05-18-2022, 06:33 PM
(This post was last modified: 05-26-2022, 02:54 AM by Olive. Edited 3 times in total.)
That morning, like so many recent mornings before it, Olive awoke early; far earlier than the sun was to rise. She felt strange in a way that way supremely uncomfortable — her gut churned and diaphragm spasmed. Her mouth salivated in a way that was utterly profane, and her paws were numb from the nausea. At first, all she rolled from her prone sleeping position to one that was more-or-less made her a splatter of white upon the earth. Her mouth was open as she panted to steady the roller coaster she was on, tongue lolling out, and she laid like that for about an hour — unable to go back to sleep, yet not desiring to wake up fully —
until the urgency to vomit urged her up and away from her den in a flutter and a rush.
She absconded to a place that was shielded by ferns, emptied the contents of her stomach (as little as there was to upturn), then sat about her puddle of sick with her head hanging in a morose fashion, her entire ribcage heaving every few moments to ensure she did not forget the sensation. There was little thought-process happening within the sickened woman, other than how truly miserable she felt; when the worse of it faded into the waning night, a muted surprise came over her at how most child-bearing women went through this, but had never truly bemoaned how awful it could make one feel.
When Olive felt the tickle of the earliest sun's rays upon her ears, she lifted her face to welcome in the sunlight. Like a plant with its morning dew, what was left of her nausea evaporated and left Olive with a mission for the day. Enlivened, the sylph made her way over to the river, washed her mouth out thoroughly, and then proceeded to snuffle along the ground like a scent-hound, attempting to find where ginger root might be growing far beneath the sodden earth. She still felt weak and shaky, and the very opposite of hungry; but the task gave her something to focus on, and that in and of itself was soothing enough.
until the urgency to vomit urged her up and away from her den in a flutter and a rush.
She absconded to a place that was shielded by ferns, emptied the contents of her stomach (as little as there was to upturn), then sat about her puddle of sick with her head hanging in a morose fashion, her entire ribcage heaving every few moments to ensure she did not forget the sensation. There was little thought-process happening within the sickened woman, other than how truly miserable she felt; when the worse of it faded into the waning night, a muted surprise came over her at how most child-bearing women went through this, but had never truly bemoaned how awful it could make one feel.
When Olive felt the tickle of the earliest sun's rays upon her ears, she lifted her face to welcome in the sunlight. Like a plant with its morning dew, what was left of her nausea evaporated and left Olive with a mission for the day. Enlivened, the sylph made her way over to the river, washed her mouth out thoroughly, and then proceeded to snuffle along the ground like a scent-hound, attempting to find where ginger root might be growing far beneath the sodden earth. She still felt weak and shaky, and the very opposite of hungry; but the task gave her something to focus on, and that in and of itself was soothing enough.
the staff team luvs u