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"S-Sir Adept of the steeds, I-I give my utmost gratitude for allowing to accompany thee o-on this journey... Ha—achoo!"
The shaky sniffle that followed the aggressive sneeze had long phased into part of the background noise for the Adept, much like the steady clops of his hooves against the earth. At first he was counting each time the young Wei sneezed from the cold winds, but once the rate turned about five sneezes per ninety seconds, he no longer paid any mind.
"Miss Don Quixote," His low, monotone voice broke the silence of the chilled air, "I presume it is the cold winds that cause your illness. Must you brace your nose to walk in such conditions?"
A harsh shiver wracked through Don Quixote's body as the eternal chill in her flesh deprived her of comfort. "N-Nay, Sir Wu Adept, 'tis not of illness... Naught can be resolved... Sniffle."
Yi Sang hummed understandingly with a solemn "I see." He only had expertise in the understanding of the effects of the Wu bolus administered amongst the branch, and in greater dosages for himself. Despite having access to suppressive medicines to reverse the effects, he refused to ingest any; he had no need to revert back to his lesser form as the Adept. It was also clear how he was still privileged enough to have continued access to such treatments, unlike other inferior branches and their soldiers, like Don Quixote, who were left to suffer through the lasting effects of their bolus' dosage.
"H-However!" the Wei suddenly chimed in through his thoughts, "The Wei bolus allows some resolve for us sheep. Cruel as the cold may be, the drug grants the ability to grow wool upon one's flesh. 'Tis the lone method of preserving one's warmth."
"Do you make use of such?"
"Ah," Her excitement of sharing the information quickly died down at that question. "...I-In moderate amounts, exclusively when necessary," she stammered. "The thickness does make layering gear and cloth quite troublesome. Fie, o-one mustn't sacrifice mobility for the luxury of a stable body temperature!— A- Achoo! Sniff..."
The steed sighed, but otherwise made no verbal comment. The matter was none of his business after all, and there were more bothersome things than her sneezing. He still questioned why the sheep had decided to cling to his side amidst his lone wandering. Initially, he was under the assumption that he'd bore and she'd part her separate way, so he spoke nothing against her request. Presently she was still here, albeit shivering her head off.
However, despite his mild irritation pushed far back in his mind, he felt the need to offer some further degree of comfort.
"Say, Miss Don Quixote," he watched her head immediately perk up to look him in the eye at the sound of her name, "Would a ride on my equine back be of any relief?"
"Hah, th-thou art much like mine own steed Rocinante..." The Wei muttered through shaky breaths as she steadied herself on the Adept's back. From her angle she had the illusion of riding on horseback—except this horse had the typical straw hat of a Heishou Adept and split shingles of armour than a saddle.
Yi Sang continued to gallop forward with ease. He had only done such a favour for his Master long ago, but only by her command; he reassured himself that she wouldn't mind him offering this to another soldier in need. Strangely enough, he found himself not punishing his own actions meant to provide relief or comfort, although it was for another pack's Heishou. Perhaps that meant she really wouldn't mind.
"R-Ride forth, Roci— Ah, S-Sir Wu Adept!" The Wu had lost himself so far in thought that he didn't catch her mumbled ramblings. He didn't think to question who—or what—this "Rocinante" she spoke of was before galloping forward.
It was nothing like how his young Miss would order him, but sometimes he missed not having the tug of her leash and instead having to give orders to the rest of the Wu— No, he can't compare some trembling Wei soldier to his late leash-holder. He shouldn't. Yet, the warmth and weight of the sheep on his back, although still not nearly the same as his young Miss, brought him a reassurance he hadn't felt in a long while.
Don Quixote's hands finally let go of her puffy coat that she was holding tightly to herself, leaning forward to look ahead. There wasn't much to see in the low sunlight and chilly fog, but something about the whole situation was removing her mind from the torturous cold of her body and transporting her elsewhere. She couldn't exactly recall where, but she was content nonetheless. She was on the back of her loyal Rocinante, adventuring beyond the strict confines of Hongyuan, galloping forth under the dazzling sunlight... Where had such imagery and sensations come from? Dreams were too dangerous to yearn for in her position as a Heishou soldier.
Despite their approaching curfew and impending threat of punishment from their Lord for such incompetent carelessness, riding into the late evening with someone unfamiliar no longer seemed so unpleasant.