What was supposed to have been her mate had been reduced to a wallowing pile of day fur and musk. The sickness had been left to incubate while he rested under the furs, no doubt inhaling the remnants of his expelled illness in a repetitive cycle of disease. Had he been a pup, she would have scolded him for his poor judgment in combating his cold. But as he was portraying himself as such a weak thing, she perhaps could have gotten away with it without much contest on his part.
But she was too kind and too exhausted to reprimand him in such fashion and relinquished her position as the disciplinarian as quickly as the thought came to mind. As he untangled himself and coughed his misery, she hastily clasped a hand over her muzzle to protect herself from the invasion of germs and veered her muzzle away with alarm in her eyes. Did he want her to be sick as well? If both of them fell ill when who was supposed to hunt? Who was supposed to mark the borders? Who was supposed to patrol- Oh, she didn’t care anymore. Her paw slipped from her muzzle and fell into her awaiting lap with a gruff sigh. Even thinking of what more needed to be done for the pack worn down her remaining energy. The throb of her muscles urged her not to comply so soon without a proper rest, but the inkling at the nape of her neck attempted to urge her otherwise.
Inevitably, it was the arm of her mate and his pathetic coaxing that tossed her care to the wind and pulled her exhausted body beneath the sick infested furs. They smelled heavily of his scent, overpowering her faint aroma as an effect of his lack of bathing and medicinal herbs. Though she was in no better shape herself; all wild and earthen ripe. But even that realization warranted little more than a gruff sigh as she plunged into the folds of their furs and drug the heavy tops to shroud over her.