Gilly, Howan and Roran sat quietly, watching night slowly creep back into their lives. The fire was as bright as it could be, fueled as best they could. The group had not spoken for a good while. Their meal was unwillingly eaten and now they waited out the darkness in the hopes of rescue. Rannor had been unconscious for some time, his bandage growing darker as the hours passed by. Soon however, he moved. All three men jumped at once. Gilly, the closest of the trio, turned towards their friend. 

His complection was pale, his forehead sweaty and his face pained. 
"What's wrong?" He asked, rubbing snow onto Rannor's forehead. None of the boys had sufficient medical knowledge to provide any sort of intelligent remark. Instead Howan made a guess. 

"Wargs aren't exactly clean. We know they hunt in groups, trying to attack as many as they can. We know they don't always kill their prey." He paused, taking out his waterskin and walking over to Rannor. "My guess is that they aim to infect their prey with whatever vile chemicals they have in their mouths. Best guesses say-"

"He's dying." Roran stammered, interrupting his friend. The trio sat quietly, each unsure of what they should do. Gilly seemed intent on reducing the fever, Howan had already given up, and Roran had ripped a further section of bandages from the cloak of their fallen friend, a man they buried in the cave. The blonde moved back to Rannor's side and slowly began to unreavel the bandage. It was thick and heavy, more than it had been when the man had put it on. Rannor's skin was thick with dried blood and the further Roran removed, the worse things got.

Beneath the ends of the material, was a black mess. Rannor's wound was seeping thick white puss, his skin blackened and dead. Gilly wretched at the smell, turning to keep his warg meat down. Roran took a moment to do the same. The smell was intense. A smell that seemed equal to a slowly rotting body in the middle of the Wastes. It burnt the nostrils of each of the two boys. Rannor writhed in agony and Roran moved to touch the wound. He was sure that pushing and cleaning out the white gunk was the best option. He lifted a pile of snow onto his friend's arm, hoping the cool snow would turn to water and clean the arm. 

Rannor howled out, battling the pain he was already experiencing and the newly found agony that came from Roran's hands on his arm. Howan had moved out of the rook, holding his cloak over his mouth to battle the stench. In the dim red light, he could see figures. He could hear hooves too. He took a moment before running back to the others. 
"They're here!" He yelled, regretting his decision to come back into the rook.