... this isn't the monster mash :(
Lukina
There was that voice again, and it didn't quite sound like his mama. The spirit had its own voice, it wasn't borrowing that of a loved one- he could have sworn that's how the spirits worked. It sounded like the spirit was here to help him, promising that he wouldn't die. But then... would he have to continue suffering like this? Pneumonia didn't feel this bad, so he was suffering from something worse. Even in his fever addled brain, he knew that he was very ill, and there was something deeply wrong with his body. He cracked an eye open, watched the vague movements of the figure looming over him that signalled... something. His vision was just impaired enough that he couldn't quite tell what her mouth was doing, what kind of movements were happening with her ears. The lichen dappled yearling was left to simply trust the ministrations of the eerie, glowing spectre that was haunting his den. And just as soon as she'd appeared, she left. A commanding bark rattled his brain, the volume of her ethereal vocals created a vibration across his ear drums that rattled the fungi sprouting from the thin skin in and around his ear canal. The pain lanced through his skull far worse than any physical blow or migraine ever had, pulling a pained whine from his spore riddled lungs. His face was wet. Was he crying again?
Left alone, the stagnant underground air seemed to fall still all around him. Each second seemed to stretch into days before it passed him by, while every breath he took became a harrowing ordeal. Through the fugue, he could hear the faint sounds of movement beyond the mouth of his den. The unconscious, simple movement of his ears tipping in the direction of the unfamiliar activity brought a fresh wave of agony, this time powerful enough to arc down his neck and into his shoulders. His stomach rolled, but there was nothing in it to force out. He sucked a breath in through gritted teeth, trying to centre himself. Panic would only make things worse. That sounded right. Had he heard that somewhere before?
More sounds, coming closer. There was that ghostly figure again, leering at him from a height that seemed to rival the trees of the mangrove. She offered up a small bowl, filled with some concoction that steamed lightly. He couldn't smell whatever was inside, the cerulean fluid dripping from his nostrils was gradually filling the cavity of his sinuses and his sense of smell was gone. The spirit urged him to drink, that he would feel better if he did. A flower was going to go get him a blanket. Oh, how nice. Are the flowers blooming already? he thought to himself as he rolled unsteadily up onto his elbow, wobbling slightly until he managed to splay his forelimb out awkwardly to better balance his weight on it. With an aching slowness that betrayed the degree of his own discomfort, he leaned down to take a small sip. The lap of his tongue was more of a splash than anything, flinging droplets into the air to land in the hard packed dirt that covered the floor. It tasted like familiar herbs, but he couldn't put a name to them if he tried. The warmth of it seemed to spread through his chest and belly as soon as he drank it, like the warm winds of spring cutting through the mangroves as winter's grip began to loosen on the surrounding territories.
He lifted his head slowly to offer up a tired half-smile to the spirit, glassy emerald eyes half shut with exhaustion. "Thank you." he murmured, vocals rough and uneven.