Neverwinter Forest we will run backwards

A constant tingling settles on his back, and it isn’t pleasant in the least. Akin to stabbing pains, like the teeth of the bastard are still there to shred him asunder. The muscles on his back would twitch, irritating it further, causing them to tense and thus a vicious cycle born anew.
Yet the fever is mild compared to that of the silver coywolf. Oftentimes he finds Zephyr pulling close to him—trembling—and then, away as if burned by his touch. Attentive even in his injured state, he shifts towards him at the sound of his stirring. His name repeated on Zephyr’s tongue a mantra, until finally he chokes out his pain.
He crawls forward, clenching his jaw at the pain, and releases a breath when he reaches Zephyr. His eyes inspect his leg. However much time passed, he doesn’t know, but it looks a thousand times worse than it had since the last he checked.
What’d that bastard do, he hisses under his breath, and wonders why the fuck he ever trusted someone else to care for Ghost—he’d trusted that fool of a girl back in the swamps simply because he had nothing to lose if she poisoned him, but now he has something to lose… someone rather.