Rhyme was half surprised that he made it through the winter, even more he was surprised he hadn’t had to yet say goodbye to his mother. Rhythm fared better through the cold season than he had. All through the frigid winter Rhyme felt the cold deep in his bones and every day was painful. He’d mitigated as well as he could but Rhyme was truly feeling his age. He hid the symptoms as best he could, he didn’t want to worry anyone who cared about him but even if he hid his pain his image was changing. The old man was now more gray in the face than he was not, you could hardly make out the pale markings beneath his eyes now with the salt that flecked over the pepper of his features. Rhyme knew he was entering the last stage of his life. At one point he had yearned for these moments, but now his patience held strong. The glowing illness didn’t help his physical health in the least. The man continued about his life, he had duties to see to and they would not be shirked. As he was doing now, white flecked pas carried him over the ancient path of Abaven’s border as his mind revisited the past. He hadn’t realized until he was here that he’d found his way to the hallowed land that held the bodies of those gone before him. ""

She'd been keeping to herself since the sickness had worsened, but something called her home to the pack lands tonight. Theory wandered them like a forlorn ghost, keeping to paths less traveled to avoid running into anyone. Even now with thick liquid trickling out of her eyes, ears, nose... everywhere, and her head half-mad, one thought prevailed: I will not worry them. I will get through this. I have lives depending on me. But it was getting harder and harder to hold on to this fleeting impulse. The darkness was closing in. It was completely smothering. At all times her ribs were coated in a thick sweat. She hardly slept, preferring to wander endlessly until her paws nearly wore out beneath her and she passed into a dreamless slumber wherever she had fallen. Worse now, she was increasingly terrified for the safety of the pack. Strange thoughts came and went as quickly as they arrived: The ocean is rising. We will all drown. Incendium is on their way to wreak havoc, reborn after Sparrow's victory. The rapids will run red with the blood of children. They circled and flitted about like nasty scavengers, waiting for her to grow weak enough that she would give in. Staying away from the pack was only made possible because she knew she could trust Rhyme and Corvus implicitly, even when her traitorous brain whispered that they were conspiring against her. Never, never, never. They were the only two she could depend on. When she caught Rhyme's scent she followed it mindlessly. She felt as if she had reverted to a child, the sickness addling her brain and stripping her back down to her baser needs. Comfort. Food. Sleep. Family. A keen whine was building in her throat by the time she found him. Her approach was enough to frighten any wolf: she was seeping fluid from almost every orifice and angry blisters had swollen on her legs. They leaked the same bright liquid. No matter what she did, nothing staunched the flow. Not a single poultice. Not one remedy. She was shocking to behold. "Dad," she whimpered, throwing herself at his feet. She cried like a child. "It hurts. Please, please make it stop." Peering up at him from the ground, she had a sudden rock of deja vu - looking up at him from below as a child. His image was rendered youthful in her mind, all of his grey stripped away. He looked to her as he had in his prime: a fierce protector. Her guardian. Her father. "Speech"

Rhyme saw far too many disasters and heartache in his many years in this land. His life started out perfect, he grew up well in his father’s pack, but that dreamy time was soon destroyed when he and his mother were held against their will for far too many years. He’d seen Abaven struck by drought and fire, he’d seen the volcano erupt and drive them from their home. Rhyme lived through the endless winter, and now he struggled through this glowing curse. Had he been unaffected Rhyme would have been horrified by the sight of his daughter as she whined and approached him miserably. She was a wreck, just as much as her father. Theory collapsed at his feet and lamented pitifully to him. For a moment fear gripped the man, not because he was frightened of his daughter but because he was scared she would lose her life to this. He was old, he had seen and experienced everything the world could offer, she was young and vibrant and should have had many many years ahead of her. "Theory,” He spoke raggedly as he lowered his own afflicted form beside hers. She no longer fit in his embrace as she once did. She begged for him to take away the sickness and Rhyme’s heart broke. He was powerless to help her. It was hard not to see his lost puppy where Abaven’s alpha now lay in his embrace. "All I can do is ease it with a kiss,” Rhyme admitted to her softly, he held her tight and despite his own affliction he kissed her forehead like he had when she was a child. ""

Something far away in her ooze-addled brain registered the fact that Rhyme, too, was sick. And he was old. He might not weather this illness. If she was in her right mind, she would have realized immediately that this embrace may be their very last - but she was not in her right mind and hadn't been for a few weeks now. The illness had cost her so much and it would steal more from her before it was done. Theory whimpered and pressed herself closer to Rhyme's body. She could feel the sharpness of his bones, so close now to his skin. He had been wasting away right before her eyes and she'd been blind to it. A moment of prescience seized her and wrenched her heart violently: Yes. This was most certainly the end. As soon as she was certain, the knowledge left her. Strange gaps of time and amnesia had plagued her for the past few days. The illness was certainly worsening. Theory pressed her forehead lightly into his kiss. "That makes it feel better," she murmured, her eyelids heavy with the gunk that had been streaming out of them. "Remember... when I beat you in that spar?" She laughed, but the noise was thick and wet with the slurry of ooze that she couldn't quite expel. It took so much work to clear her airway now. "But you've always been stronger than me. Always. I love you," she said, her breathing finally evening out as sleep took hold. That deep rest had evaded her for so long, but guarded by her father, she finally felt comfortable enough to let herself be vulnerable. Just for a little while. "Speech"