She staggered forward on unsure legs.  What was wrong with her?  She was too far gone to focus on the thought.  All Kimagure knew was that she had faded in and out of these unusual states regularly.  Sometimes she was almost herself.  Sometimes she could barely stand.  She was leaner than ever, her hunting having suffered for her wildly varying sobriety.  How could one hunt if they tripped over their own paws?  The ivory was used to relying on the power behind her massive paws, the quick-snap of her reaction time to make minute adjustments.

Now everything was foggy, swimming before her in a nauseating way.  Indeed she had thrown up a few times while inebriated, though she did not know to identify the situation as such.  Kimagure had began to keep to herself, afraid of being caught in a weakened state like that blind wolf.  Perhaps it was some sort of punishment for picking on the male.  If it was, the wolf was surely sorry.  She was not sorry because she felt bad for the wolf.  She was sorry because she felt bad for herself.

The snowdrops seemed to move in swarms before her, but it was only the wind whipping them to and fro coupled with her swimming vision.  Staggering forward a few more paces, she collapsed into the snowdrops with a moan.  Gods she felt terrible and muddled.  Sleep seemed inviting.  She didn't even feel afraid right then.  She just felt sick and wanted something to make it better.  She was too drunk to look for herbs to ease her nausea.  Frankly, she was too drunk to do much of anything constructive.