[I]Skingrad Refugee Camp, near the Colovian Rangers’ encampment, evening of 8th Seed 4E208CE.[/I]

As much as Daro’Vasora hated to admit it, but she was actually enjoying seeing everyone again. The last time they’d all been together and not fearing for their lives had been up in the expedition camp on the peaks of the Jerall Mountains, and while that felt like a lifetime ago, she had grown to know and appreciate members of her party and reaffirming her unlikely friendship with the likes of Judena and Latro, and perhaps most shocking of all, Brynja. She had the lute she had given Latro back in Imperial City in hand and was idly strumming to some of the songs she was most acquainted with that didn’t require much in the way of technical prowess; it was mainly to fill the air with song and help set people at ease, including, ideally, Durantel, the haughty Altmer prick that she half expected to replace his broken flute by pulling it out of his ass. Somehow, he even seemed less insufferable than usual, and against all odds and probability, actually seemed to make new acquaintances of his own, such as a Breton girl who had some Nord-like fairness to her. She apparently had a goat, brought to her by a blond Nord, they seemingly had met before as he took a seat beside her, even handing her a pair of boots, though he certainly oozed of charm and a degree of sleeziness, and another Breton girl that wore armour and looked like she was quite out of place amongst the riff-raff. The Khajiit didn’t bother inquiring who these new faces were, she was sure they’d make themselves known in time if they weren’t temporary additions to the camp.

Daro’Vasora had been quite thrilled to present Latro back to the group as a whole, explaining he was a Ranger and had managed to save the lute she’d given him. She didn’t bother trying to hide her fondness for him and they sat close to one another, and to show even she wasn’t to be shown up by Durantel, she invited Gregor and Jaraleet to join them since the kindly Imperial healer did take concern for her well being after her daring defeat of two of those piloted suits, and Jaraleet was… well, capable. He didn’t say much and seemed to just come and go as he pleased. 

Rhea was keeping largely to herself, although she caught her glancing at the people she considered her own with a look of… what, exactly? Guilt, anxiety? She seemed bent on ensuring everyone was safe and looked after to atone for what happened since the ruins, but here she was, probably having all of that catch up to her. Nobody heard much of Count Hassildor over the past couple of days, and even the guards seemed to be less assertive than usual. Maybe it was the calm before the storm, or everyone was finally admitting to themselves this refugee crisis wasn’t going to resolve itself. The Khajiit didn’t care, overly much; the Rangers managed to secure fairly regular supplies from people in turn for their efforts, which included handing out supplies that they had “liberated” from the Dwemer out to refugee groups, and showing those interested the newly captured technology, including the two suits Daro’Vasora took credit for capturing. She barely thought of the Mer she’d blinded and killed in the one; bastard had it coming, along with the rest of his shitty cronies. She just was giving them a taste of what they’d already been doing, it wouldn’t cost her sleep. 

By Baan Dar, she was going to take credit for her actions. It felt good to do something, what, heroic? Who knew? Who [I]cared?[/I] The Khajiit was riding a high, and she knew that wherever Zegol was, he’d be smiling down on her for picking herself up and getting things done. Daro’Vasora was not someone to sit around when opportunity knocked.

“So, not sure if you guys noticed the two fancy Dwemer suits over there? I did stop them, with help, of course. A bunch of frost mages and a pair of particularly strapping Argonians later, and out comes the soul gems, but my, it was exciting. It felt [I]good[/I] to get a few licks in, to show those Dwemer assholes that they aren’t as invincible as they want you to believe. We even went down the ruins after them, flushed them out one by one. For people called the Deep Elves, they sure were inadequate at holding off the Rangers. The rest of you should sign up, beats festering in this depressing dump. By the way, who are those guys?” she pointed with her toe towards Rhona, Nani, and Calen. “I’m not sharing my rations; Brynja already eats enough for three of us, she’s a growing woman who needs to crush a few dwarf necks.” Daro’Vasora said, scrumming out the chords for [I]A Daggerfall Mistress[/I], which was a bawdy tavern song out West that made its way to the capital, to lighten the mood somewhat. 

Brynja grunted as she passed a bowl of stew into the hands of the newcomers, “I’d rather drink a barrel of ale than eat a gallon of stew.” Once everyone had a bowl, Brynja settled down onto the ground, waiting for her stew to cool. She had little spices to cook with, salt and mugwort that came from the Breton with the goat. She claimed it was used as a seasoning, and Brynja had to admit, it did give the soup an aromatic flavor. 

“Don’t forget that Solandil and I destroyed the airships with our bare hands.” Brynja nodded at Rhona, she had met her on arriving back at camp right away.

“Remind me your name again, lass.”

“Rhona. I’m an enchantress by trade.” She offered a half smile, and raised the bowl of soup up towards Brynja, “Thank you for the stew.”

Rhona turned attention to Calen where she whispered, “Thank you for bringing my boots to me, and for looking after Tobias.”

“My pleasure.” He responded with a wink.

“Mm.” Brynja’s gaze shifted towards the Breton besides Rhona, “And you? Who are you?”

Nanine looked up from her stew, having been in the process of devouring it. Though she wouldn’t admit it, it had been a while since she had eaten as she’d given her rations to a family that had none. ”Nanine Tilhart, former Imperial Battle Mage turned adventurer for hire. Rhona has graciously offered enchanting lessons to increase mmy meager skills.  My appreciations for the stew.” She glanced over at the Khajiit.”I don’t suppose you managed to grab their strange staves did you? The ones that shoot small projectiles and tear through armor.”

“I’m curious as well. It’d be quite beneficial to have some of the weapons used by the Dwemer, if only to learn how to best defend ourselves from them at the very least.” Jaraleet chimed in from his position next to Raelynn once Nanine had stopped speaking. He too was curious if Vasora, or any of the other rangers for that matter, had managed to get their hands on the strange armaments employed by the Deep Elves. “Ah, but where are my manners, my thanks for the stew.” He added, turning to look at Brynja as he spoke. “My name is Jaraleet, former mercenary and, for now, Colovian Ranger, pleased to meet you all.” The Argonian said before turning to look at Daro’Vasora. “Gregor here had told me that you recuperated shortly after I left you in his care.” He said, motioning towards the Imperial before continuing. “But it is nonetheless good to see that you are in good health.” He said to the Khajiit before turning his attention back to his stew. He wouldn’t admit it, but the march back to the refugee camp had tired him greatly and, as such, the assassin was grateful for both the hot food and the campfire.    

