, it was insufficient. During one such lapse, the boy was awakened by the soft caress of a body pressing across his back. It was slight; compared to the pain of his arrival and the inconsistency afforded by his treatment, perhaps he should not have noticed. 

There was a voice, too. It sounded far away at first. So soft, so sad. But not familiar.

She called out to him with a single breath, repeatedly, Mou—
Who was that?

His ear twitched, and then she began to groom at his fur, murmuring about puppies, and he watched her as calmly as he could. Eventually she calmed. She seemed so heavy — not physically, but, it was as if there was a weight pressing upon her. Was he causing that? Was he hurting her by being here? He wanted to give her comfort — at most, he could open his mouth, and when he tried to speak, he managed to breathe a small, M - uh?