When the sound of footsteps crunching against the damp forest floor reaches your ears, you don’t have to look up to know who it is. You’ve gotten too used to the rhythm of her steps. Still, the sound of her voice follows: “Nat wants everyone out. Now!”

You groan, barely managing to lift your head from where you’ve been curled up under layers of patched-together blankets. Even that small movement sends a wave of exhaustion through you.

The huts aren’t much; just scraps of wood, branches, whatever could be scavenged, but they’re home, or at least the closest thing to one out here. You ended up sharing with Mari months ago, a reluctant arrangement that somehow stuck, and while you’ve gotten used to her relentless teasing, this—being sick—has apparently unlocked a whole new level of entertainment for her.

“…Not coming,” you mumble, voice hoarse. “Tell her-”

Mari crouches beside you, arms resting on her knees. “Ew” There’s no need to open your eyes to picture the look on her face, nose scrunched, lips curled in a mixture of amusement and mild disgust. “God, you look like shit”

You don’t bother dignifying that with a response, just turn your head into the blanket with another groan. Mari, of course, is undeterred. “Are you dying or something? Because if so, I call dibs on your stuff!”

Summoning what little energy you have, you manage a half-hearted kick in her direction. You miss by a mile. She snorts. “Okay, wow. That was sad. No, seriously, what’s wrong with you?”

“Just go, Mari,” you grumble, voice muffled against the fabric.

Instead of leaving, she nudges your leg with her foot. Not hard, just enough to be annoying. “I think I’m gonna stay right here. This is way more fun than whatever Nat wants us to do…Wait. Is this, like, a gross kind of sick? Should I be worried? Should everyone be worried?”

You somehow muster the energy to swat weakly in her direction. “Leave me alone”

“You are my hut-mate. It’s kinda my responsibility to make sure you don’t, y’know, die”