Cane's POV
The change happened slowly, then all at once. At first, I just thought Stephanie was having a rough few days. We all did out here.
It started with the smells. One morning, about a week ago, I was carefully turning our breakfast fish over the fire. It was a good one, and I was proud. She walked over, peeked into the leaf, and her face went pale green. She clapped a hand over her mouth, spun around, and vanished into the bushes. I heard retching.
"Food poisoning?" I'd asked later, worried, bringing her a coconut of water.
"Just… the smell," she'd muttered, avoiding my eyes. "It was too fishy."
Everything was too something. The smell of the damp earth after rain made her dizzy. The smell of the smoke, even the clean, floral smell of the crushed leaves where we slept—one day she loved it, the next it made her complain of a headache.
