someone come play w sick!ali before i glue him to the coast!
tiny edit: maybe
@Mahler if you have time?
His mind is clouded with fever, and his thoughts seem stuck in a permanent loop as he travels aimlessly. Or, he thinks it's aimless — until he realizes his paws have carried him to a familiar cavern. The place he'd met Midar; the place he'd met
@Saarthal. Bile rises in his throat, yet he continues forward, pressing past the entrance with the thought that shelter will be good for him.
A coughing fit takes him as he enters, wracking his slim frame violently for a few moments and forcing him to a halt. The harshness of his coughing has already rendered his throat raw, and this new assault only intensifies the pain. Eyes watering, he falls back on his haunches, sucking in a stinging breath as the coughing subsides. There's a dull ache stirring in his skull now, adding to the myriad of hurt through his body — and he still can't get Saarthal out of his head.
The ache in his head is distracting, and the other wolf goes unnoticed until his thickly-accented voice cuts through the air, startling him. His gaze finds the strange wolf almost immediately, though he has to turn his head slightly to one side to fully see him, and the familiarity of the dark-coated wolf strikes him in force. He blinks, struggling to put a name to the ashen features and captivating lilac stare; he's almost reminded of Midar. And the other must know him, given the way he'd addressed him — right?
He realizes he hasn't done a thing except blink in response, and his ears flush a little. I um —
Mahler. A flash of a memory: a conversation half-remembered (I'm a murderer), patchy recollections of a hunt. Then, another — a field this time, the thick scent of infection and the sickly flavor of herbs. He launches into another coughing fit. He turns his face away from Mahler instinctively as he coughs, wincing a little at the deepening ache in his head. The coughing dies quickly this time, and he reaches desperately for something to say, unwilling to admit that he hardly remembers the wolf in front of him. I don't want to get anyone else sick.
He says as he glances back toward Mahler, realizing belatedly how handsome the man is and flushing a little more.
He sucks in a deep breath as the other wolf draws closer, struggling to conjure up the sense of familiarity he knows he should feel; instead he feels anxious, uncertain, and incredibly undeserving. There is gratitude lurking somewhere there, too, as Mahler begins to question him, and he finds himself clinging to that. Um... a week?
He guesses, stifling another cough. I... don't remember when I had water last. A couple days ago?
He is thirsty, now that he thinks about it, and he's not sure why he didn't think about it before. Hungry, too — but all he's been able to focus on is how tired and feverish he feels.