( Her hands shifted so one was braced against the back of Xingchen's head, trying to ease it toward her lap once she settled with her legs tucked under herself. The other pressed to his forehead, searching for excess heat or some sign of illness as cause for his sudden lethargy.

Somewhere, deep down, she knew that it was probably something ridiculous the island did. Something in the air, in the produce and flowers they were using to craft the wreathes. But her mind didn't go there just yet. For all she knew, maybe he was just prone to collapsing to begin with. )

No, it is all right. Better you collapse upon me than hit your head on the hard ground. I, um...I am afraid I cannot move you somewhere more comfortable myself, however.