Seemingly out of the blue an illness had snuck up on the King and knocked him off his paws. One day he was well, if a little off kilter, and the next his chest was so heavy he could barely breathe. From there everything had gone downhill rather quickly until at last Valentine was little more than a walking contagion. Each breath bubbled; the air leaving his lips with an audible, sickly crackle. A high fever led to uncontrollable shivers that racked his body with enough force to downgrade his movements from a confident swagger to a spasm-ridden shuffle. He ached terribly. His chest, his joints...to some degree everything hurt. With the slow, careful movements of an old, arthritic man, Valentine lowered himself to the ground beside one of the massive rims of his beloved tractor. His chest heaved with the effort that had been required to get him there, each ragged breath struggling to lift the weight of his too heavy chest. The King, in defeat, dropped his head to the earth. His eyes slid closed but were unable to block out the simple hallucinations that had been loitering in his peripheral vision. An aggrieved sigh bubbled from his lips. There was little else he could do but lay there. Valentine felt trapped, felt caged inside his own body. He loathed every second of it, but was unable to meaningfully focus his attention on anything other than breathing. ""

Something smelled off - very off, and Lykos couldn't figure out what it was. He peered around the big metal monster at his alpha; the scent of Valentine was mixed with something icky and weird, and Lykos didn't like that at all. Why was it there? Why did it smell so odd? Why was Valentine moving so slowly - lowering himself to the ground so slowly? He seemed old, so very old. Cautiously, he approached, whining softly. Was something wrong? Something terribly wrong? "What's wrong?" he said quietly as he stepped towards the man, ears flicking back as concern nigh on radiated off of the tall yearling.