Needless to say, Solveig felt bad. It was a different sort of bad than she was used to. Any harm that usually came of her, any pain, had always been external, physical pain caused by another's paws. But this? She had never experienced a sickness so severe. A plague, they were calling it- a wrath, perhaps, but it seemed that- at least she would pray that- it wasn't contagious. Contaminated prey, more like a food poisoning then anything else, but then it still didn't explain how she had gotten it, even if she hadn't eaten the prey. It were the thoughts that littered her mind as she lay in bed, trying not to feel sorry for herself, even as coughing up blood, golden blood, was a scary sight. Her fever was still raging on, and though she was cold, despite the desert heat, she found no solace in the warmth of the afternoon. Tired. She just felt tired, perhaps, a likely symptom of what she was trying to battle. A terrible third tier she was being, too, stuck in bed, but her limbs felt heavy whenever she tried to move, her eyes duller than usual. It would do not good to go out looking like this, in such a despicable manner. No, they would just simply have to wait until she possessed the energy to rise from her bed.
//Sorry for the shortness! My internet keeps cutting out and I'm trying to race it c: