Alara, weary from her previous... memorable encounter, is trudging through the forest once again, wondering what seriously inconvenient health condition she will get ambushed with next. A cold riden ghost, or a chimera with a hangnail. But no, today she meets something even more charming.

  A zombie. Not the usual stumbling, groaning kind. No, this one’s... different. Must be freshly raised. He’s standing there, arms crossed, looking mildly irritated, his stomach gurgling loudly in the otherwise quiet woods. His clothes are ragged, like he’s been wandering for weeks, and his skin—well, let’s just say it’s less "rotting" and more "enthusiastically decaying."

  Alara raises an eyebrow, her usual dry sarcasm creeping into her voice. "Really? A zombie with digestive problems? How original. What’s next? A dragon with the flu?"

  The zombie groans, but it’s not a deep, throaty moan. It’s almost... whiny. "I don’t need your sarcasm, alright?" His voice is surprisingly clear, and definitely not the usual guttural growl. "I just need... help."

  Alara stares at him for a beat, yup newly raised for sure. "Fine. What’s the issue? Stomach pains? A little indigestion from one too many brains?”

  The zombie shifts uncomfortably, rubbing his stomach as if it might somehow make the pain go away. "No, no. It’s not that. It’s... I’ve been eating a bunch of different things lately, and now I feel like I’m... I don’t know... rotting from the inside out."

  Alara chuckles darkly. "Well, you are dead. I’m not sure what you expected.”

  He glares at her, his clouded eyes sharp despite the whole ‘undead’ situation. "It’s a serious issue, alright? I need something... something that’ll fix it. I don’t want to smell like rancid meat for the rest of my eternity."

  "You're a zombie… not sure how you'll get around that," she mutters, setting down and rummaging through her satchel.

  The zombie lets out a long groan, the kind that’s part frustration, part... well, just the natural staleness of his existence. "Look, I don’t need your judgment. I just need something that can settle this... stomach... situation." His voice takes on a bit of an exaggerated pleading tone, like he’s trying to appeal to her better nature. "Please, I don’t want to rot away in pain."

  Alara looks him over, slightly more intrigued than she wants to admit. She pulls out a pint mason jar of what looks like glowing green powder. "Alright, fine. You’re lucky I’ve got a potion that might help... assuming you don’t mind the taste."

  The zombie’s eyes widened. "I can't taste anyway, so I'm up for anything."

  Alara raises an eyebrow, smirking as she unscrews the lid. “Anyway, take a sprinkle of this on your tongue, and your insides won’t be screaming at you for a while."

  He eyes the glowing powder with deep skepticism. "This is really gonna work?"

  "Honestly? No idea. But it’s the best I’ve got," she shrugs, "and you seem to be in serious distress.”

  As the zombie reaches for the jar, Alara holds it up a little higher, just out of his reach, a teasing smirk tugging at her lips. "Just remember not to gorge yourself next time. A brain should keep you satisfied for at least a few days, and that's the only thing you should be eating.”

  The zombie narrows his eyes huffing impatiently, but he doesn’t reach for the jar. "Yeah, yeah. Get on with it already. You’re not exactly helping my stomachache by making me wait."

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  She chuckles holding out the jar, but as she’s about to hand it over, a strange buzzing sound comes from the zombie's torso.

  Just as she’s about to lean in, a swarm of flies suddenly bursts out from the zombie’s mouth, swirling around them in a dizzying cloud. The zombie jerks back, swatting at them with his rotting hands.

  "What in the world—" he begins, his voice rising in panic.

  Alara stares at the zombie, wide-eyed. "Okay, I definitely didn’t expect that. What the hell just happened?"

  The flies continue to buzz angrily, and the zombie swats at his face, grumbling. "You did this to me, didn’t you? You brought these here somehow!"

  "Me?!" Alara snaps, "You’re the one who decided to make the stomachache of the century. This is not my fault."

  She mutters something under her breath, frustrated. “I—I have no idea what just happened.” She carefully sets the jar down, her mind working quickly. She looks back up at him. “What did you eat before you showed up here?”

  The zombie looks guilty. “Well, there was that raccoon…”

  Alara groans and rubs her temples. “You ate a raccoon? Why does that not surprise me?”

  The zombie grins sheepishly, his teeth more crooked than usual. "It was... fresh?"

  She looks at him, deadpan. "Fresh? Like that matters! You’re dead. You don't really have a digestive system anymore.”

  "Yeah, well," he shrugs, "I’m still working through it."

  She sighs dramatically. "You, my friend, are a disaster.”

  Alara squints at the zombie, suspicion creeping into her expression. “Fresh raccoon, huh? You sure about that?”

  The zombie shifts uncomfortably, his eyes darting around. “Uh... well... fresh-ish.”

  Alara sighs. “You didn’t, I don’t know, leave it out in the sun for a while before you decided to eat it, did you?”

  The zombie’s face falls. “I, uh... might’ve been nibbling on it for a while before I, uh... showed up.”

  “Great,” she mutters. “So you’re telling me it wasn’t just a raccoon. It was a rotting raccoon.”

  The zombie starts to look increasingly uncomfortable, squirming slightly. "It looked tasty, okay? It’s not my fault."

  Alara shakes her head. "How do you not know the difference between ‘fresh’ and ‘rotting,’ exactly? You’re dead—you should’ve noticed. Not to mention raccoon is NOT apart of your diet anymore… or ever really should've been."

  The zombie looks sheepish. "I mean, it still had some meat on it... kinda."

  "You’re really making my job easy," Alara snaps sarcastically. She begins to pace in frustration, before freezing, staring at the zombie with a sudden realization.

  The zombie grits his teeth, swatting at the air.

  "They’re... in your stomach," she says

  The zombie blinks. "Flies? In my stomach?"

  "Yes. You ate a rotting raccoon. The maggots probably hatched inside of you and now you're basically a breeding ground for flies, and that’s what’s causing all your pain."

  The zombie looks horrified. "Maggots? I have maggots inside of me?!"

  Alara’s voice is laced with pity. "You didn’t think about that when you were munching down on that... snack?"

  The flies seem to get louder, buzzing around his face, and the zombie starts swatting at them wildly again. “This is not what I signed up for!”

  “Yeah, well, you signed up for a terrible dietary choice to begin with, then made it worse. Now, we have to fix it,” Alara says, her tone less amused now. She pulls out a small vial, this one much darker than the others, and uncorks it. "This is a potion for... er, gastrointestinal cleanliness. It’ll help clear out the flies and settle your stomach. Hopefully."

  The zombie hesitates, but his stomach growls louder, and the flies seem to intensify around his head like they can smell his desperation.

  "Alright, alright!" He snatches the vial from her hand and downs it in one go. As the liquid hits his stomach the flies buzzing around him start to slowly disperse, vanishing one by one.

  The zombie watches in stunned silence, blinking as the gurgling in his stomach begins to subside. “It... it feels better. Like, a lot better. What did you—"

  "You’re welcome," Alara says, cutting him off. "Next time, just don’t eat rotting animals, and maybe I won’t have to deal with that." She gestures to the last few flies, which are finally flying off into the air. "This wasn’t exactly how I wanted to spend my day."

  The zombie sighs in relief, his stomach no longer growling with discomfort. "You know, for someone who acts like they don't enjoy helping, you’re pretty good at it."

  Alara narrows her eyes. "Don’t get used to it.”

  Packing up her satchel, Alara heads off to find a place on stay for the night.