Bundled under a veritable coat closet's worth of cloaks and blankets—whatever could be spared from their company's persons or from the horse's tack—she is startlingly pale and kitten weak about the arduous task of freeing an arm (her right one; the one which doesn't currently feel like it's being slowly chewed to pieces). But despite the fever sheen about her person, there is something quite alert in Wysteria's attention when she finds him in the blue shadows of the tent.

"I would prefer you to bring me my traveling case. It is just there near my feet." She makes a small motion toward the end of the cot, shifting her shoulders about her in some vague effort to sit higher in the make-do bed. "My little writing desk is there and I have a great deal of correspondence to attend to."