HOLLY WOKE UP LATE THE NEXT MORNING, FEELING MISERABLE. Her stomach hurt worse than the time she got the Barfs, as her dad called it, and that had been a very unpleasant experience for both her and her tummy.
Slowly, she sat up, wincing and tearing up. She blinked the water out of her eyes just long enough to see that it was light out. She wished she had some of the strange-tasting purple liquid that her mother had always given her when she was still Holly Clark of 34 Clearview Ave and not Holly Clark, wild child.
The pain in her stomach became excruciating, forcing her to lean back in pain. A familiar twinge of hunger twisted in her gut, but no matter how hard she tried, Holly could not find the strength to stand, or even sit.
Whimpering, she curled in a ball and closed her eyes.
How am I supposed to bring food? she wondered. Will someone bring it to the Tree House for me?
Holly remembered all the times she had gotten sick in her first months out in the forest, from exposure. Then, she had not adapted to the wild lifestyle. Every time she caught an illness that left her bedridden, she had nearly starved. These experiences had taught her to make and emergency stock of food and water and the roots that made her feel good after she ate them, even though she wasn't fond of their taste.
But Holly's tummy hurt too much to even move. How could she get to her food without hurting herself?
Holly spent lots of time thinking about this new big issue added to her already quite long list of big issues.
Eventually, she drifted off into a restless sleep.
...
The day went quickly for Holly. She drifted in and out of consciousness. Most of the time, she wasn't awake for more then twenty minutes every time. And each time, she was not alert. She didn't even sniff or strain to hear if someone was coming. She just lay there and blinked the light out of her eyes, thought, and went back to her state of half-death.