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    Summary

    “Anakin?” Obi-Wan asked, gaze striping the room methodically to locate the man in question.
    A lump on the bed grumbled something unintelligible in response, and it took that long for Obi-Wan’s nose to process what it had smelled. Anakin’s scent had grown fainter in recent months—Obi-Wan assumed it was simply another facet of the heavy maturity that had settled on Anakin’s shoulders during the war, but it did make it more difficult to read his Padawan (not his Padawan, anymore) at a glance.
    Deep in that faint scent, the one which barely drifted to Obi-Wan even in Anakin’s room, where he had slept and sweat all night, was sickness. Anakin was ill, and the longer Obi-Wan stood just inside the threshold, the more illness he could parse out.
    Anakin smelled wrong.

    (Anakin's gone feral. Obi-Wan has to treat him.)

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