Barrow Fields if you see me floatin' too many times

@Caiaphas hope this is ok! <3 forward-dated to tomorrow, other tag for reference

His illness lingers, persistent yet tame for the time being. He's not so much concerned for himself as those around him; so he slips away when he gets the chance, knowing @Midar will be furious with him. He leaves the valley behind with his head still reeling from recent events, following the hints of seasalt he catches in the north wind. He excuses his trip to himself with the thought that some fresh coastal air might do him some good, knowing well that it's only wishful thinking. Sick on the coast is the same as sick in the valley — but at least he won't be spreading his illness.
The snow-blanketed field he finds himself in is vast, dotted with curious white mounds. He avoids them as he walks, wary of what they might house. He's in no mood for any unpleasant surprises, sick and feverish as he feels. His attention is taken instead by the myriad of wolfscent lacing the land, marking the presence of a nearby pack. He huffs softly and launches into a small coughing fit, changing direction; he has as much desire to infect a strange pack as he does his own. He'll wander further down the coast, then, and perhaps by the time he returns he'll be well again. It's easier to lie to himself that way, at least.