Meg had never felt more like a leaf being tossed about by the wind until their journey from Skingrad to Anvil. Yes, she was a traveller, a wayfarer who was always on the go, but there was always an end result to that travelling, one that would leave her feeling satisfied and accomplished. Yet now... or rather, since the failed expedition under the Jerall Mountains, it seemed to her as if nothing was panning out well. From Imperial City to Skingrad and now to Anvil.

There were no more end results save surviving, or so it seemed, and this thought depressed her.

The start of the journey itself was somber, and for the most part Meg kept to herself, her increasingly darkening thoughts causing her habitual smile to linger only for instances rather than most of the time. It was a shame, and sometimes she scolded herself for this change of attitude as well. There was always positive to see in current events, at least that had been her way of thinking since she was a small child. Alas, it seemed the world had changed since then, darkening in both a literal and figurative sense.

Though she didn't realize it at the moment of travelling, the one good thing her quiet and solemn mood had brought about was that she was observing her surroundings even more than usual. The land was so different from Skyrim, the temperature warm and almost stifling at times, and yet so green when compared to the grey and white mountains of her homeland. The closer they got to Anvil, the more Meg could feel her dour mood lift, and though she still felt at a loss, she was beginning to appreciate the fact that even if she was just moving along as if she had no real path to follow, there was still much to appreciate.

It was Daro'Vasora's words to Rhea, however, that caused her to realize what a fool she had been. Disaster had struck and she had been affected... but who hadn't been? The fact that she was in this group with more than a couple of others proved that, the refugee camp proved that... Imperial city proved that. Everyone had lost something when the dwemer attacked. She was no one special to sulk and brood about being lost in life... not when she [i]had[/i] a life where many others no longer did. 

[i]You're sure stupid, Meg...[/i] 

And so, the very much alive Nord decided it was time make the best of the situation and take the opportunity of having a close look at what Anvil had to offer. It was a far cry from the refugee camp outside Skingrad, that was for sure. A mean-spirited person may have been envious that people here were enjoying peace and prosperity while others suffered, and the inkling of that thought did scratch at Meg's mind. However, the smell of food that wasn't cooked around a campfire was enough to push those musings to the side.

Before she could eat though, there was something else she needed to do first. In fact, she decided she wouldn't eat at all until she completed her self imposed task.

Who knew sending a letter home could be so daunting?

An hour or so later, feeling much lighter than she had in days, Meg found herself wandering up to a tavern. She wasn't lost, thankfully; having learned the usefulness of maps from Judena, she had made sure to draw out the path she was taking so that she'd at least be able to find her way back to the city gates. It was a rather crude map, the writing on it probably indecipherable by most, but it made sense to [i]her[/i].

"Right," she muttered as she added in the tavern, "time t'eat an' drink... if I can get in!" What in the name of Talos was going on? Both curious as well as pining for a drink, Meg pushed her way through the crowd, ignoring angry mutters that came her way. She only came to a stop when she reached the front of the line, just in time to see someone more than familiar.

[i]Huh... now this ain' surprisin' at all...[/i] "How 'bout a fight then?" she called out, eyebrow raised, a hint of a grin dancing on her lips.