More on the Moors

Flurries of snow drift without path over the moor, reducing sight to virtually nothing outside an armlength. The ghostly howling of the wind is no doubt sent from the tall mountain ranges -- Hithaeglir in its element.

A grey figure suddenly drops into a crevice partially covered with branches and cloth. Elathrad lets fall the sturdy branch from his shoulder, resting it against the dwindling pile of relatively dry wood.

\"Keldean,\" he says.

Keldean looks up from his nest of blankets, heavy shadows under his eyes from unrestful sleep. He\'s been coughing chronically, whatever ailment that\'s gripped him denying him proper rest as he\'s constantly awoken by the wracking cough. Ever since Giliath came with his family to visit, the teen has been getting progressively worse. No amount of fire seems to push the chill from him and his appetite is non-existant. (not that he had a very healthy appetite for the waybread anyway). \"Is the storm really bad? It sounds bad..\"

\"It will pass soon,\" assures Elathrad, breaking twigs from the dead branch and tossing them into the fire. \"You, however ....\"

Rising, the Elf peers closer at the youth. \"Something ails you, and not for a little while. Give me your hand.\"

\"This cough..\" Keldean murmurs, not certain what to say on the matter. \"It\'s from the cold.\" He pulls one arm free of the blankets but before he can extend it a fit of coughing grips him and he muffles it into his sleeve. When it passes he gasps for breath, blinking back tears that form in his eyes from the brief bout of choking. Finally he reaches his cold, clammy hand out.

A touch is enough to discern Keldean\'s condition, and the frown that normally sits upon Elathrad\'s face deepens. \"I know that,\" he says gruffly, sitting back a little. \"At this rate ... it is unwise ....\"

Plunging a hand into his pack, the Elf draws out a small flask. \"Drink this,\" he commands, uncorking the contents, \"you should be old enough to know what it is.\"

Keldean is definitely not well. He pulls his hand back to muffle another hacking cough, the sound of congestion heavy in his throat and lungs. When it passes, he reaches for the flask, the sleeve of his dirty, cream shirt stained darker from his spittle. He takes a slow sip, and coughs again as the liquid burns his raw, sore throat, but squeezes his eyes closed and swallows it down. He waits a moment, then takes another tiny sip. \"I\'m sure it will pass..\" He says, though there\'s little confidence in his words, \"I\'ve been sick before.\"

\"You\'ve never tried to sit an entire winter in the wild,\" replies Elathrad, leaning forward as his voice raises slightly. \"If you become more ill, I will move us. This has been going on for too long.\"

\"Move us where? What about Giliath? He\'s going to come back in a few days! He won\'t know wh-\" The youth is cut off by more coughing, his distress agitating his already laboring lungs. Keldean passes the flask back to Elathrad before he drops it, reaching with his other hand to brace himself against the wall of the rocky alcove.

Stowing the flask away, Elathrad considers this. \"I have no doubt as to his tracking abilities. However, he is not a healer, either, and I can find no herbs upon this moor.\"

Standing disconsolately by as the youth is wracked with coughing, the Elf sits down slowly, chin in hand.

Maybe the teen realizes that this was all a bad idea. There\'s a haunted look on his face as he takes shallow, raspy breaths. \"Giliath might have something when he comes back.\" Keldean says, having endless faith in the vinter. \"I.. well.. I owe you a lot, Elathrad. For all your help.\" He speaks hesitantly, not used to expressing his gratitude to people.

\"I was assigned to keep you well,\" Elathrad replies, turning aside to look at the storm. \"Try to rest. You only grow worse when agitated.\"

Nonetheless, the glance he shoots the youth is full of concern.

Keldean nods, growing quiet. At least, as quiet as he can be when he\'s violently coughing every few minutes. Eventually the teen passes out from exhaustion, but his breathing short and rattling.