08-06-2008, 06:28 PM
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I think this is the first all welcome thread in this forum? Heh.
Her eyes drifted lightly open, though she wished nothing more than to go back to sleep. She didn’t feel like shit when she was asleep. When awake, however, she felt like she was coming down with the mother of all colds. Except that it didn’t seem to follow the guidelines of the usual cold. She found herself keeping a waterskin with her at all times and, though she drank and drank and refilled the water repetitively, she was still thirsty. If that wasn’t odd enough, she didn’t feel hungry. Just thirsty. So thirsty. She frowned, snatching the bottle and taking a deep swig of the now-warm fluid. It’d been sitting out in the sun while she had napped.
Nikita was trying to relax with her back against a tree trunk near the clearing where the gypsies kept their camp. And she was mostly trying to keep to herself, though someone often floated in and out throughout the day. The good thing about keeping mostly to herself sometimes (though it was outweighed with the bad) was that no one questioned it. No one accused her of being sick, though she was sure she was. And something was nagging her — she was certain this wasn’t your run-of-the-mill cold. Or flu. Or whatever.
She took another drink, though it caught in her throat. She immediately burst into coughing, which lasted for a full minute before drifting off. Towards the end, the coyote had to sniff loudly. Her nose had started to run a little bit. A look of slight disgust on her face, she simply coughed once more before settling against the tree. Her bleary eyes were focused on nothing as the sun traced into the afternoon stretch over the camp.
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Her eyes drifted lightly open, though she wished nothing more than to go back to sleep. She didn’t feel like shit when she was asleep. When awake, however, she felt like she was coming down with the mother of all colds. Except that it didn’t seem to follow the guidelines of the usual cold. She found herself keeping a waterskin with her at all times and, though she drank and drank and refilled the water repetitively, she was still thirsty. If that wasn’t odd enough, she didn’t feel hungry. Just thirsty. So thirsty. She frowned, snatching the bottle and taking a deep swig of the now-warm fluid. It’d been sitting out in the sun while she had napped.
Nikita was trying to relax with her back against a tree trunk near the clearing where the gypsies kept their camp. And she was mostly trying to keep to herself, though someone often floated in and out throughout the day. The good thing about keeping mostly to herself sometimes (though it was outweighed with the bad) was that no one questioned it. No one accused her of being sick, though she was sure she was. And something was nagging her — she was certain this wasn’t your run-of-the-mill cold. Or flu. Or whatever.
She took another drink, though it caught in her throat. She immediately burst into coughing, which lasted for a full minute before drifting off. Towards the end, the coyote had to sniff loudly. Her nose had started to run a little bit. A look of slight disgust on her face, she simply coughed once more before settling against the tree. Her bleary eyes were focused on nothing as the sun traced into the afternoon stretch over the camp.