The warmth of the fire did little to loosen the chill from Cub's spine. It wasn't the dry ache of the summer wind that chilled him but the familiar gnaw of uselessness. To hear the newbloods speak, Zhaveed had vanished. The details were vague but he was gone. Again. And Cub was in Skyrim. Again. Rihad burned for nothing.

Crouching to stay level with the others, Cub pulled the hood of his tattered cloak lower over his face as he caught Urzoth's gaze. She knew of his crown but it still pained him to be seen by other orcs. They were camped too close to Dushnikh as it was, if they even still lived. If the Dwemer didn't find him, the hunters would. Skyrim held no allies for Cub and Zhaveed had slipped through his grasp. Even Shavie had left him for dead after Harding's ship crashed. Cub's hand moved to the Dagger on his hip; at least it was still there. Though just a fragment of a memory in its dormant state, it was something familiar in a sea of new faces.

"I don't care where we go but we can't stay here." Cub managed to at least seem calm as the hood obstructed his shifting gaze scanning the treeline. Clearing his throat, the idea of hiding became more and more appealing. "Renleif, what do you know of this area? Any ruins nearby?" The idea of moving across open land again made Cub shudder as memories of the digging beasts tearing through the Windhelm stables danced before his watchful eyes. "I saw Falkreath when I crossed the mountains to find Zhaveed. There were survivors but they were desperate for supplies. I don't know if any yet live." Cub cleared his throat again, the fear in his voice begin to peek through. No, he'd much rather try his hand where those larger machines couldn't reach him

"'Scion, that Dwemer staff you have, how does it work? If we were to surprise the Dwemer in one of their own thrice-damned holes, how long would it take for them to ready a defense?"