A few months ago, Lost-In-The-Forest had been horribly ill with a bad cold and her summoned Dremora, Sparkticus, had essentially nursed her back to health. She had learned a few things about him while she was bedridden. One, he made an even better cup of tea than she did. Two, he was getting easier to get along with. It was about time, in her opinion. They had been travelling together for two years. Still, she knew that the concept of a Conjurer developing an open, carefree rapport with their summoned Dremora would probably be considered radical by some mages. Still, she seemed to be making progress, slow as it may be. He still often complained about her weaknesses. He had seen her in a weak state a few months ago when she had a cold. Now, it seemed, the roles were reversed as she watched the queasy-looking Dremora. It wasn't a cold. No, this was the result of eating undercooked mudcrab meat. It was unfortunate proof that even Daedra weren't perfect. Sparkticus was suffering from a nasty case of food poisoning. This was one of those rare moments when the Dremora was out of his armor. He was clad in a simple off-white shirt and a pair of snug breeches. His ink-black face seemed a shade paler than usual and some of his ebony hair had fallen loose from the tail he kept it tied back in. His black eyes exuded misery. Suddenly, he leaned forward again. Lost-In-The-Forest was ready with a bucket as Sparkticus retched loudly. "Honestly, Sparkticus." the Argonaian sighed. "Mudcrabs? Everybody knows that you have to cook them first!"

"Shut..." the Dremora grunted. "Shut up... pathetic mortal."

Lost-In-The-Forest held the bucket as Sparkticus retched again. Every time she tried to give him something to drink, he just threw it back up. The Argonian fought the urge to roll her eyes. He was calling her pathetic? In his condition? Still, she had to try to be patient and understanding. Being this sick couldn't be easy on the Dremora's pride. And the mudcrab thing? Well, he should have seen that coming. Eating mudcrab meat without cooking it was just plain stupid. A twinge of pity ran through Lost-In-The-Forest. Sparkticus looked terrible. He continued to vomit until he began dry-heaving. He was in a really, really bad way. Lost-In-The-Forest sighed. She really could use a cup of tea. She paused. She had an idea! Without a word, she headed off to the kitchen. "Stupid Argonaian." Sparkticus grunted.

In the kitchen, Lost-In-The-Forest was putting her herbal knowledge to the test. She searched through her belongings until she found what she sought. She then started heating some water. It wouldn't be a lie that she used a flames spell to heat things up faster. When the water was at the desired temperature, she placed the herbs she had selected into the hot water. Now all she had to do was wait.

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Sparkticus was furious. First he was furious at the mudcrab he had eaten for getting him sick. Then he was furious at himself for not listening and eating it without cooking it. Finally, he was furious at the Argonian for leaving him alone. This was her fault. She should have known that he wasn't going to listen! She should have pressed the matter! Now she had ran off to who knows where. The infuriating mortal was probably- oh, no, here it comes again. Sparkticus' body tried to vomit, but there was simply nothing left in his stomach to throw up. The repetitive vomiting had left his throat raw and sore. Normally his pride would never allow him to admit that anything was physically wrong with him, but the nausea and vomiting was a pretty big tip-off. He hated that. He hated being sick. He officially hated mudcrabs. He made a vow that, from then on, he would kill every mudcrab he saw. The species would pay for the indignities that had been inflicted upon his person. Once he was done retching, he leaned back into the pile of pillows that he had been propped up on. He wished that there was something he could do other than waiting for the unending nausea to subside. Reading a book would do. Unfortunately, there was still the chance that he might vomit on the book, rendering it useless. A bored Dremora was a dangerous Dremora. Well, he would be dangerous, were he not in such a weakened condition. He was thankful that there was no one to see him in this sickened state. Well, aside from Lost-In-The-Forest. She didn't count.

Finally, the Argonian came back. In her hands was a cup full of some sort of steaming liquid. It had a smell that he swore he had smelled before, but in his current state he couldn't identify it. Ever so gently, the Argonian brought one arm behind him and cradled his head. She used her free hand to bring the mug to his lips. After a bit of prompting, he sipped some of the liquid. The mortal was patient as the Dremora took small sips. He winced as the liquid washed over his raw throat. She seemed to be willing to wait for as long as it took for him to finish the cup of tea. When it was done, the Argonian sat the cup down and picked up a book. To Sparkticus' surprise, Lost-In-The-Forest began to read out loud. "In the early springtime morning, pale light flickered behind the morning mist floating through the trees as Templer and Stryingpool made their way to the clearing."

