could really use a strepsil

his approach is loud, every step heralded by a brittle, rattling cough that rips from his throat like a splintered bark. Ume scowls, though the motion is stilted and twitchy on his face, and clambers over to the edge of a lower pool, over-bright eyes darting across the iridescent surface with brisk assessment. his throat itches, a maddening sensation that refuses to fade, and his nose is so congested he’s taken to breathing almost exclusively through his mouth. it’s near-tortuous, and it prevents the boy from retreating to his usual absent daydreaming. instead, he’s remained firmly rooted to reality, stuck in the present moment by the discomfort plaguing him even worse than those fleas had.

lowering his chin, Ume laps up as much water as he can fit in his mouth, swallowing each cool sip with increasing desperation. alas, no matter how much he drinks, that damnable itch remains, and the boy feels about ready to remove it just for the sake of some peace. Ume cocks his head at the thought. could one do that? remove a throat? the idea is ludicrous; a throat was a crucial part of the neck, after all, and how would one swallow without it? but it’s diverting enough that he doesn’t think about the snot running down his face for a full minute. unfortunately, he’s wrenched cruelly back into the present when a particularly wretched sneeze wracks his body, shuddering through him from ear to tail tip. Ume glances down at his reflection and finds a rather forlorn teen gazing back, eyes and nose red, a sad little scrunch to his brow. he looks small, and more than a bit pathetic. is this what dying looks like? it rather feels like it.

wc: 289/1500