Permafrost Hollows my brain is a time bomb

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The ice wraith is shattered, a mess almost beyond repair. Blood seeps from his neck, from his chest and each limb, from places he can't quite pinpoint past the numbing cold settling over him. Yet still he moves, dragging himself onward, toward some unknown destination. Wherever Kratos is, perhaps - but he hasn't seen Kratos in some time, so he can't be certain. Perhaps his mate is gone now, too, gone in the same way Helios and Phillip are. The thought sends a shudder through him, and he starts to slow, finally realizing how familiar this place is —
It's home. His true home, the one he'd made with Kratos. It feels so long ago now, and the thought makes his heart ache and his limbs weaken further. Kratos. His legs fold under him in a slow collapse to the ground, strength finally failing him. It's so cold. He'd liked that, at first; now it only hurts, as so many other things do.

the wilds were different than when they’d left them — the atmosphere held tension, ripe for war with screams of joy from the hills over it. yet call him sentimental, he ends up back within this ice pit; frost biting at his fur, blowing one direction than the next. the chill less welcome than it once was, even though the dragon always ran warm.
he doesn’t know what calls him to this spot; or why exactly he felt  the urge to come back here now of all times. maybe it’s a six sense. maybe it’s that destiny bullshit everyone likes to yap about. but he leans down, sniffs a painted patch of blood staining the ground under his feet, and he follows that trail. the red gets sharper — the scent stronger. a low huff rumbles from his chest. kratos quickens his pace.
ahead he spots a mangled, matted form. less silver like he’d remembered, and more red, brown, broken. spiked fur bristles, and he limps faster, pulling his protesting hindleg with him with each galloped step until he reaches his mate’s side. he whips to a halt when near enough, leaning his head down and nosing his cheek feverishly — a few kisses added to clear the blood and dirt. zephyr.

He feels the presence before anything, the rush of warmth and tension like a wildfire raging through the forest, but he doesn't quite believe it at first. It can't be Kratos; surely he wouldn't have stayed here, once he realized Zephyr was gone. But then there's a nose at his cheek, a familiar rough kiss to scrub away the filth and blood matted in his face. Shame tugs at him, but the feeling is forgotten as Kratos says his name and reality sets in. His dragon is here. He lets out a sigh, and his eyes finally flit upward, taking in the sight of him. Kratos, He murmurs in response, quiet for a few moments after. Then he shifts, slowly, willing himself upright so he can at least face his mate. It takes several agonizing seconds — and his victory is short-lived. He lurches forward awkwardly, falling into his dragon with a sharp whine, half-stifled.
He laughs, then, though there isn't much humor in the sound. You always show up when I'm about to die. At this rate... He sucks in a sharp breath, interrupted for a moment by his pain. I'll never need to be afraid of it. He gives up on trying to control himself, and focuses instead on cooperating with however Kratos decides to deal with the situation. That seems like a better plan.
Yet consciousness fades from him quickly — far more quickly than he'd wanted, and soon he doesn't know reality from dreams or memories from fantasies. It's a long time before he wakes again. When he does, he's alone; Kratos is gone, faded like a ghost, without even a scent trail to follow. Or perhaps it had only been his mind's cruelty; a trick, a callback to his childhood. The thought makes him nauseous, but thankfully he doesn't have long to ponder it. He slips back into oblivion before the first tear can even fall.