Swiftcurrent Creek Let me go, I wanna die in the disco

At first, the word sick triggered not thoughts of a viral ailment, but of something that lurked deeper, and linked more to the spirit and sense of well-being. Moss couldn't dance because she wouldn't- and that was a block that she had put in her own mind. She assumed for a moment that Reverie had stopped dancing because she felt like not dancing- there was something sad in her tone that hinted at regret.

She became more concerned when Reverie admitted her struggles. Weakness, fainting...Caused possibly by a lack of proper rest, and poor nutrition. Moss was no medic- but her sister had been. And while she had learned a great deal about illnesses and treatments from her sister, she had never really picked up the nuances of how to speak to a patient. 

"Sounds like depression to me."

She stated calmly, though with no more concern than she might have had if she'd been diagnosing a stomach ache from eating too many berries. Depression lurked within most, if not all wolves, she'd been told. She'd learned to recognize when it seeped into her own behavior patterns. No criticism played in her voice; illnesses weren't supposed to be subject to scrutiny, only acceptance, and support. She wondered if Reverie had ever heard the term before.