Gregor smiled and nodded graciously when he was mentioned and gestured towards but said nothing just yet. He had never been the type to interrupt a conversation for something as trivial as an introduction -- that could wait. Instead, he simply looked at Daro'Vasora, for it was her turn to respond. 

“I was winded, not bleeding out of my ears. Thanks, though.” Daro’Vasora replied, glancing up at the Argonian for a moment. “You might have been a bit too eager about the whole damsel in distress thing.” 

“Ah, I see, my apologies, I was unsure what kind of damage you might have suffered when you fell after prying loose the hatch that kept safe the power source of that Dwemer contraption so I thought it best to leave you in the hands of the mages so they might take a look at you.” The Argonian said. “I apologize if the manner in which I carried you out of the battleground produced discomfort, it seemed the most efficient way to take you out of harm’s way at the moment. And there is no need to thank me, it’s the duty of each and every soldier to aid their brothers and sisters in arms.” Jaraleet said before continuing to eat his stew in silence. 

Judena stood empty bowl in hand, having finished her portion. She nervously looked to all the new faces, Brynja asking for their introductions was a good sign they were in fact, new but she desperately hoped she was not misplacing them. She crouched down beside Meg, her hunting and gathering partner. Settling on her haunches. Jaraleet spoke adequately and clearly, she hoped he hailed from Argonia. It had felt like a long time since she had been among other Argonians. To speak freely in her native tongue was a little slice of home.

Since the strange day Durantel had joined Meg and herself, she harboured fresh pangs of courage to read the letters. He held true to his word, he never once spared a glare her way nor rattled mean spirited words her way. Mostly avoiding her outright. Judena felt it was curious behaviour but took no offence. 

Latro rejoining the group was indeed spectacular news, those who joined the rangers had returned in one piece and it was truly a relief. Suffering more losses would have been unreasonable after all they had gone through together. She settled her bowl down beside her leg, “Latro it is an enormous relief to see you once again. Fate has a funny way of drawing us all together.”

“To the new faces, I sincerely hope you are new, if not - I deeply apologize for not recalling our first meeting. Please, try not to take offence. My name is Judena Callisar,” she removed her logbook from inside her robes. “For decades I have found joy in appraising ancient artefacts, scouring for history, and using my skills in alteration to discover the past.”

“Daro’Vasora, when you have a moment I would like to hear your thoughts on the dwemer constructs you dealt with first hand. Very valuable observations, I am sure.”

The Khajiit smiled in return. “Tomorrow, when there’s light. I’ve got a pair of walking trophies I’d love to show you. Don’t worry, Judena; I will remind you.”

It was hard to wipe the grin off Meg's face, even while she sipped at her bowl of soup, green eyes watching, taking in the sight before her. [i]Four days.[/i] She had to keep reminding herself it had been only that long since she had last seen Brynja and Sora, even though it felt like so much [i]longer[/i] She was thrilled to see they were back, and with Latro nonetheless. A sure tear -or was it a few?- had found its way to her eyes, which she continued to blink away even now. She'd had faith she would see Brynja, Daro'Vasora and Sol once more, but Latro? While the small glimmer of hope had remained in her heart, it had been covered by the dark cloak of reality.

Even as she listened to Judena, grinning slightly at her apology to the newcomers, Meg looked from the familiar faces to the less familiar ones, including some she had briefly met in the refugee camp when she wasn't out in the forest. The Nord waved her hand, the look on her face calming slightly as her grin shifted to a smile, though her legs continued to shake excitedly, as was their habit.

"Megana Corvus' my name, but y'all can call me Meg, nice an' short." Though those who had met her in the camp would surely know her name, she was quite sure she had never seen any of the new faces that had accompanied her friends from the Rangers. "Nice t'see you lot." If her older companions trusted them, she would as well. From what it sounded, it seemed quite a lot had happened. Meg couldn't help feeling a little envious, even though glory was never what she was after... rather the adventure.

Mortalmo stared down at his stew as the others exchanged greetings and conversed. He had accepted his portion from the Nord cow reluctantly but without incident. Pride only went so far, and for now, he needed to eat. He lifted the bowl to his lips and paused before taking a sip of the lightly steaming broth. It was... adequate. He took another sip then, eyeing Rhona, and on either side of her, another newcomer. To her left sat the Breton that had introduced herself as Nanine Tilhart, though the more concerning of the two was the figure to Rhona’s right; a Nord pretty boy that looked several shades too slimy for Mortalmo’s taste.

He looked away then, and instead chose to focus on finishing his stew. It was none of Mortalmo’s concern who Rhona chose to consort with. The wretch already rubbed shoulders with a goat, why not a Nord dog? Unfortunately, it would seem that his staring had caught the Nord’s attention.

“I don’t bite, friend!” Calen chirped, extending out a hand from across the way for him to shake. He had hoped to diffuse any awkwardness amongst the group. “What brings the pleasure of your company?”

Mortalmo stared hard at the Nord youth. He glanced down at the outstretched hand and sniffed, before drawing his eyes back up to meet the Nord’s own. “Never have I heard of a dog that did not bite. You may be the first.” 

“I only bite if it's asked of me.” Calen said back to Durantel with a wink, though withdrawing his hand nonetheless.

Nanine snorted quietly. Durantel was a typical High Elf, but Calen certainly seemed able to handle it and then some.

Brynja stretched her legs out before her, and groaned at his words, “Don’t pay him much mind,” she cautioned, before glancing at Durantel sideways, “Still haven’t forgotten that you called me a [i]cow[/i], Durantel. And yet you eat my stew without a complaint.” Her eyebrows rose at him, the corners of her mouth twitching into a smile. Her gaze shifted to Rhona who procured a wooden pipe, and packed it full of herbs. A stream of fire leapt from her fingertips igniting the pipe, where she blew the smoke out her nose as she tipped her head back, seemingly avoiding both Nanine and the Nord.

“A cow that can cook is certainly something worth commending.” Mortalmo quipped back. “Your stew was palatable and for that I am grateful.”

Her expression turned to surprise at Durantel’s unexpected compliment, “Well… thank you.” She cleared her throat, avoiding any sentiment, and turned her attention back to the blond Nord, “So, what do you call yourself? And moreover, what’s a fellow Nord doing all the way down here in Cyrodiil?” 

Anifaire took a seat next to Durantel, grateful for the hot stew that was available. Without even considering the flavour or those around her, she sat and began to eat quickly. Manners stuck with her, and she tried to slow down after a few bites to be polite. She was simply grateful for the hot meal, as, with the others ducking in and out of camp and her lack of cooking skills, she’d had sparse full meals and a lot of bread in recent days.

