The journey east took plenty of things from the people who made it, or thought they could before their final sleep. It was a staccato of a lullaby from dwemer staves, or the unceremonious expiration from bandits or some other terrible thing. It was a daily omen, a reminder that they were mortal when Francis woke up every morning to circling hawks and the group would be followed by them. Some days, the hawks would get what they wished, others not. It was the small victory of just taking one more step until sand became mountain that kept Francis from breaking. It was the sight of bodies, the feeling of dehydration, the hole in his stomach and the blade in his hand, the fear of a gushing throat in the night that helped to take him close to it. Limits were pushed, tempers rose, people would fight and the same ones would swallow an apology at the sight of their companions’ bodies. When they finally came to the tower, everyone was well-acquainted with the least romantic forms of death, the kind that didn’t take one to Sovngarde, only to a hastily dug grave and a worms’ stomach.

Francis himself sat beside the rest. Listening to them deliberate on where to go. Some said Windhelm, some said Riften, others said Solitude. He would follow them wherever they went but he’d part as soon as something stupid came up on them. Having two of the Heroes of Tamriel with them or no, he wasn’t looking to storm cities. At this point, after what happened in Hegathe, he wanted no part in fighting other men’s battles. He scolded himself for making the mistakes he used to. For leaving any deliberation at [i]it’s something to do.[/i] He wouldn’t forget Hegathe. He wouldn’t forget the Governor’s palace. He wouldn’t forget the name of the man who imprisoned those who surrendered, but more importantly had imprisoned Vendel in the Mosque siege. Kerztar. Major Kerztar. His knuckles grew white at the name and he swallowed his regrets and anger for a moment as Marassa cut into the planning to voice her suggestion. It was sound, more thought out than most of what he heard. He still didn’t know what to think of Marassa but she hadn’t slit his throat so she was good, he guessed.

“I’m with Marassa. Anything we can do to move without being watched is good in my book.” He said, looking about the other faces sitting around the room.

“Falkreath is unimportant enough for the Dwemer not to care about it. They won’t come looking for us there. Each one of us knows what happens when the dwemer are looking for us and we’ve left people behind us that know what happens when they find us.” He frowned and sucked his teeth, looking down at the three feet of Nordic steel that used to be Vendel’s and added quietly, “Either that or I'll see if I can catch up to Harding.”