Jade Fern Grove I tried.

At some point, he couldn't twitch his paw anymore. Feelings felt so little. In his chest, he could hardly pull emotion. In his body, there was so much pain that he no longer knew how to express it. He also figured that there was no true point in expressing it. He expected no savior, and just the release of his soul flickering out of existence. Bonnie then wondered if he had a soul. If he did, he wondered if it was the warmth he felt in his head right now, or if it might have been the cold on his throat. If he had a soul, would he feel it? And then Bonnie thought that he didn't have one of those. Those were for good people.
But if he did, he thought its exit from his body might feel nice, just once.

Gunnar reached over to grab his face and pull the rest of his figure into the water to rest. There, he'd be clean, and then it would be over with. Then, he knew, that was easier disposal, and that it was the reasonable answer for being sick of him.

Instead, Gunnar's open mouth crossed a gentle tongue to his fur, as if the blood and dirt smeared across his pelt did not matter. No lung was drowned in the river. Two gazes met in silence: there was the hollow dead of his own, and in a man greater than himself, something much deeper. No one had ever done that before. Bonnie thought it felt nice, if it actually happened. Oh, and then he knew how disappointed he must've been in him. 

Then another voice. He thought he'd heard that one before too, somewhere. Every voice grew dimmer and dimmer to him. He felt sleepy. Did Gunnar notice he felt sleepy? He wasn't trying to fall asleep on him and be that appalling. He just felt so heavy, he felt like he couldn't help himself. Silently, he tried to stay awake. The stranger who came first brought some feeling of relief. His bleeding would slowly stop and the strangers work would subtly show, but it would certainly take time.

So sleepy.