“Calen,” he responded, “Calen Smallwood -- family name, that; not an earned one. Mayhaps hoping to change that. Ah, but jokes aside, I was just hoping to see more of Tamriel. Then, well… I guess I got roped into this mess at just the right time when people were trying to escape. Helped to get them here, as much good as that did ‘em. At least they're alive, though.”

“Calen!” Gregor suddenly exclaimed, a roguish grin on his face. “That's it. I'd forgotten your name. Nice to see you again, but unexpected, so far from home.” The heavily-armed Imperial raised a hand in a proper greeting and tucked a loose strand of hair back behind his ear with the other. He'd already finished his stew by now, his silence having allowed him to eat as fast as possible without staining his beard, and he figured now was a good time to make himself known. It wasn't everyday he ran into old acquaintances from his time in the North. “Do you remember me? My name is Gregor. I made use of your carriage service a year or two ago.” 

He then turned to look at the rest of the assembled Rangers, mages, travellers and oddities and inclined his head in their direction. “Pleased to meet you all, by the by,” Gregor added, his grin having diminished into a warm and genuine smile.

“Gregor!” Calen repeated aloud, throwing his hand across the clearing once more for good shake with a look of remembrance and a huge toothy grin. “The Vigilant if I'm not mistaken! And here I thought Tamriel was hiding a great, wide world on the other side of those mountains. It would seem that it couldn't be smaller!”

Gregor’s face betrayed nothing. “I worked with the Vigilants, yes, but close enough. Good memory.” Calen looked like his first introduction with war hadn’t changed him a bit. It was nice to see some unbridled enthusiasm in the midst of this sudden and devastating conflict. “Small world, indeed. Glad to have you here. Either way, I’ll stop hogging the limelight. Once again, nice to meet you all,” Gregor said and leaned back a little, emphasizing that he was done talking. 

Raelynn didn't want to eat the stew. It was filled with an assortment of foraged foods of questionable quality. The entire thing just sat in the bowl taunting her. She'd eaten worse, sure, but looking into the miserably desperate bowl made her appetite disappear. She dragged her spoon back and forth through the now starchy broth. She longed for something real. To be at a table with people of her stature. Dignified individuals. She longingly imagined how it would feel to sit on an actual cushion, to drape herself in fabrics. 

She took a few pathetic mouthfuls of the stew before placing the bowl at her side. That would be it. If anyone were to ask she would simply explain that she was tired and felt too sickly to eat it. Or she'd tell them that fresh manure would have been preferable - depending of course entirely on who would ask her why she was leaving such a full bowl. [i]Stew is for peasants with no teeth![/i] she thought to herself as she got up to take a wander around the camp. 

Everyone was seemingly occupying themselves with idle chatter, she rolled her eyes at it all. It was all so ridiculous. Here they were, in the middle of a catastrophe and yet they found time to sing, gossip, and scoff down bowls of shite. She wanted out of here, she wanted a bed, a real fireplace and some privacy. It was all starting to grind on the Breton mage. Her hair was looking frazzled, her cloak all but destroyed, she hadn't eaten food with flavour since her last morning in the Imperial City. 

She retreated out of sight of them into shadows and started… crying. But she was crying silently. Just long empty sobs with no sound. She kept it in but felt the hot tears well up under her now dull and overtired eyes. She felt haggard and ugly, like she was going to waste away. She slumped down onto her knees and stayed that way while she continued to weep, in the only slightly private spot she had found herself in. 

Jaraleet had continued to eat his bowl of stew in silence, but continued to pay attention to the conversations around him. It seemed that he had found himself amidst a group that had travelled together for quite some time, if the banter and atmosphere of familiarity where any indication. The scene brought on a sense of nostalgia to the Haj-Eix, as he remembered his fellow brothers and sisters who still remained in Argonia and, in some cases, scattered throughout the rest of Tamriel. 

Any further thoughts were interrupted when he noticed that Raelynn leaving the perimeter of the campfire. It hadn’t taken him too long to notice that the mood of the Breton healer was heavy, a fact that was rather evident by her apparent lack of appetite and silence throughout the conversation. He briefly pondered whether or not to go looking after her, but in the end decided against it; they hadn’t known each other for too long and he doubted that his presence would be welcome, not to mention the fact that, in truth, the assassin didn’t care all too much for how Raelynn felt. He was grateful towards her for healing his wounds, but asides from that the Saxhleel hadn’t much attachment towards her. 

He thought about chatting with Gregor, the only other person with whom he had exchanged more than a few words aside from Raelynn, but the Imperial seemed busy chatting with Calen. The self-proclaimed Imperial Battlemage seemed rather busy….staring at a few of the individuals gathered near the campfire. A strange thing to do, for sure, but Jaraleet decided not to bother her, although it did make him suspicious of Nanine. “It is a pleasure to meet you Meg, and you as well Raj-Deelith Callisar. It is always an honor to speak to one such as you.” Jaraleet said, deciding to join in the conversations happening around the campfire. “I don’t recall having seen either of you amongst the Rangers, I take it that you two stayed here?” He asked both women curiously.

"Aye, we stayed here," Meg piped in, looking at the new Argonian. She had seen Argonians in Riften as a child and later as a wanderer near Windhelm, but she'd never actually had the chance to make a proper conversation with more than a couple until now. Judena had been the first she had grown close to, and it was a nice thought that she could make another acquaintance of the same race. 

"We decided t'go foraging' an' help out with those who stayed behind," she continued. "I gotta say though, sounds like y'all had the adventurin' of a lifetime out there!"

Judena perked up at Raj-Deelith, she flapped her hand at Jaraleet, “Honoured Elder! Please you may call me Judena or Jude. There is no need for honorifics here, I am simply happy to see you. As Meg said, we spent our time here collecting food - scarce as it has been. I decided to stay behind and Meg joined me to keep company. Would not have been half as successful without her.” She grinned at the Nord, “I am relieved to see those who joined the rangers returned safely.” Raelynn’s departure from the fireside did not go unnoticed. Perhaps the stew did not agree with the kindly breton?

"Aye," Meg agreed, setting down her now empty bowl. "Sure am glad t'see them again. Who'da thought four days felt like four months, eh?" With that said, she looked to Jaraleet. "Uhh... what's that word y'called Jude? Ra- er- somethin'?"

“Raj-Deelith, it is a word in our native tongue of Jel to refer to honored elders.” Jaraleet replied in response to Meg’s inquiry, smiling towards the Nord woman. “My apologies, I sometimes forget that our native tongue isn’t so widely known.” He said, bowing his head slightly as a sign of apology before turning to look at Jude. 

