It wasn't a great feeling to nearly drown, but it wasn't much better now that he could breathe and all; his lungs hurt tremendously, and his head was spinning, and he could feel the grip of death receding as his body fought to stay cognizant of the moment. He saw the stone—it sat there shining dimly, as if to invite any attempt at all to fetch it—but the dog was distracted by the ailments of his stupid dive in to the water.

He coughed a few more times. There was dirt and blood in his mouth, which wasn't pleasant either. The sound of rushing water left his ears and was replaced by sounds he did not recognize—and Kwetau remained oblivious to the prayer being said by the stranger, except that it was noise, and slowly it transitioned to common, earning a queasy look from his painted face.

The stranger was very pretty. If he'd been less frenetic about his situation, and a lot less damp from his failure to swim, maybe he'd have made a pass at her. More than likely, he would have. The stranger's attention was not on him, though—rude. She looked to be fixated on... The rock. Why? It was just a rock. Kwetau coughed again, but it turned in to a hiccup.

She looked as ruined as he felt.

Jus' a rock, he murmured, licking his lips and tasting metal. Oh, yeah. His tooth.

I foun' it. 'S mine. And, quaking, he managed up to his feet and swayed there, his tail tucked but dripping at his hocks.