Sun Mote Copse Sword of Damocles

It would be a long night for Wraen, much of it she would be unconscious, struggling for every breath of air, having nightmares and hallucinations her oxygen deprived brain would conjure before her eyes. Moments of utter panic and anxiety, exaggerated by pitiful whimpering and screams, would alternate with long periods of utter calm. Her heartbeat would be slow, her limbs and muzzle cold, the only sign of her still being alive, would be the rapid wheezing breathing. 

By morning she entered a calmer state, lifted her head and managed to open her swollen eyes just at slits to look around. She attempted to raise herself to her feet, to move away from the stench of, where she had soiled herself, but her limbs and body were weak and the sudden light-headedness made her sink to her belly again. With a sigh of resignation, Wraen closed her eyes again and fell in a heavy sleep.