[center][h3]Lineage[/h3][hr]
[b]Noon, Last Seed 15
Outside Evermoor[/b][/center]

Dar’Jzo had not been so quick to lend out his bow and gutting knife this morning, and his thoughts were much harder to read than those of other people, but Wylendriel could sense there was a moment of deliberation and reflection before hesitating to hand them to her with a nod. She wanted to believe that it might had to do with her new reputation after the healing feats she performed back at the Smuggler’s Cove, but maybe he was just a generous sort. It was hard to tell. Regardless, it had been a while since she held a proper bow in her hands, remembering fondly back on the old horn longbows back in Valenwood. She was out of practice, and not just in shooting, but in hunting. The landscape of eastern High Rock was much craggier than the dense forests and jungles of her homeland, so she didn’t know where the local wildlife hunted for foraged. Her first few attempts on a deer’s life turned up nothing, and she saw nothing of its size since then.

But when she saw a fox weaving in and out of the rocks, she rested her back against a tree and harkened back to her old lessons. Feet in line with her shouders. Head turned ninety degrees away from where she’s facing. Begin aiming before you draw. Draw with the muscles in her back, not her arms – her back felt slightly numb ever since the cove, but not so much that it would distract her. Wylendriel pulled the string back toward her ear, her arms straight and rigid and the string brushing against her cheek. One eye was close while the other locked onto the fox like a hawk. Loose.

[i]Fpt![/i]

The arrow lodged itself in the fox’s neck, cutting its cry short before bleeding out in seconds. For a moment, Wy could almost hear the rustling of a dense forest canopy and a distant waterfall as the moment of the kill briefly made her feel at home and a slight, cool breeze passed over the field. She looked up at the sky as if that breeze was a sign. [i]Are you still watching?[/i] She continued to stare into the blue sky with a single cloud hovering above, no thick canopy blocking her view. Then she broke out of her sense of nostalgia, and she shivered, remembering that she wasn’t in Valenwood anymore and the winds up north were much colder – though not as cold as Skyrim, all she had on her back was one of the sailors’ shirts. Her warm robes of wool, fur, and leather were irreversibly ruined, and aside from a few mementos in her bag, she had little else from home that she could still hold onto. Hunting was one of the few ways she could still hold onto her customs, and that would not be the last fox to die today.

Her sense of remorse brought on a single tear to roll down her cheek, curiously, as it was one that she did not expect to shed. Her remorse was quickly replaced by resolve, and as she brushed that single tear away, she said to herself, "Let that be the last one."

[hr]
[center][b]Used Sundries[/b][/center]

Two dead foxes were laid onto a kitchen table in Used Sundries. The ramshackle room was fashioned into something that resembled a kitchen more than it did a real kitchen, and the small fireplace was repurposed for cooking instead of only warmth. Dar’Jzo was grateful to have his bow back and complimented Wylendriel on her hunt. Saddi, their new quartermaster, was grateful for fresh food that no one had to pay for and as looking forward to cooking it up to keep the company’s morale high before the banquet. Those two were apparently related in one way or another, so she found it curious that they conveniently happened across Saddi in Jehanna; unless it was Dar'Jzo's plan all along to reach the boy, in which case, she didn't give the old khajiit's cunning enough credit. It was somewhat endearing to watch the two of them interact with one another while Saddi tried to figure out the logistics of stuffing his grandfather into a box, the latter's indignant reception of the prospect, and the former's insistence on trying to make it as comfortable as possible. 

Wylendriel, on the other hand, was grateful that she took the opportunity for her outing to hunt. She thought at first that she might find some comfort by releasing her pent-up anger and anxiety onto something, seeking an escape from a daedra’s torment, but instead found comfort in its mundane simplicity and the nostalgia it evoked. She didn’t what it meant, but figured after some time meditating on it, she would figure it out in time.

She slipped the hook end of Dar’Jzo’s knife slipped underneath the skin of their bellies, and with a careful yank down the center, its guts spilled open onto the waxed cloth covered kitchen table, which Saddi would wrap up and carry elsewhere while Wylendriel collected the pouring blood in a bowl -- a process which had quickly bloodied her own hands, but she seemed to pay very little heed to the macabre mess.

“Don’t throw it out.” Wy called after him, still focused on carefully separating the skin from the meat. “Save it; use every part of the animal.”

“Who’s going to eat this?” Saddi ask incredulously.

“Who doesn't eat sausage?” She replied with a question of her own, rolling the last edge of skin off and flipping the fox back onto the table. “Bones for arrows and bonemeal. These hides are for a trade for wool and tanned fur. If I’m going to pretend to be a Spinner, I need to dress the part.”

Saddi sighed. “Well, I’ve never tried making fox meat before. Or Spinner robes.”

“Brine the meat in salt water overnight with some kind of acid.” She said, scraping the leftover particles of fat and flesh still attached to the skin. “They won’t be traditional Spinner robes, but the Bretons won’t know that. Those who might would know Spinner robes are all leather, bone, and antler. They’re not banquet attire, so they could figure I might have simply redressed to fit in better.”

"You should allow me to do the trading, priestess!" Saddi insisted, dramatically gesticulating toward himself with a particular flair of confidence. "I mean no offense, but what is a, ah, priestess of [i]naturalistic sensibilities[/i] to a Baandari vis-à-vis the art of the deal?"

"...Vis-a-vis?" Wylendriel repeated. She felt like she was supposed to be slighted, but was caught too off guard by the pleasantries of his voice, the content of his speech, and usage of his vocabulary to really decipher the meaning behind his words.

"It's a Breton phrase." Saddi explained dismissively with a wave of his hand. "But is that not the point? The business-khajiit must know his customer, yes? Shrewd Bretons would steal the clothes from your back with but words and coin, but [i]I[/i] could steal the clothes from theirs instead. Trade is simply the métier of the Baandari! That was, ah, another Breton word, by the way."

"You sound very proud of your lineage." Wy noted.

"Should I not be? There has never been a finer clan to grace Tamriel, and our history goes back several eras!" Saddi beamed, looking to Dar'Jzo for approval. He simply grunted and seemed to give a critical glance that gave the proud and enthused Khajiit pause. Saddi's disposition shifted slightly before recomposing himself. This did not go unnoticed by Wy, who now found herself wondering the nature of their relationship and more about Dar'Jzo's past. Was he a Baandari too, then? The quiet and serious Khajiit didn't seem like a typical trader at all unlike Saddi, who was far more sociable and animated. Still, she felt that Saddi's presence was able to shed some of the mystery surrounding him, though she figured there would be many more mystery to be solved. More importantly, if Saddi was as capable as he was confident, then perhaps it wouldn't be such a bad idea for him to go in her stead.

"Very well, then..." She said, finding a slight smile sneaking onto her face. Saddi's pride in his family reminded her of her own. She felt a bit a worried that masquerading as a Spinner would be sacrilegious, but on another hand, she felt that it was a good way to honor them and show that she hasn't forgotten her roots. She had been reflecting on her own culture for a while now in preparation for this, and she felt more at ease because of it. Life and death was a cycle and the natural order of things. Though she regretted her inability to save the lives of those at the Smuggler's Cove, she was reminded that it wasn't the end. For the first time in a while, the mundane was able to bring her some semblance of peace. The terrors and horrors from a few fortnights ago seemed so far away in light of everything that has happened since then, but it also brought memory of why she has come so far to begin with -- her pilgrimage. She took a deep breath in and stared into the bowl of fox blood, observing her reflection in its red, shimmering surface. She wasn't the same person as she was before. The Bosmer who began this journey was afraid and uncertain.

Soon, she'll have to start over.