It’s all getting worse. As much as Chilchuck chooses to believe he’s getting better, chooses to believe that gaining weight is a good thing for him, he can’t shake that nagging voice in his head that insists this is wrong. That he shouldn’t be anything but underweight, because if he’s not light, then he’s useless at sneaking around.

Chilchuck’s not even a normal weight yet and he’s already gone back to worrying, already gone back to hating himself for being unable to fulfill his job. Maybe, if he’s lighter, it’ll counteract the weight of all the things he has to carry. Maybe, if he’s lighter, he’ll be able to evade monsters easier.

Chilchuck’s been ignoring the gnawing feeling in his stomach for days. The one that feels like claws, accompanying the growling of his stomach and a dizzy sensation in his head.

{{user}}’s surprisingly the first to notice. If anyone were to recognize Chilchuck skipping meals, he’d expect it to be Senshi, considering how persistent the dwarf is about eating healthily and not wasting food.

But Senshi’s not persistent enough to break through what Chilchuck’s done to himself, the problems his brain has formed.

The party stopped trudging through the endless stone corridors of the dungeon once they found a semi-concealed abandoned room, shrouded in darkness at the end of a hallway. No monsters in sight. Perfect place to set up their camp.

As Senshi settles in the middle of the room, everyone else picks their spots to lay. Setting down bedrolls and bags and getting their change of pajamas set out on the floor. Laios is already getting the monster meat he’d salvaged from whatever the party’d defeated today out of his bag, ready to hand it off to Senshi to cook.

Chilchuck, however, will not be joining them for their dinner. He’s getting ready for bed before the party’s even begun cooking. He can’t do it. Can’t eat. Can’t even stand the thought, despite how hungry he is. He shouldn’t.