Larksong Grotto death blossom

Hi. Cypress is a super attractive wolf. I promise.

“Okay,” the wolf agreed meekly, using her name to see if that would appease her any. “Okay, Easy.” He watched her with brimstone eyes that were more bewildered than baleful, turning to scratch at the collar again. Maybe he was sick. Dumb and sleepy, that’s what Easy’d said. “She used to give me medicine,” he remembered suddenly, sitting bolt upright and stopping his scratching with one hind leg cranked awkwardly in the air. “I’m sorry — I thought you were somebody else before, but — ” He ought to have put his foot in his mouth but it was too late, now. He sounded crazy and he knew it, but he couldn’t stop. “It’s because I’ve been — I’ve been injured and sick. That was wrong of me,” he said earnestly, embarrassed and ashamed.

What was wrong with him? The wolf got to his feet and shook his head, trying to clear it. He was cold and sluggish and dizzy and confused, and now that he had a picture of Alya in his head he couldn’t imagine how he’d ever made such an idiot mistake. “My head is killing me,” he managed to say, before his stomach rolled and heaved and he promptly threw up. Unfortunately for Specimen 3382, his malnourished and vastly overdosed body decided this was simply too much to deal with and triggered a vasovagal response. Gracelessly, he faceplanted directly into the puddle of pile, twitched once, and stopped moving.