Firefly Glen Or need an escape just because

wc:354

Her fury went, for the most part, over his head. Like the sound of distant waves crashing against the shores, her voice was muted by whatever distance he'd been removed from his body mentally, while his lungs resupplied oxygen to the most important parts of his body first. Given the fact that his head had been in a pocket, his ears, eyes and nostrils had avoided getting plugged with dirt, but that didn't mean that as his consciousness began to clear, he couldn't hear her bellowing right at him. He didn't react for some time, and wasn't really aware of the fact thatshe was angry at him- nor did he have the wherewithal to wonder why it was that she was so furious. He didn't even have the clarity to wonderwhy she didn't seem at all relieved that he was alive- he was simply aware that he was breathing, and that Fennec was wasting her own breath screaming bloody murder at him.

His memories came back slowly, though the last thing that came to mind was before he'd even begun to dig. Sitting beside her, rubbing his muzzle against her shoulder, running his claws down her sides, and then something about a badger. He glanced around, seeming to take in his environmen for the first time since he'd been pulled from the earth. No, there was no badger. That'd been another conversation.

Stiffly, he rolled over onto his stomach, and felt some of the dirt he'd collected shift out of his pelt in little rivers of pebbles and dust. His head felt light and heavy at the same time- so he set it down on his forepaws, and stared out toward the river. He hadn't even thought to take a look at the ruin and destruction that had become of her den. “Too soon,” He croaked, his voice dry and brittle. “Ask for that back rub?” He coughed, making a hacking, dry sound as he tried to get some of the dust and dirt he'd inhaled out of his throat and lungs, unaware that now was perhaps not the time to be making jokes.