It was impossible to tell dreams from reality anymore, and Catame was too tired to even try. He just let the twisted images of both take him where they would, almost too tired to be afraid anymore, though it was all very frightening, still. Sometimes he felt Kaur or Daynoren beside him, watching over him, but sometimes he didn't, and he wanted them back so badly that it hurt, but he couldn't make himself heard, understood, or both.

He had been drifting in an dreamless, almost pleasant half-doze, huddled under a pile of blankets and too tired to shiver against the numbing cold he felt, when suddenly his safe cocoon was ripped open and freezing fingers grasped his shoulders and arms, pulling him painfully. He struggled, but didn't have the strength to resist. Something was looming over him, someone he didn't recognize, dark and fearsome like one of the demons Catame had never actually seen except in nightmares. He tried to cry out, to scream for help, but his voice didn't work, emitting only a moan that ended in a spate of painful coughing. It was so cold, and he was all alone with monsters and shadows--

Someone took his hand, a familiar presence, and Catame went limp with relief. Daynoren was with him, right beside him-- he would protect him. If only he could keep him warm, too, and ease the pain in his throat and chest that came with each breath. Despite weariness, he had begun to shiver again as the cold air sucked closer to his damp skin. He wanted to beg his brother for his blankets back, but couldn't find his voice again and feared what more coughing would do to his ruined throat and sore muscles.

There was a soft murmur from somewhere above him, but he couldn't make it out. He struggled to open his eyes, but the light stabbed at him and he felt like he was spinning, so he shut them quickly and let out a shuddering breath. There had to be an end to this, somehow. It couldn't go on forever, though it already felt like it had. Maybe he would just die and then it really would end. Maybe he already was dying. He felt distantly sorry that he'd never gotten to go to Sanctuary and meet a dragon, and sad that he wouldn't see Daynoren anymore, but at least he wouldn't hurt anymore.

The murmuring grew louder, pulling Catame's disjointed thoughts away from death, somehow focusing them. It was a low voice, rough but all the more gentle for it, full of love and fear. He knew that voice, it was familiar, but he couldn't bring to mind the face or name that went with it. It only he could make out what she was saying, maybe then he could remember! With more effort than he thought he had left, Catame strained to hear.

Suddenly, as if that little bit of concentration was all it took, the words were clear: "Spirit of Earth, supporter and strength of the world, the steadiness of stone and the gentleness of green, growing things. I call on you to preserve and give strength."

Then the strangest thing happened, and Catame knew he must be dreaming again. His shivering stilled, as if he had literally taken root in the cold, stone floor under him, and he felt heavy with his weariness. His mind was muddied and sluggish, but no longer racing with fear and dizzied by pain, and his raw, fevered senses were full of the steady pulse of the earth and all its ponderous thoughts. Welcome to my realm, it spoke with a slow smile.

The familiar voice came again, and Catame listened, its name just beyond the reach of his thought: "Spirit of Water, nourisher and womb of the world, the flow of the river and the fall of sweet, summer rain. I call on you to cleanse and cool."

Again dream intruded on reality, if the words were even that. A line of something cool and wet moved across his forehead, and Catame felt weightless, surrounded and supported from all sides. The patter of rain was in one ear, the hiss of snow in the other, the rumble of a waterfall behind him, the sigh of the ocean before him. Here his mind flowed from sensation to sensation, and he could hear in the gurgling sound of the waters of the world: Welcome, child.

Another voice broke into the dream, higher and younger, breaking once with nervousness: Daynoren. "Spirit of Air, eternal singer and breath of life, the force of the wind and the sweetness of a harmony. I call on you to clear away and bring freedom."

Wind swirled around him, lifting him free of Earth and Water, singing in his ears and tickling at his senses. Bird calls and fluting music surrounded him, the heady scent of flowers filled him, and finally he could draw a breath without pain. Something inside him wanted to laugh for the first time in days, but he still didn't have the strength. The wind laughed, for him, saying, Yes, it's wonderful, isn't it? Welcome to my realm!

Daynoren spoke again, and Catame felt a smile at the sound, but something ominous in its meaning. "Spirit of Fire, eternal dancer and spark of life, the power of wildfire and the comfort of hearthflame. I call on you to burn clean and refresh."

The joy of Air fled before the power of Fire, and the heat of fever returned with force, much stronger than Catame had ever felt it. A crackling filled his ears, and he felt a sudden sweat break out on his skin. His breath came raggedly, the air around him hot and searing his lungs. But even with the pain, Catame felt a passion in the heart of the flame, burning with determination and furious love. It was that feeling that he drew into himself, and the flame ceased to sear him, instead burning away all that was ill and hurting, leaving behind emptiness. Welcome to the heart of fire.

It was a struggle to focus past the space of nothing Fire had left behind as it drained out of him, but Catame did his best when he heard the first voice, rough with weariness: "Spirit of Light, selfless and center of all things, the pull of love and the gift of mercy. I call on you to return life!"

Even though Catame's eyes were closed, he saw a burst of color that shimmered around him and through him, filling the hole the fever had left behind, transcending it to fill all of him. The color melded into white, so incandescently bright that it blinded his inner vision-- but at the same time he thought he could see more clearly than ever before. White light faded into a comforting glow, warming him, but not with the weakening heat of fever or the painful scorching of Fire. This place, this light surrounding him, was safe, and now he again realized just how exhausted he was. The illness had wasted him to nothing, and he had no reserves of energy to fall back upon. Not even this wonderful light could return what time and rest would restore naturally.

Sleep, my child. I will keep you safe.

And he slipped away into dreamless, healing sleep with his lips curved upwards in a smile, bringing grins of tired triumph to the faces of Deep Kaur and Daynoren. Their magic had worked.