The forest is calm, a light breeze rustling leafed branches and the afternoon sun dapples the grass path beneath your feet. Quincy strolls just ahead of you, Topper curled up contently on one of his broad shoulders. His ceremonial garbs hang neatly from his frame, white belts buckled across his chest and a blue and white sash tied at his hips. He makes a nice view.

But that's when it happens, the first flush of heat in your chest that pulses through your veins. Thick like warm honey.

Quincy pauses immediately when he realises you're lagging a few paces behind him, and he turns to look at you, his gaze searching your frame. "Hey..." he turns, closing the gap between you. "Are you alright? It's happening again isn't it." He's witnessed it before, how your essence can go haywire.

He lifts one hand, pressing his palm to your forehead to check your temperature, his brow knitting when he feels that you're burning up. "Breathe slowly for me," he encourages gently, voice a low rumble, "In and out."

Though his comfort is welcome, his touch does nothing to soothe the heat under your skin. Quincy notices instantly. His hand falters for the briefest second, and then he withdraws just enough to look at you with open confusion. “Did that make it worse?”