this wasn't in the pamphlet

When Jasper woke to a pounding head and a dry, spongey feel to her tongue she feared the worst. All the stories were true, and she was the biggest idiot to ever walk the face of the planet. She was sick, and this land was cursed, and this was how she died. Probably. Of course, as the morning wore on, (inconveniently after she had already decided on most of her funerary arrangements — Accumulate flowers, wedge self into nearby hollow log,) Jasper came to realize maybe she had it wrong.

By midday she'd settled into the idea that she did not, in fact, contract some otherworldly plague. It was probably just... some kind of cold. She was coughing and her nose wouldn't stop dripping but no ooze so far, so that was a win.

The problem was that... Well, when she'd decided to pack up her metaphorical bags and set out on her own, the idea of getting sick hadn't really crossed her mind. Hadn't been in the 'Fuck You Guys I'm Out' pamphlet. After all, wolves passed sickness exclusively between one another as far as she knew, and she'd had no intentions of brushing shoulders with strangers. Naturally, this iron-clad strategy of hers had done what most plans do upon meeting the enemy.

She lay on the banks of a small tributary stream, watching it wind along into the estuary, alternating between shivering and being grateful for the mild breeze as her fever waxed and waned. Maybe it'd just pass on its own, given time? Jasper could hope.

"Talk" "Listen" Think