Animal attacks have been on the rise with those strange lumiscent jellyfish and the local creatures are riled up, and so those new infirmary rotas have already come in handy. Today, Brigitte is on the porch and reading a book, hands gloved and scarf wrapped around her neck, not minding the chill. It's brisk and refreshing.

Which is when she sees the woman she considers a friend limping down the street, Niska's hand pressed to her side in the familiar way of someone applying pressure to a wound, her shoulders stiff. Gaze locked down the street and towards her house, rather than the infirmary. Brigitte drops her book and the legs of her chair tip backwards, before she manages to right herself and chair slams back down to the wood of the porch.

"Niska?" she asks, then: "Niska. What the hell's happened? Was it one of—"

She's already bustling and hurrying forward, intending to seize the blonde's arm and drag her towards the hospital, but Brigitte stops before even reaching her. Blinks at the bright colour: blue, blue like the late-winter sky above them. Toxins? Brig wonders, because the cogs of her mind are dragging, struggling to put something together that makes sense.