“I’ll try and remember that Raj…..Judena.” The assassin said, just realizing midway that he was referring to Jude with the honorifice once again. He had to admit that he felt embarrassed, something that he had not felt since he had been a small hatchling and his trainers chastised him for stupid mistakes. He shook his head to clear his thoughts before continuing to speak, “Aye, many of us managed to return safely thanks to the help of the mages amongst the Rangers. But others were not so lucky, and I am sure that most of us are returning with new scars. I know I do at least.” He said grimly, his hand moving to his left side and hovering over the cauterized wound. “The Dwemer are a terrible foe, but the victory today proves that they can be defeated.” The Saxhleel said, smiling towards both Jude and Meg once he was done talking.

Meg was reminded of her own wound, caused more by stupidity and far less exciting story than she believed was the cause for Jaraleet's wound. Still, at least it was healing, and mostly it was a dull pain now, serving only to remind her to be much more vigilant from now on. 

"Sure's nice t'hear that," she said as she stretched out her legs towards the fire. "The day they came to the city... I just ran. As hard as I could." She shook her head. "Still kinda surprised I didn' get killed in all that chaos."
 
Judena patted Meg’s shoulder comfortingly. She addressed Jaraleet, “Do not fret Jarheap. Even if you were to forget I would not hold it against you.”

Jaraleet was confused by the way Judena had called him, but thought best of bringing it up and merely nodded towards the elder Saxhleel with a smile. “You shouldn’t be ashamed Meg.” He added in response to the comment made by the Nord woman. “We were caught by surprise, there was nothing we could do. I too was forced to run from the Imperial City, so do not be ashamed of your actions that day.” He said, offering the woman a smile. “Plus, I’m sure that you’ll have plenty of chances in the days to come to repay the Dwemer for forcing us all to flee from battle.”

 "Heh..." Meg appreciated both Judena's comforting pat as well as Jaraleet's words. "I'm countin' on it... those bastards gotta pay for all this." [i]This[/i] was accompanied by her hand motioning towards the refugee camp in general. "I'm just... I'm still stumped. I mean... first dragons, now dwemer... what next?" 

“It does not matter.” Jaraleet said quietly in response to Meg’s words, looking down at his empty bowl. “Don’t mistake my words for indifference of what you are going through, it is natural to be confused in such times.” The assassin continued to speak, looking at Meg directly in the eyes. “Yet, all the same, it doesn’t changes anything. We are soldiers right now, no matter what we were before the Dwemer came, and our sole purpose is to defeat the Deep Elves and protect the rest of Tamriel.” He spoke with conviction, settling his empty bowl down and reaching for his backpack. “But, that doesn’t matters for the moment.” He said as he retrieved a bottle from the pack. 

He uncorked the bottle and took a swig of its content, letting out a contented sigh. “Would you like some? It’s Theilul, a type of Argonian rum. I managed to salvage this from my home before fleeing.” The assassin said with a smile, extending the bottle towards Jude and Meg. 

Meg thought about it a moment before allowing her grin to return. It seemed like forever since that drunk night in Imperial City. "Why not?" She reached out and took hold of the bottle, not in the slightest bit worried that it may be too strong for her to drink. Bringing the bottle to her lips, she took swig of the Theilul, blinking as she swallowed. "Huh, that's different." She took a quick second sip before offering the bottle to Judena, though she was unsure if her friend would partake or not.

Judena declined. “Thank you, Jarnolle. That is kind, but that rum has not sat well with me ever since I was a youth. I found nord mead and wines to be a bit more preferable.”

“Ah, that’s a shame. But I suppose that only means that there’s more for me, and for Meg if she wishes to drink more.” The Argonian said with a smile, hiding his confusion, and slight discomfort, at the fact that Judena seemed unable to recall his name after such a short while. He took the bottle of Theilul and took another swig before offering it to Meg once again, giving her a quizzical look alongside of his offer of the bottle. A sort of unspoken question about Judena’s confusion about his name. 

Taking one more swig, enjoying the drink with every gulp, Meg noticed the look on the other Argonian's face. "Ah, Judena kinda forgets stuff, but ya just gotta remind her an' she'll do her best t'remember. She writes down lotsa notes as well, bloody useful t'be honest. I'm sure she'll write down your name when she gets a chance." She took a smaller sip this time before holding the bottle out for Jaraleet to take.

“Ah.” Jaraleet said as he took the bottle, taking a small sip of its content before speaking again. “My thanks Meg, I’ll endeavor to remind Judena of my name in case she forgets about it again.” The Argonian said, taking yet another drink of the Theilul before offering the bottle again to Meg.  They continued to share the contents of the bottle until it was empty, with Jaraleet listening in on the other conversations going around the campfire in silence. 

Nanine settled back next to Rhona, enjoying the smell of the woman’s pipe even if she herself didn’t smoke, as the conversation swirled around them, her empty stew bowl beside her. With nothing to add to the conversation, she turned her efforts to remembering particular faces she wanted to draw later. Meg, with her slightly wild grin and visibly vibrating with excitement, like someone had trapped lightning and it was just so happy to be here. Nani had to smile at the sight. It was cute.

Durantel, with his disdainful facial expressions and words, was cold, but not cold enough to hide something that  lurked just behind his eyes, like a glacier on top of the flooded ruins of Winterhold, hiding deep secrets. Was it longing? Regret? Nanine couldn’t tell. Perhaps she was just imagining it, wistfully thinking  that life imitates the stories.

With Gregor it was far easier to tell what emotion was in his eyes. The thing that kept his charms from fully reaching his face. The man was driven, and driven harshly. Something bore on him, something he couldn’t escape, like a violent thunderstorm gathering atop a mountain, ready to bring ruin to the small village beneath it. His secrets were his own, however, and Nanine’s interest remained artistic.

The other Altmer, the younger one, looked out of place. It might have been her general demeanor, that of someone who had just recently been thrown into circumstances like this, or perhaps it was how she tried to retain her manners despite being just as hungry as Nanine herself had been. Regardless, she reminded the Breton mage of an ornate teapot, left out in the middle of the woods. 

The Khajiit brought a wry smile to her face, looking like...well, like a cat who had just caught its prey, and was smugly laying in the sun and enjoying its victory. Nanine had to wonder, however, if the possible consequences for destroying and airship and stealing the suits even crossed the other woman’s mind, or if she was too busy basking in the glow of victory to think of the future. Nanine’s eyes almost unconsciously shifted between these five people, striving to commit their expressions and body language to memory. It was a strange, and doubtlessly creepy, way to start her first interactions with them, but she couldn’t help herself. 

