A/N: Thank you to those who are reviewing! I've decided in this chapter to explore a bit more of the Lorax's usual daily life. Read, enjoy, and let me know if ya liked it! Cheers!
Lorax's POV
Laryngitis. What the heck was laryngitis? Beanpole had told me that was what he had; well, not told me per say. More like scrounged around for a piece of paper and a pen for a while before scribbling it down. It took me quite a long time to decipher what it said, but I eventually made out the odd word. Laryngitis.
Beanpole was curled up amongst the covers of his bed, sleeping peacefully. Well, at least as peacefully as he could while coughing and clearing his throat intermittently. I sat beside him, legs crossed and mind muddled. He had written on the note that laryngitis wasn't deadly unless it got a lot worse and, as a result, turned into... some other strange word I was still trying to figure out. The piece of paper was suddenly snatched from my grip. Pipsqueak was seated in front of me, staring at the paper as though he was trying to read it. I half-smiled and gently pried the paper from his tiny paws, studying the odd word once more. It started with a p, then an n... how was I supposed to know how to pronounce that? Pn... what an odd way to start a word. I gave up trying to say it after the first twenty-six tries. All I really needed to know was that the Once-ler kid wasn't going to die unless the hard-to-pronounce word laryngitis morphed into the impossible-to-pronounce word that starts with pn.
I set the paper down and patted Pipsqueak on the head. He smiled that adorable smile and then went to curl up next to the slightly shivering Beanpole.
I still didn't really know what to think about all this. Beanpole said he'd be fine, but all the evidence in his demeanor as of late suggested otherwise. This 'fever' thing; it still wasn't gone. The sore throat that he had finally admitted was the worst he had ever had remained in existence. The constant coughs and the intermittent breathing difficulties... oh, and did I mention the whole 'not being physically able to talk' thing? It frustrated me to no end. I thought back to my initial worries, the strange lack of energy he'd had when this sickness first sprung up. It was worse now, and that was probably the one thing that concerned me the most.
I sighed and got down from where I sat on the bed. I instructed Pipsqueak to tell me immediately if anything at all changed. The little Bar-ba-loot nodded. I didn't really want to leave, but I still had my duties in the forest to attend to. I reluctantly walked outside, breathing in the fresh evening air. I wandered idly through the trees, keeping an eye out for anything remotely unusual about the forest's general vibe. It all seemed relatively normal so far; but then, my mind was somewhat elsewhere. I wandered down to the river to check on the Humming Fish. They were busy trying to scare each other by pulling odd faces and swimming around like some sort of fish-zombies. I couldn't suppress my smile of amusement. Yep, they were fine.
Next, the Swomee-Swans. I found most of them circled around something lying in the grass. I approached cautiously, not wanting to disturb them if the thing was an egg; I knew how protective they were when one was about to hatch. Luckily, they took my approach in stride, and actually let me come close. The small object in the grass was indeed an egg. The little orange-speckled thing was just beginning to crack, wobbling around as the kid inside tried desperately to free itself. One of the Swomee-Swans nudged the egg with her beak – obviously the mother. The surface cracked a bit more, then ceased to move at all. I could feel the small ruffle of tension amongst the adult Swans. With a sudden loud splinter, the egg burst open and there sat a dazed little Swan, eyes half-crossed and looking a little bit dizzy. I grinned at the sight. No wonder Swomee-Swan kids weren't so bright; they used their soft little skulls to break out of their eggs. I gave the mother a high-five before I left and wandered off to find the various Bar-ba-loots that enjoyed scattering themselves in hard-to-find areas.
I spotted Pipsqueak's uncle reclining peacefully in the tuft of a Truffula tree, calmly eating the Truffula fruits that were piled in a pyramid on his stomach. Another group of Bar-ba-loots were busy teaching a small cub to climb, while many more romped and played among the rocks and trees with careless glee. The Bar-ba-loots were doing great, no need to worry about them. I ventured deeper into the forest, keeping tabs on where I was and the respective state the area was in. After quite a trek, I came upon a rare Blue-tufted Truffula tree. I had always been appreciative of their particular beauty, often standing only slightly smaller than the other trees, but just as magnificent. The deep blue value of their tufts extended into a lucid, shining turquoise around the edges as the sun shone through, illuminating the grey of their trunks with a watery hue. I couldn't say I had ever seen anything so tranquil before. I would have to tell Beanpole about it... actually, better still, show him once he felt well enough to walk this far.
I placed a hand on the smooth, grey trunk of the tree, closing my eyes and listening. It was content with its lot, and was making an effort to convey this satisfaction as well as it could while rooted to the spot.
"You're doing a great job," I whispered, then opened my eyes. I looked around for a moment before turning to walk back. I had been away for well over two hours, I should've returned a while ago.
It was a rather long walk, but when I came upon the tree that Pipsqueak's uncle was still reclining lazily in, I found everything to be just as it was when I left. Well, it was almost the same. There was that new Swomee-Swan kid trying his hand at flapping his wings, and very proud mother attempting to teach him how. The Humming Fish had ceased their game of zombie-fish and had traded it up for something altogether more ambitious – land-tag. I found a group of exhausted Bar-ba-loot adults resting around a tree, on top of which a proud little cub sat happily dropping Truffula fruits on the adults below. This... this was normal.
By the time I reached the Once-ler kid's place, I was a bit tired, I'll admit. I pushed open the door and ambled in, glancing towards the bed as I made my way to the sink for some water. Beanpole was still fast asleep, and Pipsqueak was as alert as a slumbering Bar-ba-loot cub could be. I downed a glass of water before walking back over to the bed and hopping up onto the mattress, settling myself back. I tried and failed once more to read the word that started with pn, deciding for at least the tenth time that day that it was unpronounceable. I'd have to ask Beanpole how it was supposed to be said when he woke up, although I have no idea how he'd tell me with no voice.
I listened to his breathing for a few minutes, slightly nervous that at any second it might hitch and he'd be gasping for air again. But it sounded fine for now; only broken by the occasional light cough. With Pipsqueak snuggled so close to his back it would surprise me if the little Bar-ba-loot failed to notice anything strange in the near future, anyway. So I allowed my eyelids to close, well aware that I'd fall asleep no matter how hard I might try not to.