Otter Creek Save your breath, my brother

Around his wrist a garland of red; Anselm studied it deliriously, eyes jerking upwards as a sharp voice broke the quiet. 

A familiar voice. The shape that peered over him took form. Anselm’s unfocused eyes narrowed. 

He tried to push Etienne away, but in his reduced state it was hardly more than a feeble handwave. 

What had happened? Where was he? He remained prone as the memory of his last conscious moments returned to him. 

Water. A wolf in the reeds. 

Dark stripes in the foliage; the contrast so shockingly patterned and somehow, almost invisible at once.

He was too exhausted to think more. His gaze fell on Raindrop, but it was as if he were staring right past her. His mind was composing the injustice of his scenario.