Ankyra Sound if home is where the heart is, then we're all just fucked

Each passing moment resting on the cold, cold ground saps more and more of his soul, his self. Piece by piece it begins to slip away — each raw spot, each bright red hurt pasted across his soul starting with the very nastiest of the wounds slowly fades to nothing. Not everything — but enough.
The grey wolf's arrival rouses him again, and his eyes flutter open to fix blankly upon the wolf he no longer knows as brother — or at all. He sucks in a ragged breath and launches into another coughing fit, more violent this time. He settles again quickly, but the feeling of moss pressing against his wounds lifts his hackles and tenses every muscle in his body. A low half-growl half-whine forces itself from his throat for several long, aching seconds, the sound itself painful to sustain but out of his control. It ends abruptly, cutting off in a sobbing yelp when the pain becomes too much, and he snaps again. Should his teeth find their mark, the force behind the bite immediately dies with contact, rendering it harmless, and he can only let himself fall against the other wolf.