Two Eyes Cenote no, no, it's rightfully mine.

the voice of qiao in the night, he nearly thinks it is his imagination playing a sour trick on him until he feels the warmth of rowdy’s body vanish from his side.
the boy shifts, burying his face into the crook of his forearm and tries to fall asleep once again. but sleep does not come back to him no matter how groggy he feels. he finds himself waiting for his brother to return.
the sky’s dim red glow falls on already shut eyelids.
riot is impatient.
he does not know how much time passes before he gets to his feet and pokes his head out into the night.
crickets chirrup. there is no sign of the pair nearby.
a decision he may grow to regret—he decides to go out and investigate, led only by faint scents in the sand.

he knows the scent of wolf-blood. musky, metallic—it is inscribed into the foundations of his brain.
rowdy. had the sickness come for him too?
riot had already gone this far—in the dark, the trail to qiao’s quarters would be harder to retrace than to simply go forward. the moonlight gleaming from the cenote’s water guides him forth on legs that grew wobbly.
his nose is flooded with the scent of rowdy’s blood, mixed with the reek of vomit.
riot locates the source—his nose, put to the ground, becomes damp as it bumps into rowdy’s bloodsplatter. 
trembling, he wipes it away, hesitating, questioning, then realizing the truth of what it was, and wiping even more fervently. he fears the sickness more than death.
he peers around, finding the waters of the cenote below.
a single tail floats in the shadowy pool, darker than the color of water alone.
reeling, he stumbles back.
his body begins to shake in a way that is uncontrollable, as if his body were too small to handle the grief that became far larger than himself. his throat feels like it will collapse in on itself. he’s wheezing, wheezing—no sound comes from his lungs and 
darkness overtakes his vision.
he collapses at the cenote’s rim.