We've fallen a bit behind the rest of the men, but Ward is deceptively quick on four paws. Unfortunately, my breakfast has no plans on making it easy for us to catch up, and does not agree with his rapid pace. I'm forced to make Ward stop so I can stagger from his side and vomit up my stomach and a few of its fellow organs. Or at least, that's what it feels like. Ward transforms back to human throughout the process, holding my hair and the Woodsman's cloak out of the way, all while apologizing over and over for biting me. I wave him away when his apologies become monotonous, and with a groan, roll to my side in a ball to recover.
“Do you think that's the last of it?” Ward asks hesitantly. I make some sort of moaning grumble that sounds remotely like an indeterminate answer. Ward frowns. “