“Lady, you’re being creepy.” Daro’Vasora confirmed, handing the lute over to Latro so she could accept a bowl of the stew herself. “So what kind of maiming is on your mind? Rug, fur coat, boot liners? Try me, I’ve heard everything. The only people who stare like you do either want to murder someone or screw their brains out. Sometimes both, I don’t judge.” She sniffed the bowl before shrugging and taking a spoonful. “Much.”

Nanine gave a start, realizing she’d been staring too long again. Embarrassment colored her cheeks, and she floundered. ”Oh, by the Nine, I did it again. Shit! I told myself I wouldn’t do this.”While she struggled to articulate, Rhona spoke up.

Rhona chewed thoughtfully on the stem of her pipe, smoke rolling out of her nostrils. She gave Nanine a sideways glance before turning her attention to the Khajiit, “I’m certain Nanine means no harm. After all,” she swept her hand out, gesturing to everyone gathered around the campfire, “it is a curious sight to see so many different faces seated around one such place. From my travels, Mara has brought many a curious face across my path, and sometimes… those people become our allies, even if for a short time.” 

“Yup, we were all brought here out of Mara’s love, and not the totally far-fetched idea that there’s thousands of people from a city in one place who’ve been displaced by a Dwemer invasion. I wish I had your optimism, or whatever drugs you partake in.” The Khajiit replied deadpan, carelessly eating the contents of the bowl. “My apologies, but allies is a strong word for someone I’ve never even seen before. What do you do, exactly?”

She pulled the pipe out of her mouth, considering both Daro’Vasora and her words carefully, before turning her pipe upside down and tapping it against the ground, removing the ashes effectively. Tobias had wandered off into the darkness behind her, most likely finding himself something delectable to munch on. 

Rhona shook her head, a ghost of a smile appearing before vanishing altogether, “Forgive my broad words, but I meant those [i]here[/i], present in this circle. Not the thousands of troubled souls beyond this fire. Think what you will about me, I cannot change the winds of Kynareth, it is her breath that guides me across the lands. The first path I crossed was that of Calen’s, and here he sits--” Calen waved his hand, “--I next crossed Nanine’s, and here she sits. Then it was Durantel, and he is a part of this group. As you were with the Rangers during these last few days dealing the Dwemer a deadly blow, I had the opportunity to meet your fellow companions, Megana, Judena, Alim, and Rhea. And here they all are.” She shrugged a bit haphazardly, “And now here you are.”

“I said it before, but in case you didn’t hear, I shall repeat myself. I am an enchantress by trade. I’ve travelled across Cyrodiil and beyond for the last couple years.” Rhona blinked slowly, before turning towards her rucksack, rummaging around until she found what she sought, she refilled her pipe, relit it, and stuck it back her mouth. Before her eyebrows rose, “Would you care for some? It’s just Mugwort and lavender. It has a natural relaxing effect.” She extended the pipe towards her.

“I never realized that an invitation for a meal and a fire was divine intervention. Perhaps I should have blamed lady Kynareth for the lack of attendance at my childhood birthday parties.” The Khajiit replied, turning down the pipe with an extended palm. “So, enchantress, huh? Are we talking making men walking weapons of destruction or faire trinkets that allegedly improve your sex life while lowering your appetite? One of which would be useful in present circumstances, the other if your name is Durantel and want to be somewhat appealing towards courting a woman.”

“How about the stew? I thought the stew was great.” Calen awkwardly interjected, trying to diffuse the tension.


“It’s not bad. Could use more skeever chunks, those little shits are everywhere.” Daro’Vasora said agreeably.

“At least someone likes it,” Brynja nodded her thanks to Calen before turning to glower at Vasora, “Well you don’t have to eat it, y’know.” She resisted the urge to knock the bowl out of her hands, but thought better of it. This was just how Vasora was, it would take her time to trust anyone, much like herself.

Nanine focused herself, a sheen of frost covering her gauntlets as she connected with magic to calm her flustered nerves, grateful that the conversation had moved on.

Rhona shook her head, laughing softly, “Over 9 years of experience enchanting weapons, amulets, circlets, rings, clothing, and armor. There’s only a few enchantments I’ve yet to learn, but yes, turning men into walking weapons I can do.” Her tone changed, “As for helping men court women, that is outside of my expertise. Love is… not my forte, I can’t enchant the hearts and minds of men.”

“I beg to differ.” Calen muttered beneath a barely contained smirk. Rhona glanced at him, her cheeks turning a rosy shade of pink, and then quickly turned her attention back to Daro’Vasora.

“Oh hush, Brynja, it’s just fine. I might even get seconds if it lasts that long.” Daro’Vasora assured the Nord. She pulled the mace from her belt, holding it out so it caught the firelight. “So, let’s say I wanted this enchanted to cause paralysis after smashing someone’s kneecap. Is that something you can do?”

“It’s not one I’ve done often, but I know it, and can do it, if you have the coin of course. Soul gems aren’t cheap.” 

Daro’Vasora pouted. “And so much for being allies. We’re supposed to look after each other.” she said with a wink. “Tell you what, I’ll think on it and see if I can’t find something worth your while. I’ve spent my time around Tamriel the past few years digging up artifacts and selling them off, I know what’s worth more than a few coins for your trouble. I might like you after all.”

Rhona nodded in agreement, “Fair enough, you find me something of value, and I’ll enchant that mace of yours. Same goes for the rest of you.”

“A dagger with the potential to paralyze an opponent would be a most welcome utility.” Mortalmo sized Rhona up. Was this asking too much of the Breton? How much she valued the services he offered would remain to be seen. “Perhaps I would have use for an enchanter after all, girl.”

She shifted uneasily, Durantel had proved a most dutiful teacher in the past few days, and what he had taught her was helpful already. In her eyes, the least she could do was to fulfill a simple request as his. Rhona took a puff from her pipe, smoke seeping out from the corners of her mouth, “But of course.” It dawned on her then, that since she hadn’t seen Calen in three days time, she had no idea if he had seen Cezare again. She swallowed hard. 

The Altmer bowed his head. “I am most thankful. And be assured that I will earn this boon.” 

Alim poked his head into the small clearing, leaves and a twig in his thick mane of hair. They had decided to have a party without him? “Oh…” he said, squinting. “I see how it is.” 

Judena glanced around at the rustling nearby, Raelynn still on her own but the sudden appearance of the rogue had Jude waving Alim over, “Come Alim, the bush is no place to get dinner. We would know, having already checked ourselves!” Cackling a little at her own joke, knowing he would appreciate the attempt. 

