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

Hidden behind the tumbling water, tucked neatly into his den, Bancha sleeps quietly. As of late, since the turn of winter into spring, sleep had not been coming easily. Sneezes rip from his muzzle, forcing his head to shake away the snot that dribbles from his nostrils. His eyes are itchy and red, his lungs wheezing quietly. With the surge of spring and warmer weather, the trees and grass surroundings them had bloomed with massive outbursts of pollen. Pollen that apparently was bothering not just him, but others as well.

Over the crackle of his small fire that warms a clay kettle he’s crafted recently, he can hear someone slurping and sneezing just outside of his den. A floppy ear lifts first before his head as he tries to peer out through the falling water to see who it is. The figure is murky, but it looks to be his brother, Umeshu. Was Umeshu feeling the same affliction as he was?

With a sneeze that forces a ripple through his body, Bancha stands from his furs and wanders out to the hidden den’s opening. Peering out, his teal eyes confirm that it is indeed Umeshu. Bancha’s tail wags a few times as he lets out a calling bark to his brother. “Come, come,” he says over the rumble of the falls. “ I might have something for that in here,” Bancha smiles but it is soon interrupted by another sneeze that irritates him enough to duck his head and rub his face with his paw.

“Ugh,” Bancha groans, turning back into the den, hoping his brother will follow. Coming to sit beside the fire where the water has just begun to boil, he waits for Umeshu to come sit as well before starting to brew anything.

BANCHA

Wc: 296
Total: 585 / 1500

Ume perks his head up, temporarily drawn from his misery by a familiar shape. ah, Bancha. rising on heavy legs, Ume sniffles his way to Bancha’s side, almost knocking into the boy with the force of his sneeze. “can noses come off?” he wonders, red-rimmed eyes blinking owlishly at his littermate. snot sluices down his muzzle, gathering along his upper lip. “like, can, can a sneeze just knock it right off your face? cause i’d like that.” another sneeze, this one sending a spray of mucus flying. Ume emits a displeased little grumble and rubs at his nose, one white ear flopping comically through the air. slumping back on his haunches, he stares, unseeing, into the fire and waits to be tended to.

healing seems to come more naturally to Bancha, and Ume is certainly in no mood to play doctor when his own senses are so…blunted. it’s a terrible discomfit, like being blind or death. Ume decides, rather firmly, that he does not care for it. “this ish worse than those - achoo! - fleas,” he complains, gazing morosely at his feet. he still recalls that strange encounter sometimes, the purple girl with the foreign scent, their shared misery over those hateful bugs. he thinks about her sometimes, if she ever managed to rid herself of her itches. hell, had he? or had he simply learned to live alongside them, an unknowing host? grimacing, Ume stretches to examine his pelt, ignoring the strangeness of such a gesture. Bancha would understand, if he could bothered explaining it, because everything he was doing made perfect sense. but he couldn’t be bothered explaining it right now. so he wouldn’t.

wc: 862/1500