Luvain, when I first met you, you were run ragged off your feet, covered in scratches, and had just escaped from the lower caverns. Tail hairs burned nearly all burned off, missing an eyebrow, and a pained, crooked smile.

You didn’t have a single nice word to say to me. Called me clumsy when you wouldn’t stop fidgeting. Winced at every poke and prod. Yelped when I poured the medicine on you. Painted the caverns every colour with your insults at the healing treatment. Then promptly collapsed on the floor in the room that I had made my camp.

Before you, I was willing to walk through these caverns alone, stopping only to trade goods, and help the needy.

After that next morning where you had woken up sheepish, embarrassed, and properly humbled as I watched you from the doorway, I was grateful to someone who didn’t mind my fire. In the weeks that followed, as we made our way to the surface together at your snail’s pace, I began to appreciate our quiet companionship.

Every dive after that, I had looked forward to seeing you. You were the adventurer, and I became your medic… Also your sense of reason.

It’s a damn shame that you passed that one on to Quill. Not everyone's perfect I suppose. 

I think back on those days often. Sometimes I miss them. The excitement as we faced the serpants and skeletons alone with only ourselves to support us. It's a good memory, if of prior times.

Helping the village is nice, but sometimes I still get that itch even if you don't.