Mudminnow River every hermit crab needs a shell

when lestan had come down from the mountains, swiftcurrent was his goal; a return to the land he hardly knew and from which he remembered nothing. yet — yet he remained. he stayed. 
in the grand aim of finding yet another den, lestan had hunted several hyrax. their skins though small would pad the interior of some depression in winter prepare.
he went beyond the creek, however; the image of that deer-bone talisman began to beat in his head, curling his lip. and when lestan awoke, it was into the black madness, the mixture of french and gaelic which poured indescribably from his bedlamite self.
when the man returned to himself, he was plodding aimlessly along a river.
a gasp; lestan stopped short, staring around himself in a frantic whirl; he did not recognize at first anything, but froze in fear and surprise to see that his river foray was not unaccompanied.
a veritable glacier of towering snow, that wolf seemed to be searching for something, and lestan did not know what to do beneath the weighty eyes.