Rosy's just trying to study. Her notebook is on her lap, a highlighter in her hand, and she's sitting just close enough to the fire to get some light but not, like, accidentally burn her meticulous Pre-Healer notes.

But these fucking bugs keep getting all up in her business.

"Goddammit," Rosy hisses, slapping a mosquito trying to feast on her hand. She wrinkles her nose at the smear it leaves behind. When this happened at school she could just go to her cabin, but here all she had was a tent and - just, gross. Rosemary Stoker is not what you'd call a camping enthusiast. "Who the hell thought of camping school?"