Otter Creek This Was No Accident, This Was a Therapeutic Chain of Events

She moved the branch, and with it, the debris.
 
The weight around him moved, and not long after, her teeth found his scruff. He half swam—was half pulled—out of the river.
 
His paws touched land, and he pulled away from her touch, falling—stumbling—onto the riverbank. His legs trembled and shook, shivers and exhausting racking his body. And somehow, he still found time to be a flaming asshole.
 
“Don’t fucking touch me.” He snarled, snapped, his fur soggy and wet, and his body trembling like a wet puppy.