How did it come to this? Was he going to die? Clearly not, as he was still alive enough to feel the pounding headache. He wanted to get something to drink but he didn't want to get out of bed. His body felt like lead and the bed was so comfortable and warm. Elijah had flip flopped between burning and freezing so he was shirtless but buried under a couple of blankets and a quilt. His hair was damp against his scalp and he tried desperately to ignore the light scratching at his door. 

Diane would starve if he brought her inside and she had to survive on any pests that made their way inside. He had simply worked too hard and gotten drenched in a recent sudden downpour. This was his own doing, he knew that. A small part of him wished Rose or Anne would come to give him some porridge, but more so he wanted to get better. A corner of his brain managed to appear through the pounding to worry over the town unraveling without him to help keep the peace. 

He closed his eyes hoping sleep would take him and he could ignore the pain and misery he was in.