Redhawk Caldera you are blood and earth, not theory and chalk

She had been making marked progress, even feeling well enough to relocate to the fringes of the rendezvous site, only to come down with a cold, perhaps due to her exposure to the young puppies. Had Wildfire been in better shape, it wouldn't have been more than a minor inconvenience. But she was still quite delicate and it hit her like a blow, striking her down so that she could do little more than sleep all day, when she wasn't coughing, sneezing or wheezing.

She was in absolutely no condition to heed a call at the borders, yet that familiar voice reached her all the way in the deepest of illness-induced sleeps. Wildfire started awake, crusty eyes blinking groggily. She was struggling to her feet before she'd even given thought to what she was doing. She didn't have the breath to spare for a howl, though she began shuffling her way downhill. En route, she experienced just about every emotion known to wolf. She also had to stop not once but twice to catch her breath, her left nostril bubbling disgustingly, a scarily phlegmatic noise rattling in her chest.

When the commander's silhouette came into view in the distance, Wildfire couldn't decide whether or not she wanted to run and launch herself into her mate's arms. Anyway, she couldn't. She trundled in Thuringwethil's direction, ignoring the fountain of snot draining from her nose and the stitch in her chest even as she tried to decide how to react to the Heda's presence.