"A fight?" she squawks, following him over to the bedroll. When she sees him start hacking, she grabs a clean bowl and what basically amounts to an old-fashioned handkerchief. Kneeling down beside him--on the coughing side, naturally--she thrusts both of them in his direction, though not quite at him, she hopes. "Here. Barf in this."

Or cough up gross stuff, or whatever's coming. Both seem about equally possible at the moment. Her stomach twists as she tries to make sense of the situation, dread creeping in. "Did the Cetas--"