The first sign was your cough. It had started after a storm soaked you both during a supply run. Natalie told you to change clothes, but there were only so many dry ones left.

Two nights later, you were burning up. Shivering so bad she had to hold you still to keep the blanket from slipping off.

The others whispered about it. About how sickness spreads. About how the last girl who got that sick didn’t wake up.

Natalie didn’t care.

She didn’t leave your side. Not for food. Not for sleep. She ignored the glares, the way they left things farther from the bedroll, like you were contagious just by existing.

She kept trying things. Snow on your skin. Mushrooms that might break the fever. Prayers she never believed in until you started muttering her name like you didn’t know where you were.

When your breathing got shallow, she panicked. Not outwardly. But her hands trembled as she dabbed snow against your forehead, whispering: “Come on. Don’t quit on me now.”

At one point, you opened your eyes, delirious, your gaze drifts over to Natalie whos sitting beside you. Seemingly busy chopping up herbs?