Nanine had finally managed to stop her embarrassment, the frost dissipating from her gauntlets. She needed to explain herself before Daro’Vasora’s narrative took hold.”I apologize if I made anyone uncomfortable, earlier. I draw in my spare time, and like to draw specific moments in my journal later. Like an adventurer lightly strumming a lute, eager to brag about her victories over an enemy not seen in centuries, basking in the glow of victory and the warmth of a campfire. So I tend to unconsciously stare at people or things in those moments to try and capture every detail, even though I only need a few moments to remember things perfectly. So no maiming on my mind and no screwing for you I’m afraid.” Nanine smirked lightly. ” You’ll have to find someone else’s private life to judge.”

Gregor had followed the conversation with no small measure of amusement. Daro’Vasora’s caustic wit and devil-may-care attitude reminded him of some of the smarter Nords he’d met during his time in Skyrim, and wasn’t characteristic of her race at all. It was always funny to see people defying stereotypes. The male Altmer was predictably condescending, but beyond that there was a sharpness in his gaze that Gregor had only seen in the most cunning of people before. And so his thoughts went round the campfire’s attendees, forming first impressions, creating opinions… but there was a part of him in the back of his mind that rendered far more sinister judgements, like a whisper at the edge of his hearing.

[i]Not a threat. Not a threat. Might become a threat. Not a threat. Dangerous, be watchful. Not a threat…[/i] 

“So, Nanine,” the Imperial said after clearing his throat and smiled. “What do you make of this handsome mug of mine, eh?” Gregor’s tone made it clear that he was jesting, following in Calen’s footsteps when it came to keeping the mood light, but only half. He really was curious what someone so experienced in observation would make of him now. After everything. 

“Hope you don't mind settling for second best!” Calen immediately pitched in, raising his mug of whatever mystery drink they were serving and winking at Gregor with a humored smile. This earned him a sharp look from Durantel, though the elf remained silent.

Nanine paused a moment, smiling at the banter, as she studied Gregor’s face. “You’ve certainly been blessed with good looks and an eternal youthfulness that elude most, but age is beginning to catch up with you. It is small, a wrinkle here, a grey hair there, but it exists. You’ve the build and easy movements of an adventurer, as with most of us here.” She paused, chuckling lightly. “And the easy charisma of someone who knows he’s blessed with good looks.”

 Her voice became quieter as she moved onto the shadow that hung over him. “Unlike the rest of us, however, there’s something else. Something in the way you move, something in your eyes. You move as if you have the weight of the world on your shoulders, and as if it never quite leaves your mind. It prevents your smiles from filling your eyes, your laughs from being as loud as they could be. You move as if you’re being chased. Whatever it is, it’s not as simple as the death of a loved one, or a betrayal. People driven by that have different looks, a smoldering rage or a burning desire in their eyes. The look behind your eyes is...intense. And unyielding. Like steel.”

The easygoing half-smile on Gregor’s face slowly disappeared as Nanine talked, his dark eyes locked into her grey gaze. It was the first time someone had paid sufficient attention to him to read between the lines since he’d come back from Skyrim. A dark look fell over his features, their beauty briefly stolen by melancholy and the very steel that she spoke of, and Gregor finally averted his gaze when she was done talking, her judgement rendered. He briefly opened his mouth, as if to speak, but appeared to think better of it and closed it again. Gregor felt the eyes of the others on him now while images of the horrible things he’d seen and done raced through his mind. 

Suddenly, and without warning, he climbed to his feet, brushing the leaves out of his cloak before his hands went over his various sheaths and holsters, absent-mindedly performing the same gear check he had done a hundred times over. “That was… quite perceptive, Nanine,” he managed, the act of getting up to leave returning some measure of control over the situation back to him that allowed him to speak. “We all have our demons. If you’ll excuse me, I have to…” 

Gregor trailed off and gestured vaguely with his hands towards the rest of the refugee encampment behind him. He cleared his throat, squared his shoulders and, after a final curt nod, set off at a brisk pace into the gloom. 

Nanine watched him go, murmuring, “Perhaps it’d be best if I stopped talking the rest of the night.”

Mortalmo watched the Imperial take his leave with narrowed eyes. That one warranted caution.

A silence filled the camp at Gregor’s departure, one that made even Brynja feel unsettled. She cleared her throat, and turned her attention to Alim, “Well it’s about time you got here,” she grunted as she climbed to her feet, where she filled a bowl of stew, and handed it off to him before claiming a bottle of ale for herself. She settled down beside Daro’Vasora, where she uncorked the bottle. 

“Where’ve you been, Alim? Off chasing skirts again?” She took a mighty swig from her bottle, and pointed it at him, her eyebrows raised as the corners of her lips turned upwards.

Alim had his mouth half full of one of the chicken legs that was roasting on the fire, and he nearly choked on it when she spoke. The spellsword banged on his chest with his fist as he swallowed what he could. “I take offense to that, I don’t chase skirts!” He declared. Though you could tell he wasn’t truly hurt. He opened his mouth to clarify, but it took him a moment to find the words. “I just enjoy flirting... and if the flirting bears fruit, then you know [i]I[/i] won’t complain.” He placed his hand on his chest for emphasis.

“Besides,” he began. “My true passion is shiny things, adventure, and then women...in that order generally. Unless the woman happens to be interested in me too, then the others take a back seat.” He spoke matter of fact as if it was the natural order of things. “All three are preferable however...ANYWAY, enough about me. What has been happening here while I was napping?” He asked. Without warning, it looked as if he plucked a flute out of the air, though quick eyes would see he had grabbed it from his pack at this side. He didn’t play just yet however, instead wanting to hear the answer first. He’d only give a tune to keep the hearty vibe going, anyway. 

Brynja shrugged, “The newcomers were introducing themselves. We’ve Nanine, Rhona and Calen,” She gestured to the trio seated together, “Then you just missed Gregor, and there’s Jaraleet, both from the Rangers… and by the Gods! Latro is alive!” She leaned forward suddenly, double checking to make certain he still remained at Daro’Vasora’s side. She nodded, and then leaned backwards again. 

“It is a pleasure to meet you Alim, from the familiar tone I take it you are part of this group rather than a recent acquaintance, no?” Jaraleet interjected at the mention of his name, giving a slight bow of his head in the direction of the Redguard. 

Alim listened to Brynja, and then gave a smile at the mention of Gregor. They hadn’t been properly introduced but even that small glimpse, he could see the man had been somewhat flustered. But then, an Argonian! “Ah, tis a pleasure sir.” He said, and held his hand out to shake. He wasn’t sure if that was the correct gesture to give to one of the Black Marsh peoples but he was certain Jaraleet would find it polite. “Always good to have an Argonian on board.” He said. From his experience, they were often very skilled at whatever they put their minds to, and Alim valued skill highly. 

