Big Salmon Lake wake up, sleepyhead, it's happening without you

The aches he deals with in stride. Each wound a normalcy to the boy who's fought the majority of his days away. And yet, he finds himself frustrated. Annoyance grips him as his wrist refuses to cooperate. The injury to his pawpad shook him off his groove.
He flops. It isn't comfortable. There is a restless itch to his feet that can't seem to be satisfied lately. He twists his paw up, beginning to groom it when he hears quickened footfalls approaching.
Whoever he expects, it isn't Ghost. Fur spikes along his neck and down his spine. A strange sensation builds from within his chest, strangling his breath. Champagne eyes rest on the silver coywolf.
What.