Otatso Wetlands the sweetness will not be concerned with me

Screaming had long faded to silence, stillness among the brackish waters of the wetlands. Somewhere, nestled in the mud, there was something small— something living, if only barely. The water and mud around the figure was stained deep red, a color coating the furry form itself, coagulating in some areas to form patches of scarlet on the body.
The rise and fall of the tiny chest was faint— so faint, it could easily be missed. He was dying. Or, he would be soon. It hardly mattered at this point. He drifted in and out of consciousness, barely grasping the fragile threads still holding him to life. There was no pain— no, he only felt cold. So, so cold.