Jaraleet smiled and shook Alim’s outstretched hand firmly. “Ah, you are too kind.” He said with a light chuckle at the mention that it was good to have another Argonian on board. “I’m a mere recent acquaintance, I’m not sure if I could be considered to be ‘on board’ as you put.” He said, scratching the back of his neck slightly as he pondered on Alim’s words. “Though, truth be told, I wouldn’t be opposed to the notion, given the present situation.” He added before chuckling once more. “Ah, but that is not for me to decide, is it? You’ve already shown me a great kindness by inviting me to share in your food, it would be impolite of me to request more.” Said the assassin with a smile. 

Mortalmo eyed Jaraleet appraisingly. “What are your capabilities, scaled one? This ensemble has faced significant peril in the past few weeks alone. It would not be in the best interest of one lacking worldly experience to go down any road with us.” The lizard did not appear incompetent as far as the Mer could gauge, though it would never do to overestimate a mere animal. 

“Well, I know my way around a blade better than most I’d say.” Jaraleet spoke in response to Durantel’s inquiry, patting the sheaths in which his sword and dagger rested. “But, aside from that, I’m also adept at sneaking by enemies should the need arise. Quite useful for scouting ahead of battle, in my opinion.” The Argonian continued on. “I’m also proficient in making alchemical concoctions, which could prove useful in the days to come.” He said, deciding to omit that his knowledge of alchemy was rather confined to the making of poisons rather than any of the more beneficial concoctions for which most alchemists were known. 

“Very well. I do not claim to be the leader of this assortment by any stretch, though I believe I speak for all here that possess sense when I say that I suspect you would be an asset, rather than a hindrance.” Maybe Mortalmo’s words would ring true; if he had to guess, the time for the Argonian to place some substance behind his statements would arrive soon enough. Surely this group was a beacon for strife. 

“Thank you for your kind words.” Jaraleet said in response. He knew that the Altmer’s words weren’t said out of mere kindness, not after the display he had done when Calen had attempted to be friendly towards him, but the Haj-Eix had no desire to be confrontational with him, especially if he had been travelling with this group for long. The Altmer had proclaimed that he wasn’t the leader of the group, but his words still could carry some weight behind them and, as such, Jaraleet preferred to be polite. “I know that my words aren’t sufficient to earn me a place amongst you, after all trust is a precious commodity that shouldn’t be squandered. Especially not in times such as these ones, but, if you give me a chance, I can promise you that it’ll be worth it.” 

“If you can swing a blade as good as you say, then you’ll be of use to us.” Brynja nodded her head in agreement. After all this time Rhea still hadn’t said a word, she figured that she must’ve been exhausted. “It’s always good to have another blade around.” Durantel nodded his assent at Brynja’s words.

Anifaire had finished her stew, and was looking at the pot, her stomach still unsatisfied. She found was less uncomfortable in the presence of these strange people than she had been at first, even with the new additions. It seemed this was the way her life was, now. She was glad Alim had arrived, and wondered if he would play his flute. 

Durantel’s speaking had drawn more attention to their side of the fire than she would have liked, and she shrunk a bit away from him. She felt self conscious, both because of the new faces and that she looked far from the noblewoman she was, her skin and clothes uncomfortably filthy and torn up. 

“Among other strange things we have witnessed, that we have no doubt seen the last of.” Judena commented, scratching at her ‘beard’ as she spoke, she glanced at Anifaire. “We are in no short of capable minds to match our brawn. We need to confer, share thoughts and expertise. Anifaire,” Judena looked to the downtrodden Mer, perhaps she would appreciate some distraction. “Is one of the experts on Dwemer, she specializes in studying them. Was it culture you focused on or technology?”

Anifaire looked up in surprise when Judena spoke, but the topic brightened her mood. “I studied mostly language in particular, but of course, language impacts and is impacted by culture, so it is wider than that.” She paused. “What do you study?” She still found it odd that this Argonian  was studying something so in depth. 

“That is amazing! Perhaps with your help we can try to understand what they are saying, Anifaire. Demystify them.” Judena enthused. “I simply study and date artifacts. Find out how old they are, where they are from, who was once connected to 
them. Then I remove those centuries, restoring them back the best I can discovering things hidden by age. If you want my dear you are invited to sit and watch as I work. Piece restoration is truly inspiring.” She said happy to see Anifaire engaged. Truly it would take a dedicated team, resources, and workspace to continue their study of the Dwemer in depth but they could make due by crafting theories while on the road. 

“I would love to watch some of your work,” Anifaire replied. 

Nanine perked up at the mention of Judena dating and restoring artifacts. She’d have to see if the old argonian could verify her family’s stories about her blade.

Mortalmo rose to his feet then, glancing about those still gathered around the campfire. “If you would all be so gracious, I think I will take my leave of your company now.” He glanced up at the darkened sky. “The night drags on, and I must say my prayers.” The Mer turned on his heel then, and retreated from the soft glow that the fire provided. Rhona watched him leave, she would need to rest soon, he had promised to continue her training tomorrow.

By the time Solandil had sorted his errands for the day and found his company, he found several had already retired for the night - and they were also joined by newcomers. Some were still eating, and upon seeing a still bubbling pot of stew over the fire, Sol felt great relief. Since the Ranger’s arrival back to camp, Sol had spent several hours trying to find an affordable blacksmith to repair the broken leather strap on his chest-plate. Of course, in a camp such as this one, any kind of labour required payment. Even if he had had money available, all people wanted was food and water, each of which he had sparse amounts that he was unwilling to part with. After several rejections and failure of intimidating folk into doing it out of goodwill, Sol had simply haphazardly knotted the two frayed ends together, leaving the plate lopsided, but steady. For now, anyway.

Joining the circle of companions, Sol slumped into a sitting position beside the young rogue Meg with a sigh, dumping his battered armour beside him. His shirt still remained damaged and leaving his skin to the open air, but at this point Sol was far too hungry and tired to give a damn. Glancing at Brynja, his fingers traced his chest absent-mindedly, reminded of the wound that no longer sat there.

She rose to her feet, and filled a bowl of stew, part of her wondering just how they ended up with so many wooden bowls. Brynja handed the bowl over to Solandil, a small smile on her face, “It’s about time you got back. We’re almost out of stew.” 

Meg had just been about to stand up, a yawn smothered by her hand when she noticed Solandil had sat down next to her. It had indeed been a long time since she had seen him, and if she was being honest, he was a much more appealing sight that Durantel. Sure, the other Altmer wasn't as insufferable as before, but she was still slightly iffy around him.

