"Kchoo!"

Priscilla sniffles, sneezing into a light blue hankerchef. Her nose is red and rubbed raw, the color spreading to her cheeks, her hankerchef completely frozen.

Fun fact about dragons: Their sinuses are for elemental breaths and relieving altitude pressure. Their stomachs are tough as nails, so mucus isn't needed to protect them.

Being half frost dragon, Priscilla's cute little sneezes send a gust of frost flying from her face instead, freezing the hankerchef solid.

The creaking of the hollowed tree she is in tells of a great storm outside. It must be a veritable hurricane, for such a strong gust to peirce through miles of dense forest. The sound makes Priscilla uneasy.

She had weathered storms before, but they were all spent with Sær, and none were this bad.

The knob of the front door turns, and the wind pushes it open violently. Sær half-runs, half-tumbles into the room, followed by doctor Logan, who struggles to stuff his massive hat through the doorway.

Once both men are in they both shove the door back into place, pulling down the wood bar that serves as a lock.

"That should keep it from breaking open," Sær pants. "How much longer is this storm supposed to last?"

"I'm a doctor, not a meteorologist," Logan huffs. "Now, where is that wife of you-AAAH!" He screams as he catches sight of Priscilla. "GWYN'S BOLLOCKS! THE LIFE HUNTER!"

"That's my wife," Sær says angrily. "And how do you know about her power?"

The doctor clutches his chest, his heart pounding. "I-I studied her... And served as her doctor for her early childhood. It wasn't until the incedent that I found out about her power."

Priscilla gives a small wave. "'Ello, mifter dogtor Logeh," she says stuffily. "Theg 'oo fo' comig."

The doctor bows. "Of course, of course."

He strides forward, looking her over. He puts a hand on her large back. "Breathe deep for me, please."

Priscilla obliges, drawing in a large breath. The doctor moves his hand. "Again."

Heeeeh-fooooo.

"Hmm... Let me try the front. lift your head, please."

Haaah-foooo.

"Again."

Haaah-fooo.

"Again."

Haaaahehhh... KCHEUW!

She bucks forward, letting out a collosal sneeze. Logan, fully prepared, merely ducks his head forward, his large hat sheilding him from the icy gust. The undead behind him is not so lucky. Poor Sær is hit with the full force of the frosty gale, pushing him back against the wall. By the time it subsides, he is frosted like a cake, his hair frozen stiff and ice crystals coating his skin.

"D-D-D-Damn I-I-It," He chatters. "P-P-P-P-Pris-s-silla, c-can you please c-c-coverrr

yourrrrr m-m-mouth?"

"Sah-ee, dalig," Priscilla says, sniffling. "I'b neber been sick befo'. I di'nt know I gud do dat."

Logan sighs. "Well that certainly tells us a lot."

"Wat do 'oo meang?"

"Your father had a similar illness," the doctor replies. "His frost crystals wouldn't always clear his body, and some would get caught in his stomach. Normally, it would be swept up after a few frost breaths, but he had eaten an undead maiden the day before. Undead flesh-and hollow flesh, especially- is weak to fire, and inversely, repels frost. The crystals were shoved into his bloodstream, and shortly after he fell ill."

The doctor laughs. "I mean honestly! What kind of gluttonous dragon eats hollowed flesh?"

* * * The Previous Day * * *

"Dar-liiiing, how much longer? I haven't eaten all day!"

Priscilla's stomach growled as she sat with her lover by the stream. "It can't be helped," Sær replied. "All the salmon have taken shelter under rocks and roots because of the upcoming storm."

Priscilla pouted. "Maybe you're just a bad fisherman."

"I've been fishing my whole life!" Sær said indignantly. "If it has scales, then I've caught it. Including you."

"Hmph," Priscilla huffed. "You-"

"Ah! Ah! I got one!" The fishing line yanked, and Sær started coiling the line frantically.

Priscilla peered over the bank, drooling. "Ooh! Catch it! Catch it!"

Sær gave a mighty heave, and the fish flew out of the water, smacking him in the face. "OWHF! Not again!"

Priscilla eagerly snatched the salmon, too eager to cook it.

"WAIT!" Sær stopped her just before she swallowed it whole. "Priscilla, doesn't that salmon look.. Off? I don't think it's healthy."

Priscilla looked at the fish. It was green and mottled, it's eyes pale and milky. "Groagh," it moaned.

"I didn't know fish could make noises," Priscilla said.

"They can't..." Sær says uneasily. "Priscilla, maybe it's best we let it go- Hey, where is it?" He looked up to see Priscilla with her cheeks stuffed.

She shrugged. "M-uh-nmph..."

Sær sighed.

* * * Present * * *

"You ate a hollowed fish," the doctor says incredulously.

"I wuff vewy hugwy," she says matter-of-factly. "How wuff I to know if a fifh if howwow?"

ACHOOOOEEEUW!

"Ugh," Priscilla moans. "I don' lieg beig zick. Id hawd to breafhe."

"You still have a ways to go yet," the doctor says, shaking his head.

"What do we do?" Sær asks worriedly. "How do we treat it?"

"Bed rest and estus," the doctor says simply. "It should clear in about a week. Unfortunately, knowing you two, it will be quite the trial."

"What do you mean?"

The doctor clears his throat. "Due to the nature of frost and the undead, close contact with one would make the crystals spread throughout the body even more. Taking that into account, my advice is..."

He lifts his head and stares at the two.

"No cuddling."