Ppgz & Rrbz A wolves story

Chapter 35: A Wolf's Nightmares

"Ugh...Damon...?"

Blinking open heavy eyelids, the boy tried to sit up. The attempt was futile, however, as he felt a sharp jolt of pain and crumpled in the bed. He let out a low moan of pain.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" The familiar soothing voice entered his ears, and the speaker sat down beside him with a bowl of steaming soup.

"Not good," he responded weakly, "my head's spinning and I feel like I'm about to throw up." He let out a pathetic raspberry to emphasize his point.

The man beside him tutted, holding out his hand and feeling the boy's forehead. It felt quite hot. "Seems like your fever still hasn't let up."

"Damon... Do you think I'll be okay in time for the picnic? I wanna go..."

Damon frowned, setting down the bowl of warm soup. "Well, I'm not sure, but I hope so. Even if you're not, I'm sure we can reschedule and the Ruffs will understand."

"Great," he groaned, leaning back against his fluffed-up pillows. "I'm going to ruin everything."

"Oh come now; don't exaggerate so." Damon takes a spoon from the soup and blows on it. "Here, drink some chicken soup."

"I've had enough chicken soup to last me a lifetime, thanks." The boy turned his head away.

"Just a little," Damon coaxed.

"...Fine." He sighed and faced Damon, taking a sip. He forced it down his throat.

"There. That wasn't so bad, now was it?"

"I guess not." He swallowed hard. "Can you get me a comic book? I'm bored."

"Sure thing, Champ." Damon got up and exited the room.

Meanwhile, the boy sitting in the bed felt as though a giant elephant was juggling and bouncing around in his head. It hurt a lot. Muttering to himself, he stared up at the ceiling. Sweat trickled down his face and he was having trouble breathing. And now my vision's blurring; great...

All of a sudden, he started coughing. He couldn't stop himself; after the fit came to the gagging, and he could feel the bile rising in his throat. He couldn't swallow it back. Finally, the contents of who knows what left his stomach and spilled onto the floor.

Damon returned just in time to hear the splatter of a thick, heavy liquid, and see the reddish-orange-brown puddle on the floor. His lips became a thin, tight line in both concern and disgust as he picked his way toward the boy, comic book in hand. "...you okay?."

"Yeah." He covered his mouth with his hand, cheeks bulging from the force in his throat that kept pushing food upwards. His throat felt disgustingly dirty. "I feel like I just barfed up all of my insides," he managed to say between tight lips from behind the hand.

Damon took his hand and removed it grabbing a nearby garbage can. "Just let it out," he sighed, "we'll clean it up later. Swallowing throw-up doesn't sound like a good idea."

He didn't need to be told twice. In an instant, more of the bile had escaped his mouth and fallen into the bucket. He stared at it, feeling woozy. "What do you think it is...?" he rasped. His throat hurt, feeling like it was closing up within itself.

Damon examined it. "It looks like the meal we had yesterday; under the full moon. I still see bits of meat."

"Ew, gross." He clapped his palm over his lips again, but this time the possible throw-up was from the image of the throw-up in his head. He managed to keep it down though, and he let his tongue roll out of his mouth in discomfort. His stomach felt like it was on fire, as did his throat. "How can something so tasty end up so awful?"