It had to be well into the afternoon by the time I gained enough resolve to drag myself weakly out of bed. Pipsqueak had curled up and fallen asleep beside me, and I had finally convinced the Lorax to leave me to myself for a while. He'd kept the door slightly open as he left so he could return if he wanted to, without all the hassle of asking the Bar-ba-loots to pile up outside so he could reach the handle. I really didn't mind, so long as his constant presence dissipated for an hour or so. Preferably, 'or so'. I didn't bother putting on my regular clothes; I just slipped the grey robe on over my pyjamas and wandered outside for some fresh air. The cool evening breeze felt good to my fevered head but made the rest of me shiver, and I coughed as I walked amongst the trees. My lack of energy and my apparent slow movements seemed to capture the attention of the Swomee-Swans and Bar-ba-loots; I could practically feel them staring at me as I wandered past. I ignored it as much as I could manage, but the nagging feeling that something about this was just wrong continued to redirect my mind back to the issue.

Perhaps it was the fact that I'd never coughed this much before, never had a throat this sore before, never slept in this late before, and never felt so irritatingly weak in my life before; even when I had a cold.

I walked on for a while, following the lively twists of the river and admiring the colourful affect the setting sun had on the Truffula tufts. It really was a beautiful sight; like nothing I'd ever seen before. Now that I was here in the Truffula valley, I couldn't really imagine anything I'd want to leave it for. As I gazed up into the sky, I didn't really find it a big surprise that the Swomee-Swans nesting in the vibrant tufts of the Truffula trees were staring right back at me. The next bout of coughs hit me by surprise, and I quickly tried to cover it up with my arm as I bent over slightly to accommodate my lack of breath. The Swomee-Swans continued to stare, but now with a more troubled look in their eyes than I had ever seen them use.

Okay, no doubting it now, there was seriously something strange going through their little heads. I hugged myself against the slight chill as I searched for the one furry orange meatloaf that could tell me what the heck was going on. Five minutes later, I found him standing down by the river speaking quietly to some Humming-Fish, who listened intently. Their eyes were wide and somewhat sorrowful. I tried to snatch a word or two of what the Lorax was saying, but he noticed my approach before I could.

"H-hey, Beanpole," he said nonchalantly, but with the air of someone who's been caught in the act of gossiping about somebody by the very person they were talking about. Which, I might add, was most likely the case in this situation. The Humming-Fish turned to face me, laughing nervously, but still with that same sadness in their eyes. I sighed. Might as well come right out with it.

"What have you been telling them?" I asked tiredly. I didn't mean just the Humming-Fish. I was sure he'd been telling the Bar-ba-loots and Swomee-Swans the same thing – whatever it was – and by the expressions on all of their faces as of late, I was beginning to get an inkling as to what the rumor was really about.

"Nothin'," the Lorax denied quickly. He faltered a bit when I gave him a stern look, or as stern a look as I could give him in my present condition.

"All right, all right," he said, giving in. "I told 'em you're sick, that's all!" The Humming-fish were quick to nod their heads in agreement. I didn't believe them, and the Lorax must have caught on to the sentiment.

"I swear, that's all I said," he said, placing a hand over his heart and the other in the air. I sighed and collapsed into a sitting position in the grass. I still didn't believe him; the glances I'd been getting from the other forest animals kept me thinking otherwise. The Lorax sighed as well and sat down beside me.

"Look, kid, you said you were sick, and that's what I've told 'em. I don't mean t' be the one sayin' what's happening, but it didn't seem like you were gonna tell 'em yourself," he said.

"Tell them what; that I'm sick? Does it matter if they know? I'll be over it within a week, y'know. You're making a really big deal out of this, and it's really not necessary." I said in return, hand over my forehead.

"A big deal out of it? Isn't it a big deal?" The Lorax asked.

"No," I sighed.

"Dying isn't a big deal to you?" My head shot up at the question. The Lorax was looking at me in exasperation.

"Okay, dying? W-who said anything about dying?" I asked, matching his expression, albeit a little more nervously.

"You did."

"No I didn't, I said I was sick!"

"Isn't it the same thing?" He asked quietly. I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed. I was silent for a while, but I could still feel the Lorax's gaze resting on me as he tried to read my body language.

"Anyway," he started, "that's why I asked you to clarify yesterday what you meant by 'sick', and..." I held up my hand. He stopped talking, taking the hint (for once) that I knew what he meant.

"We're obviously not on the same page, here," I said, speaking slowly and choosing my words carefully. "To me, when I willingly say that I'm sick, but don't seem to care about it too much... that usually means it's something simple; like a cold. If it is, then I'll be over it; nothing to worry about. Does that make more sense?" He nodded slightly, but then looked at me strangely like he couldn't quite figure something out.

"When the trees get sick," he said, standing to place a loving palm on the Truffula tree closest to him, "they don't get better. It takes a long time, but eventually they rot away and die." I gazed up at the tree he stood beside, understanding how this must look from his point of view. For all I knew, he had never encountered illness in any other form of life than trees, or had been away long enough to forget.

"Well, if it's any comfort," I said, my throat suddenly feeling very scratchy and dry, "I'm not dying." He didn't look convinced.

"Like I said, I'll be over it within a week. If I'm not, then you can start worrying." I stood up and began walking back towards my tent. The Lorax followed me as I made my way slowly through the Truffula trees in silence. I could tell that he still hadn't completely accepted the idea that I was going to be fine. Unfortunately, I was starting to get the slightest hint of doubt in the matter myself. This was unlike any cold I had ever gotten before, but I wasn't about to tell this to the Lorax, he'd just freak.

We arrived at the door within a few minutes of walking. I had left it slightly open in case the Lorax had come by. If he saw it closed, he'd realize that I left, and my intention at the time had been to sneak out without him noticing. I opened it a bit wider to let the Lorax in first, and he grudgingly obliged, preferring to keep an eye on me as he passed into the tent. I took a step to follow, before yet another coughing fit hit me. This one was bad enough to make me lean against the doorframe, clutching my chest in an attempt at warding off the dull, stabbing pains that came with each sharp exhale. I slid down the frame until I was sitting, breathing heavily, as the Lorax ran over and gripped my arm tightly. I didn't comment on it. My throat and chest both burned from the fit, and I turned all my attention to controlling my breathing. I leaned my head back against the wood of the doorframe, eyes closed. After a few minutes, with no luck in the 'normal breathing' department, I opened my eyes and lifted my head to discover that the Lorax was still clutching my arm and staring at me.

"Like I said before, kid, there's something seriously wrong with ya," he said.

A/N: As always, please review, they're greatly appreciated.

Next Chapter: The Lorax's point of view