Two Eyes Cenote what I’ve done

Much as he fought sleep, it would still take him.

Like all things, not even this, did he have choice in.

In this sleep, terrible sleep, he would feel it; sparingly, like hurting in a dream, it was hard to tell what was real and what was conjured. A mercy in some regards. In the waking world his paws would twitch and his chest would rise and fall with rapid speed. 

But soon, the worst would be over. If the world were anything other than this cruel and wretched place he'd been shown, then soon, he would wake with family, play with siblings again, feel wonder in every new thing he saw and love everyone around him.

If he even could, anymore. He was too young to be so damaged. When he would wake, the pain would be the first of many hurdles.