Totoka River you need not be hanged like a dog

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— it had been... fuck. he didn't know how long.
days. weeks. time moved on without crowell. he'd barely survived falling off that cliff after the little bastard who'd had the balls to attack him. and he hadn't seen head nor tail of @Chani, or the fucker @Hex.
he'd barely managed to haul himself into a dimly lit cavern on the sands. he'd drank water that seeped from the ceiling, down the walls. he'd ate whatever he could scrounge up from the sands; fleas, rats, bones.
this was the first time that he'd managed to make it more than a mile before his legs gave out. he was malnourished, again. his fur thick with fleas, matted more than it had ever been.
his voice hoarse, his throat dry. when he heard the trickle of the river, he had collapsed alongside it and lapped for what felt like hours. until his belly bloated and he threw up the contents of his stomach. then he laid there, moaning and groaning about his shit luck.