[center][b]11th of Sun's Height[/b][/center]

The glacial air against his wet body had never been so crisp, so welcoming to his lungs and sinews, than it has been in Skyrim, a province bleak and made beautiful with its stark splendor of Nirn's grey incisors and Kynareth's frozen tears that claimed the Pale for leagues upon leagues. One must have been mad to wash cold in such a land, and mad Almad would proudly accept. He had long favoured cold baths, believing them to be more refreshing for stamina and magicka after grueling efforts, although they probably did little of that.

He left his swim of a bath and climbed on one of the many rocks that claimed the shores, and dried and clothed himself, only removing the excess water from his eight long braids because he did not feel like restyling them, lastly donning the hood of his robe. He returned to the cave to douse the campfire and to retrieve his backpack and staff, and started chewing on the frayed ends of his twig and made way for Dawnstar to restock on a few supplies. The young Redguard had not earned any disdain from the locals, he hoped. He slept out of the town by choice.

Half an hour passed and finally he arrived at the noisy timbered town, which stunk of ore, smelt iron, a tannery, raw seafood, and manure, with the occasional aroma of cooked meat, pastries, and perfumed lasses who sought the attention of those who passed by so they could sell their wares. Ever vulnerable to comely faces and kind dispositions, genuine or otherwise, he browsed their goods for about half the time it took to reach Dawnstar and certainly paid a few more coin than the products' usual value, but he did not care. The coin he saved from knowing but a little magic lessened the tyranny of his coin purse. 

It seemed odd, Dawnstar. Days of travel away was a city under siege and there lied a bustling port town disturbed, truly, by the waves that broke on the shore, but it too was touched by the horrors of conflict. The town was noticeably more populated than usual, and their tattered appearance hinted at a need for healing. Almad planned to leave but his training as a healer compelled him to stay, thus he went to a place he had never gone before, into the Windpeak Inn. He uncorked his canteen and drank the water boiled down from snow. He fastened back to his waist and proceed inside the building.