Sunbeam Lair my face will be painted in these white brick lines

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.

now that diaspora had settled, mahler knew he must restore his cache of herbs. he had brought what little he possessed to the split hollow of a tree nearby the lake, and now he took the day to seek more. in his jaws dangled the cured skin of a weasel, in which he hoped to wrap his findings.
the bitterdust smell of green things came up from the ground over a nearby ridge; the gargoyle followed it until the mouth of a cavern yawned before him. scenting the air carefully for any threat, he descended into its reaches, eyes adjusting quickly to the dimmer light here.
he was not alone, but not in strange company; here was alarian, coughing hoarsely in the half-glow, and mahler set down his fur. "you are ill. vhy are you alone?" he inquired, approaching the sylph with unease writ into the planes of his face.

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.

while mahler could appreciate alarian's intentions, the healer within the brute is put out by the cherub's self-isolation. was he to wither and die here, then? drawing up alongside the slighter wolf, mahler reached to inspect alarian's scent, gathering the sickly-sweet tang of illness underlaid with the threat of fever. 
"how long have you been sick?" the musiker inquired, direct as he settled into his role as traveling doktor. "and vhen is the last time you drank vater?" dehydration was the true danger in sicknesses; a weakened creature rife with thirst could not fight a malady half as well as one who was better tended.

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.

mahler started, blinking in a stern surprise. "your body vill not be able to fight off infection if you are parched, alarian," and his voice was gently chiding. "i vill be back." with a last look at the cherub, mahler turned to depart the low cavern.
true to his word, the gargyole returned, an offering of moss threaded through with snowmelt held in his jaws. it would do well until he could stabilize alarian. "drink." healing could be done, yes, but not until the first step had been taken, and he watched closely to ensure the scarred seraphim did as he bid.