Lost Creek Hollow domestic pressures

mona stood along a well-traveled footpath in the middle of lost creek hollow, staring dismally at a pile of her own vomitus. the urge had come upon her suddenly and without warning; one moment she had been tracking an ermine through the snowy forest, and the next had retched the entirety of her breakfast into a nearby drift.
disgusted, confused, and horrified, mona pawed snow over the mess and hurried onward. fear rose within her that illness was beginning to steal into her body, and she did not know if the hollow had a healer. at a trot she moved, her hunt forgotten.