Flycatcher Downs Ring ring, the bartender please?

A thin whine of sympathy eked from between his lips as he looked at her, a poor wretch, broken and exhausted. And she had every right to be; her vomiting had been particularly violent. Still, if he was going to get her to the safety of the grove, she needed to have strength aplenty. 

He watched her eat again on tenterhooks. Sriracha stood near, silent and supportive, but not so close that he couldn't get out of the line of fire if she started to puke again. She went slower this time, and Sriracha gave her the occasional, crooning positive reinforcement. Cotillita was unwell in mind and body, she needed all of the positivity he could offer. And boy, did he have positivity to spare.

When she was done, the wretch thanked him, drawing a wide smile from Sriracha. Good, he said. Come with me? Though she had gotten food down, he feared that she would not survive alone. The land where he had found her was relatively flat, but the verdant downs consisted of rolling hills over which he could not carry her so easily.