[Churchill]

[ooc; Open to Nhu, Canaan, Indra, and Tibet. Achilles may join too if he would like!]

When Church blinked open his eyes for the first time that morning, what he noticed right away was that he could breathe through his nose. He laid there for a second, perplexed at this discovery, and tested it out… breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out. It was true. Oh, happy day! He never realized how much he had taken that ability for granted until he was lying on the floor of the den, riddled with illness and mouth hanging open like a simple-minded barbarian as he sucked in oxygen.

Every other symptom was gone as well.

The dark-colored male climbed to his paws, gold eyes narrowing as he realized he felt better than he had indays. Curious. The sickness had struck him all of a sudden, and he had been a mess of chills, difficulty breathing, joint aches, nausea and vomiting, and hazy mental states. Most wolves might have panicked and made their way to an herbalist, but he recognized the symptoms of a flu—especially for a wolf his age—right away. He immediately went to work making sure he would be okay; no need to bother anyone else and risk getting them sick as well. If he was the first in the valley to get the flu this year, he would make sure it ended with him too. With that attitude in mind, he went to work: he gathered some food, made sure he was hydrated, and gathered all the herbs he’d need to manage his symptoms. It was difficult, but he knew it would only get harder as the sickness progressed. He knew what to expect and how to take care of himself. His prognosis? To be clear in three days.

His body disobeyed in ways it wasn’t supposed to. The herbs did nothing they should have. The illness progressed in patterns he’d never seen. It did not make sense. He knew how to handle this, and it wasn’t working; when he complained about this a passerby friend on day 3—how kind they were, bringing him food!—the other chalked it up to mere chance. “Sometimes things just do not work”. The conversationalist in him had flashed a friendly smile, a nod, and a thank you—he was in no state to teach today—but the scientist in him rebelled. There were many situations where chance played a role, of course he knew that, but there were many more situations that followed the laws and rules of the world. When it came down to the nitty-gritty, even chance had patterns and rules it had to follow. Specific herbs always managed certain symptoms, and those same herbs should consistently react the same way in the same body. He knew his own body and he knew the valley’s flora… so he SHOULD have been able to overcome this cold. There was only one explanation.

This sickness was something else. It could only have been the will of the Rosa.

When he resigned to that thought on day five… Churchill laid down on the floor of the den and decided to let whatever was attacking his body run its course. If that course was not to be changed, he would not waste his energy fighting the inevitable. If there was some lesson to be learned in this, something the Holy Trinity was trying to teach him, he hoped he would find it soon. He was too old to be put through his paces like this.

When he opened his eyes this morning, he had found no answers. There was no rhyme or reason to greet him like he had expected… just the ability to breathe through his nose again—which he did, deeply, every time he thought about it—and someone at the mouth of his den. 

”Ah, welcome, welcome!” Church called, eyes narrowing as he tried to make out the figure standing at the entrance of his home. The sunlight blurred the edges of his vision, making it impossible to see who was there, and despite being able to breathe again, his nose wasn’t quite up to speed just yet."Could we perhaps speak outside? I haven’t been well as of late… only very recently been feeling better! I wouldn’t want you getting sick coming in here.”