Emberwood pestilence at its finest

evermore is starting to show more severe signs of infection from rabies, interact with her at your own risk! <3

god, what time was it? what day was it?

evermore wasn't sure anymore. all she knew was that after fighting that lady, she hasn't been feeling all that well. she's been dizzy, sick to her stomach, and has not eaten to be what feels like days. time has sped up yet crawled, and she isn't sure where she has ended up.

she's lost a lot of her weight due to the lack of eating and the constant movement, along with the worsening of the disease within her. death has never scared her. but whenever she catches reflections of herself in rivers or ponds, she knows that the eyes that look back at her do not belong to her.

she's scared. sick to her stomach and not able to keep anything down. terrified, even.

YOLO

She descended the mountain with the thought she would skirt nearby lands and see what final resources she could find for the cold months ahead. That’s what she told herself, anyway, even though the appeal of physical exertion and distance between herself and the mountain wolves felt like bliss for the moment… her interlude with Germanicus replaying in her mind when she allowed it to. The finality of it shouldn’t have stung her as much as it did. 

The fiery leaves called to her. Forests were favored by her, despite her poor history with them… but it was with more trepidation as she drew further into the shadows of the woods. Something smelt off and the healer couldn’t quite place it. 

At least, not until she came upon the sick wolf a short distance from her. She remained quiet as she watched the other, considering—she did not wish to bring any ailments back to the pups of her pack, but despite the rogue’s allegiance to no one, there was a certain stir in her breast to help. 

Wasn’t that her duty?

anyone would be wise to leave evermore to death and nothing else. 

but the woman was not too far away from her. the only thing she could be thankful for was that evermore was not lost. not yet, at least. she was conscious enough to know that she was sick and not getting better. she hadn't gone mad.

not yet.

another dry heave that ends with something actually coming up, though it is mainly saliva and what feels like stomach acid and water. her throat burned from the constant spewing of her innards, and tears threatened to leave her eyes at any moment from the confusion and the pain evermore felt with the progression of rabies within her body.

her paws fail her, she slips and her carpus would feel like it rolled out of place. the incoordination was setting in. and for a moment, evermore finally does notice the other. and her eyes would say a clear message.

"stay away. please."

The woman was unwell—not in the sense that she was gripped by perhaps the oncoming sick season that came with the cold, but something more sinister, it seemed. Of course, the bile that was wretched upon the ground, the slip of the rogue’s paws as she fell, it stirred Meadow to gentle action.

She dipped away momentarily from the other, moving through the brush of the forest and seeking momentary solitude. She could not risk bringing whatever infection ailed the other to her pack—if it were even that. Death could come in many forms—maybe all the stranger had done was eaten the wrong kind of food… or perhaps, even deeper within, her organs were beginning to shut down. Meadow would never know unless she investigated further—but then she would need to keep her distance from home for days, she believed.

And so when she came back to the fallen woman, she hedged closer, a broad leaf balanced precariously in her jaws, holding the most water she could carry without spilling. It wasn’t much, but perhaps it was better than nothing.

And so, the silver doe crept forward, moving close enough she could place the leaf down in reach of the stranger.

this would perhaps be the last act of kindness ever done to the woman unless someone were to slay her later when she no longer is present within her own body. and despite the warnings for safety, the good samaritan is still willing to stretch her neck out for her.

a blink, wondering why someone would be willing to put themselves in harm's way with her. evermore would creep forward, mainly to ensure that she wouldn't spill the water and ruin the work of the other. and while she does stumble on the way, she manages to catch herself before calamity could arise.

evermore becomes still and does her best to lap up the water. her tongue and gums have grown pale and dry, perhaps it was best to drink from a place that could not cause the disease to spread through the waterways.

every last drop is gone, and for a moment, she looks towards meadow. a mixed expression, one of thanks and one of fear. and lips would part for a moment to speak in a damaged and hoarse voice that cracked.

"I'm scared to die." there were many other words she wanted to be able to get out, but a sickening symphony of coughs rattles within her chest and she must turn her head away to avoid spewing it towards the other. "don't come closer." a warning, not through aggression but indeed fear of the unknown. evermore was dying, and she knew it to a certain degree.

The stranger drank. A flash of pale gums, but Meadow almost wondered if she imagined it. The outcome wasn’t ideal, and when the brown she-wolf finally spoke, the words she uttered were just about the undoing of the gentle healer. She wanted to reassure the unknown girl. Ti make her feel better. But such promises would be hollow—meaningless.

“What happened?” Her voice broke— a croak from her throat as concern etched her features, studying the woman. The coughs filled the quiet of the air—a sound of defeat and sickness.

evermore was never one for religious things. but if she could control or believe in anything, it was the hope that this girl would be rewarded for her kindness to her. the dying woman was always unsure of the kindness of others as she grew older, but she was glad to see that despite all of the hell the world put her through, there were still those who tended to the flock.

the question rings in her ear. 

"fought... a lady," her breathing is ragged but the woman slows herself to stay on topic, "days after, got sick." it lacked the details that the medical professional would need in order to make a proper diagnosis, although perhaps meadow has seen his before and already knows what it is.

damn her, that witch! another hacking cough, head turning away, now the woman finds herself crumbling to the ground. she lets herself crumble, legs soon tucking themselves beneath her.

A frown clouded her features. A fight, and then sick? Meadow pointedly studied the she-wolf from afar—the shuddering cough, the pain and exhaustion. Death was imminent, there would be no softening that. But why. Had the other just been sick with something? Or had infection set in? She didn’t seem terribly harmed—at least not from this distance.

“Were you injured?” She had to know—a certain fear beginning to claw at her heart. Something was amiss.

But the silence would stretch between them--unanswered, and unknown. The other had fallen asleep, and Meadow would fight with herself a moment, between staying and helping... and leaving. In the end, the health of Epoch came first, and with one final glance, the silver wolf turned, feeling like she was willingly turning her back on death.