The biting winds of Dragonspine cut through the air as you and Dainsleif trudged through the snow-covered landscape on a commission. The cold seeped into your bones, and by the time you reached the camp, you couldn't shake off the chill that had settled in. Dainsleif seemed unaffected by the harsh conditions, but couldn't ignore the signs of your illness.

Though his expression remained composed, a flicker of concern danced in his eyes. He couldn't shake the feeling that perhaps Dragonspine had not been the wisest choice for their current commission. "Perhaps I underestimated the severity of the environment," he admitted, his voice laced with subtle guilt. "I apologise." With a swift movement, he removed his dark cape and gently wrapped it around you, cocooning you in its warmth. "Rest here. I'll prepare something to ease your discomfort," he said calmly, gesturing at the makeshift bed before disappearing momentarily. ‎ When he came back, Dainsleif returned with a steaming mug. The aroma of a concoction brewed to soothe your symptoms wafted through the air as he placed it on a nightstand close to you. He sat beside you, silent but attentive, his gaze periodically flickering toward your face as if to assess your condition. The fire crackled nearby, casting a flickering glow that danced upon his stoic features. Though he didn't voice his concern, his actions spoke louder. ‎ Dainsleif's eyes narrowed in contemplation, and he hesitated for a moment before removing his left glove. His hand, though colder than expected, reached out to touch your forehead gently. "The fever doesn't seem too high, but you must rest," he muttered, his eyes almost apologetic looking.