Otter Creek This Was No Accident, This Was a Therapeutic Chain of Events

The water rushed up to meet him, and Daighre met it. It was cold, was the first thing he noticed, the first thing he felt, when he went under, the temperature stealing his breath and letting water burn his lungs, his nose, his eyes.
 
He fought. Kicked. Spluttered.
 
And eventually—
 
He made it to the surface, the river carrying him further downstream, and with it, into trouble.
 
He slipped back under, unintentional, his lungs a racking cough and his head dizzy, disorientated. When he resurfaced, his head collided with something solid. It scraped against his neck, his shoulders, his back. And when he pushed through the debris, he found himself stuck.
 
He grappled with his forelegs, found himself unable to pull himself up from between the branches and thorns and debris he was tangled in.
 
Fuck.
 
Shit—
 
It was moments before he was about to force himself back under, see if he could resurface elsewhere, did he hear her.
 
‘Looks like you need help,’
 
“Fuck you.” He snarled, snapped, instinctual rather than thought out. His fur was matted down against his skull, against his shoulders, heavy cold and water leaden, and his ears rolled back, his teeth on display as his eyes found her on the shore.
 
He didn’t need her fucking help, didn’t need her fucking pity—
 
He tried once more to dislodge himself from the nest of waterlogged debris he found himself in, front paws braced and shoulders shaking, as he tried to pull himself up and out and onto what was truly nature’s shittiest raft.