Greatwater Lake phone ringing, never outgoing

His vision darkens, and the world is only dark crushing cold around him, and deep down he knows this is it; this is the last mistake he'll ever make, and it's not even a goddamn good one. It is only when this last thought has finally faded from him that he feels the sting of teeth in his scruff, something pulling him. Void of thought and reduced purely to instinct now, his first instinct is to fight. He thrashes fiercely, though fierce seems to be a fairly relative term here; he feels as if he is fighting for his life, yet in reality the result is likely closer to a feeble sort of wriggling.
And suddenly he emerges from the water, gasping and choking, retching up water the moment he feels the harsh sting of air in his throat. He flops gracelessly into the snow, only distantly registering the sound of his name. His lungs somehow feel heavier than before, and his throat burns horribly now — all the way down into his chest, as if he'd swallowed acid and now it eats at him from the inside. Something hits him, then, through the haze of agonized choking; the stranger. You — The word comes out ragged, addressed to his unknown savior and promptly cut off by his coughing. He turns slightly, gesturing haphazardly with his muzzle toward the water. Him. He manages one more word, tone pleading, before he resigns himself to retching up the remaining water in his lungs.