anon was sick out of his mind, flitting in and out of consciousness while the world refused to come to terms with reason. Drifting through this agony unending, such that even time lost it’s meaning, he prayed for salvation babbling to whoever could hear him, and if not salvation, then a release. He could not hear the response, only feel the fire on his face occasionally fought back by a cool sensation, only for the flames to burn forth again and again. An ocean of sand consumed him, he prayed for an oasis, and was granted the kindness of water, which brought forth heaving pain as his body rejected the mercy. He was alone, tumbling through the dark, falling and falling, until he was again and once more wasn’t. He prayed once more, if he had to die this way, he wished there was someone at his side. He begged, rasping out, if he must suffer, then please he didn’t want to be alone anymore.
He felt pressure against his hand. He didn’t know where he was anymore, he was scared, he couldn't focus, couldn’t think, but someone was there.
He… woke up?
Anon looked about, he was in bed, drenched in sweat, from a fever that must have finally broken. So he’d been dreaming up a hellish nightmare? How strange though, his hand still felt warm. He looked over, there was Reynault, asleep, or rather unconscious in some form in a chair beside the bed. Anon traced his eyes down along Reynault's extended arm, and found a paw gripping his hand.
Quietly, gently, Anon got out of bed, and placed Reynault's hand back in his lap, before stepping out of the room.

Heat, brings forth fire, brings forth smoke.

Reynault smelled smoke, smoke? There was a fire in the house.
His eyes snapped open, quickly looking around, the bed beside him empty? A thin trail of smoke from the other room, what in the blazes? It wasn’t lost on him that it was quite literal as he stumbled out of the chair, scrambling on all fours for a moment as he quickly pushed himself into a run. The trail of smoke, what fate, what trick had been played on him of all people? And where was Anon, had the fever set him to walking like a fool about the house? He rounded the corner to the kitchen, a burner left on? No?

Anon was cooking, or rather, a sorry excuse for it judging from the column of smoke he spied from the edge of the room..

“Monsieur, what the devil are you up to. Are you auditioning for the madhouse, given up on dreams of being a clown have you?” He couldn’t summon his usual mocking tone as the fool was finally up and about.

Anon turned around, surprised to see Reynault as he took to shoveling some charred matter onto a plate, “What, no I’m, you didn’t appear to get much sleep last night on account of… well I thought I could make breakfast.” he looked down at the abysmal remains on the table, uncertain, "Omelettes as you can clearly see.”
Reynault looked at the disaster in front of him, and peered back up at Anon, geckering as he tapped his chin, “You’re aware the coal goes in the oven, and you serve the eggs on the plate, not the other way around of course?” He pulled up a chair and sat at the table nonetheless, to take his share of the burnt mess, eggshells mixed in and all. It was the worst meal he’d ever willingly eaten, but strangely, he caught himself in a pleasant mood this morning. He thought of all the terrible ways to describe anons cooking ‘prowess’ and even shared a number of them. Rather than spend the morning digging a grave as he expected, he much preferred insulting Anon’s terrible food.

Alternate timeline

He did not plan for it to rain today. It was as good a joke as any for nature to play. This pit in the soil had grown deep enough for his needs nonetheless. Reynault pulled himself out onto the surface grass once more and looked off to the side
“Mon ami, it seems for now we must part. At the very least, I shall not be burdened with your ugly mug again. Oui?

What was an insult without someone to receive it, eyes gone hollow, never to see again. Happiness was a fleeting creature is it not? How unfortunate though that he must bid farewell to a friend in such stormy weather.

He bid one final farewell, letting his hat shield his eyes from the sun as he lowered Anon into the earth.

“Que la terre te soit légère.