"Long time no see!" she greeted. "Glad t'see you're in one piece." She looked to Brynja as well, smiling. "Same's for you too, y'know. I missed you 'round here!"

Brynja nodded at her, “It’s nice to know you’re all alive and well. I hope you didn’t get into anything too dangerous while I was away.” She narrowed her eyes at Meg before winking.

“Uh…” Meg blinked before glancing sideways, sheepish look finding itself on her face. “Not really! Been pretty quiet ‘sides the obvious.” She did not want to be scolded for her little misadventure!

“Mm, well that’s good to hear.” Brynja said through a stifled yawn. The hour was late, she’d have to get some rest soon.

Meg chuckled at Brynja, seeing the other Nord was as tired as she was. "There's lots I wanna catch up with both of you, but I'mma leave it 'til the morn when we're all rested an' not talking slurred an' eyes half closed." She gave a friendly pat to Sol's shoulder as she came to a stand, stifling another yawn with her free hand. "Sleep well y'all." Waving at everyone in general, she trotted off in search of her bedspread and sweet dreams.

Judena watched Durantel’s departure, eyes on his back. The pages of her logbook remembered their strange day, she dug the butt of her spear into the ground pulling herself to stand. “I hope you have a pleasant evening, Durantel. We will see you on the morrow.” Her tone was pleasant but her eyes burrowed. While it may come as strange for her to address the Altmer now, perhaps she would share what had happened with someone. Another perspective might clear the clouds surrounding it. As she was, she was content spending time by the warm fire light and commit new names with their faces to memory.

Mortalmo stopped momentarily in his tracks, now nearly entirely shrouded by the blackness of night. Without turning around, he called back, “And you as well, Judena.” His voice was strained, though with each syllable spoken, the something made an effort to snag some of that tautness away. “May you have a satisfactory slumber.” Then he was gone.

Jaraleet observed the interaction between Judena and Durantel in silence. The departure of the Altmer, and particularly his comment on how late it was, reminded the Saxhleel of how much time it had passed since he had gotten a good night of rest and, as such, he decided to retire as well. “I think I’ll follow in Durantel’s footsteps and retire for the night. My thanks for the stew, and for allowing me to join you as well.” He spoke to the gathered members of the group, “If it’s acceptable to you all, I’ll pitch in my tent close to those belonging to you.” He added, waiting for an answer before picking up his rucksack and stepping away from the campfire to pitch his tent. 

“By all means,” Brynja said, nodding her head in approval at the Argonian, “and I’m off to sleep as well.” She rose to her feet, stretching one more time before she departed from the warmth of the campfire to her own tent.

Nanine watched Durantel leave with curiosity. She found it odd that the Altmer would be even moderately civil to the Argonians of the group, but call Calen a dog. Usually people hated the beast races more than they hated the others. Something to think about later. 

“It appears the night is drawing to a close. Thank you again for your hospitality and, if it is not too much to ask a bit more from you, I’ll be sleeping next to the fire.” Nanine began her nightly ritual, undoing her earrings and carefully storing them in her pack, before bringing out a brush to take care of her hair. The motions were automatic by now, and she hummed lightly to herself. She’d take care of her sword later.

Calen set the wooden bowl by his foot; it was licked clean of every drop of stew that was served in it, and he looked up at the battlemage as she packed her belongings together, thinking with careful consideration if he wanted to--

“I have a covered wagon.” Calen said abruptly. Not so careful, evidently. His disposition was nonchalant, matter-of-factly; his proposition was one made out of generosity less so than it was out of any lecherous intent. Gesturing to the rest of those who remained around the campfire, the bard continued, “It’s warm, private -- and the offer’s open to any of you, if you don’t have a place to rest your head or anything. It’s no big deal.”

Rhona stood up, taking the gesture from those that headed off to bed, that it was time for her to do so as well. Tobias’ head swiveled up at the sound of her getting to her feet, and trotted over to her. He let out a small bleat as he rubbed his head against her leg. She stooped to pet him, and sighed, “I’ll be going to bed as well, goodnight.” And with that, she slipped into the shadows, Tobias trailing behind her.

Anifaire huddled as close to the fire as she could manage once the others had headed off. She wasn’t sure if anyone had noticed her presence by the fire at night. When Nanine had mentioned she would be sleeping by the fire, as well, Anifaire first instinct had been panic. That was awful close for a stranger to be sleeping. But the panic faded quickly. All of her experiences these past few days had been uncomfortable, and she’d basically resigned herself to not experiencing a comfortable setting again anytime soon. In order to get out of here she needed money, and for that, she needed a bank - which would be inside the city. And there were the Dwemer to contend with. 

Usually not one to speak up, Calen’s offer of the wagon was too good to refuse. He had made it clear to be an open offer, and Anifaire stuttered over her words for a few moments, starting sentences and then rephrasing, before she finally spat out, “I would appreciate the shelter for the night.” Her face was red with embarrassment as she looked at Calen, though through the crusted mud and grime it was unlikely to be visible. She would simply be grateful to be off the ground. 

“Not just for the night,” Calen added, “for as long as you need. The nights are getting colder, right? I don’t know how many of you have slept outside during a Skyrim winter, but a chill like this never bothered me anyway.”

“Winters in Skyrim are the worst. [i]Especially[/i] when you’re on watch in the middle of the night. Thank you for the offer Calen, but I’ll let Anifaire take the wagon. It’s a nice night at anyrate.” Nanine gestured to the sky. 

“Thank you… both,” Anifaire said. She gathered her cloak around herself tighter, still covered in mud, but about to sleep off the ground. In all her life, she never thought she would be so grateful for something so small. She’s never even considered she might have to sleep on the [i]ground[/i], let alone doing so coated in mud. 

“I have a spare blanket in my pack, and a change of clothes. They might not fit you right, but they’d be better than the mud caked things you have now, at least until they can get washed.” Nanine offered, neglecting to mention that both were her only others. She’d buy more in town if necessary. 

Anifaire turned to face the other woman in surprise. “I… really? I would love to wash these. Thank… you.” The generosity around her was both foreign and unexpected. At home, these things had been provided for her without question, and she’d never considered what it would be like to even lack them. Suddenly, she felt like she should have been more grateful to her family’s servants. 

“No problem at all.”  Nanine said cheerfully, pausing in her brushing of her hair to ruffle through her pack and gather the blanket and spare change of clothes. She got up and handed the folded pile to the High Elf with an earnest smile, before heading back to her pack and resuming brushing her hair.