Striker sighed as he squinted a small towel on a bowl of cold water and then applied it against Jake's face. The impling would whimper and squirm under the blanket every now and then.
He'd check on his temperature every now and then, but it hadn't yet gone down.
"I'll be right back, pup," he assured the impling as he momentarily left the room and went to the kitchen.
He wasn't sure how, but his mother's diary had somehow survived fire and neglect. It proved quite useful; she'd written lots of recipes for home remedies and the effects of certain herbs. It'd helped him make some herbal tea for colds and cases of flu.
Striker poured some of the tea into a cup and hastily returned to Jake's room. Carefully, he used one arm to sit his son a bit while his free hand brought the cup closer to his lips.
"Here, little one," he whispered.
But Jake soon spat the warm, bitter liquid back into the cup, crunching up his little face.
"Come on, pup, ye need this to get better." he tried and failed again. Strike sighed. "I know it ain't tasty, but it'll make ya feel better." Striker gently lifted up the impling's chin to look into his eyes. "Trust me." The cowboy lowered the cup against Jake's lips. This time, he heard a small gulp. "That's it. Good boy."
The tea was still quite warm, so he had to give it to Jake little by little.
Once the cup was empty, Jake whimpered and began wiggling under the covers.
"Shhh. There, there." the cowboy gently grasped his son's hand. "It's okay, pup. I'm here."
Jake reached out his other hand for his father. "Dada..."
"I'm not leavin' ya, my boy. I promise."
Striker carefully scooped up Jake to cradle him in his arms. He stroked the impling's cheek with his thumb before resuming the task of applying the cold compress on his face, humming a little tune.