Can you tell me where we're headin', Lincoln county road or armageddon

Pestilence knew she wasn't being fair to Alarr, but it was difficult to be calm and collected and rational when your body was literally fucking growing mushrooms. Were they both going to die? Would they just be like this forever? How could she ever fight again when even walking pained her? Tyrian would boot both her and Rasha out of Fireside for good, and they'd die together packless as useless, infectious wolves. "Ugh." She dropped her head and sighed, then lifted a paw to begrudgingly reach for the tea he'd brewed as another round of coughing wracked her lungs.

He offered her another medicinal option and Pesto wrapped her paws around the tea cup while her monkey stepped forth to grab the moss. Pasketti did as Alarr instructed, squeezing out the garlic water on top of her growths. "Are we going to die?" She asked after a moment of silence.