... this isn't the monster mash :(
Lukina
As the veil of sleep slowly lifted, and consciousness eased its way into being, a wheezing breath was drawn in. A thick, phlegmy cough wracked his body and forced him to wake. Jarred forcefully from a peaceful night's sleep, but still groggy, he croaked out a soft sound of pain. Every little bit of his body ached like it never had before, from the ends of his fur to the deepest bits of marrow in his bones. Glassy emerald eyes struggled to open, crusted shut with sapphire gunk. Slowly, groaning with the effort, he lifted a paw to try and wipe the crust away from his eyes. He could already tell that a sudden illness had laid its claim on his body overnight, and he found pneumonia coming to mind. Fluid in the lungs, feverish, crusty eyes... it sounded right? the edge of his toe brushed against his eye, and panic tripped up his spine like lightning as pain sang through his veins. There were.. growths around the corners of his eyes. Carelessly rubbing the crust from his eyes had given him the freedom to open them, but the tears that welled in their place made him regret the action. "H-" hoarse vocals barely above a whisper, the young swamp dweller found himself wracked with a violent cough as soon as he tried to speak. The spit that dripped from the corners of his lips afterward puddled on the soft moss of his bed, glowing faintly in the darkness of his den. Fresh terror twisted sharply in his gut, and the tears that began to spill from his eyes were now ones borne of fear. It was so easy to forget that he was still barely more than a child, and though his family was all around, there was often no one around to hear him cry out. As the tears tracked down his cheeks, their gentle glow illuminated more and more of the little room around him. The scavenged glass jars on their little dug out shelves reflected the blue light right back, and offered him a warped reflection of the vile creature that sat in his bed. These pulsing lights were all too familiar. "Mama?" he whimpered, forgoing the deep rooted independence for the comfort and safety of the familiar. Each panicked breath, bordering on hyperventilation, gurgled unsettlingly in his chest and escaped in a very wet sounding wheeze. More of the glowing fluid dripped from his maw and oozed from his nostrils. As he cast his gaze downward, each movement of his eyes rolling in their sockets brought a fresh round of pain lancing through his skull and down his spine. With each passing moment the fever that had been building through the night was solidifying its grip on his brain and body, and when he managed to look down at his paws a choked cry of horror caught in the luminescent phlegm lining his trachea. Sprouting from the beds of his nails were tiny glowing mushrooms, the caps still tightly bound around the stems as they continued to rise into the open air. Foggy headed with his rising fever, he couldn't do much more than collapse into his damp, sticky bedding once more and begin to softly weep. Hoarse keening sounds died on his lips before they could meet the heavy air of the den under the roots of the old maple tree. He wasn't present enough in his own head to remember if Hoarfrost had returned to the den last night, nor to pray that Bug had begun to wake from his brumation and might hear the terrified crying of his companion. As far as his fever addled mind was concerned, the umber wolf was entirely alone, slowly rotting and all the while awake. |