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As Lost-In-The-Forest read the story out loud, she fought the urge to smile. She knew the Dremora well enough to know that he liked to read more than he let on. She fought the urge to smile again when she noticed how shocked he was. Still, she kept reading. After a while, the effects of the catnip tea she had given him were starting to kick in. Its anti-nausea effects would certainly help him. He still looked dreadfully tired, though. He couldn't rest yet, though. After he had stopped vomiting for a certain amount of time, Lost-In-The-Forest poured him a glass of water. Not the hot stuff in the kitchen. Just boring, cool water. Just as she had aided him with the tea, the Argonian helped the Dremora drink the water. He refused at first, but Lost-In-The-Forest was firm with him. "You need it. You're dehydrated."

Sparkticus grumbled, but begrudgingly accepted her help. Lost-In-The-Forest hated seeing the proud Dremora like this, so weak and exhausted. Gently, she helped him lie back on the pillows. Slowly, he allowed his eyes to rest for a moment. Before long, he was asleep. Lost-In-The-Forest smiled and, in an almost motherly fashion, tucked a loose strand of black hair behind Sparkticus' pointed ear. She would let him rest for now.

A couple hours later again, she woke him up to give him some more of the catnip tea. He didn't seem pleased, but she was insistant that it would help him. Sparkticus grumbled, but he didn't argue. So this went on, all through the night. Lost-In-The-Forest would let the Dremora rest for a while, but would wake him up every few hours to make him drink some of the medicinal tea. Some time around four in the morning, the Argonian succumbed to exhaustion herself. She fell asleep in the chair she was sitting in.

When morning came, Lost-In-The-Forest was rather sore from having slept upright in a chair, but she was very pleased with the sight that met her eyes. Sparkticus was sitting up. He was drinking some water without her aid. It was all that Lost-In-The-Forest could do not to sigh in relief. The Dremora must have noticed that she was staring, as he lowered his cup and asked, "What are you staring at, Mortal?"

"I'm just glad that you're better." Lost-In-The-Forest admitted. "I was worried about you."

This seemed to catch the Dremora off-guard. "You were worried about me?"

"Yes." Lost-In-The-Forest replied. "I was worried about you. You were really sick. Can you really expect me not to worry about-"

She paused and shut her mouth. Sparkticus wouldn't let what she was about to say go unfinished. "Worried about what?" he said a bit more harshly than was appropriate.

Lost-In-The-Forest glared at him and spat out, "A friend! Gods know why, but you're someone that I care about, Sparkticus."

The Dremora stared in open astonishment at the Argonian. Finally, he said, "You mortals and your foolish sentiments."

He had meant it to be harsh, but his words lost some of their potency. He hated to admit it, but he had grown fond of the Argonian. "Look," Lost-In-The-Forest said, "If you're worried about people knowing about you getting sick, I won't tell anyone, mortal or immortal."

Sparkticus saw so much earnesty in Lost-In-The-Forest's eyes. Oblivion help him, he believed her. "You swear on this?" he asked.

"You have my word." Lost-In-The-Forest said with a smile. Her smile lessened when she said, "Look, if this means that I should dismiss you and not summon you again-"

"Mortal." Sparkticus interrupted. "Shut up."

Lost-In-The-Forest glared at the Dremora, but that glare lost some of its potency when he said, "I do not seek to end this association."

"You don't?" Lost-In-The-Forest whispered.

"Of course not." the Dremora said with a smirk. "You did, after all, say that I could kill our enemies in any manner I see fit. If killing is an art form, I have found my muse."

"I'm your muse?" Lost-In-The-Forest questioned

"Of course not." Sparkticus snorted. "Your fat ass probably blocks the view of whatever my muse is. Now get me something to eat."

"Asshole." Lost-In-The-Forest grunted before asking, "How about-"

"Not mudcrabs!" Sparkticus snapped. "Anything but mudcrabs!"