[h3]The Colour of Happiness[/h3] with Hank [i]Morning, 19th Midyear, 4E208 The gathering of the tribes, Alik’r desert, Hammerfell[/i] [hr] Gregor had not left his tent since the trial. He felt like he had been run through by a blade and spent most of his time seated as comfortably as he could with his arms wrapped around his stomach, slowly rocking back and forth, his eyes staring into infinity. Only the occasional conversation with Raelynn could drag him from his stupor. The party had confronted him with the full weight of his conscience and it rested heavily upon his shoulders and his heart -- that same heart that beat no longer, the soul it once contained now somehow, inexplicably and indescribably, elsewhere. Gregor despaired in silence. It was not something he could explain to Raelynn and even if he could, she could not help him with it. This was his problem. It did not have to be hers. She had already suffered enough because of him. Everyone had suffered enough because of him. He could not sleep. Not since the change had he been allowed to drift off into the peace of slumber. All Gregor got were waking dreams -- nightmares, more like, that danced before his fluttering eyes. All of it was death. Not even familiar death, that he had dealt or witnessed himself. Gregor saw the deaths of dozens, hundreds, thousands of strangers, one after the other, flashes of blood and broken bodies. In the darkest depths of the night, he could almost hear their screams. Cursed. That’s what he was. Perhaps it was divine punishment. Had Arkay found a way to torment him after all? Or was this the work of the Ideal Masters? Gregor could still not remember what had happened out there in the desert. Something, like an insidious splinter in his mind, told him that the Ideal Masters were hiding from him exactly [i]how[/i] they had resolved their pact with him. “It’s wrong,” he whispered through dead lips. “It’s all wrong.” [hr] It was still dark and the sun had not yet risen, nor was it about to — not that it would have stopped Fjolte from waking up at his intended hour from his bedroll under the stars. There were so many stars to look at, and a beautiful teal smattering of clouds and dust surrounded them. It was a sight he would never tire of. He gave a long yawn, and stretched out his muscular arms fully - the span impressive. While on his back, he brought the knee of his left leg to his chest and held it there in a tight stretch, repeating for the right. There was an exceptional chill in the air that only came after the sun had been away for some hours, and it felt good to have the cold air over his body - his completely nude body. No need to don garments when you were a free man. The Nord stood with a youthful and carefree grin on his face, feeling that same breeze embrace him It was only the sand that gave a slight warm touch to the bottom of his feet.. With his hands on his hips, he took in a deep breath and sighed it back out; “ain’t a thing like a fresh morning before a sunrise.” He had work to do. It took him very little time to dress, he went without his armour today. Just shorts, his cotton jacket, and the handwraps. He seriously contemplated his shoes… [i]Best, just in case[/i] he finally decided, before picking up his bag and rummaging through it for… [i]yes![/i] three eggs. He’d boiled them the night before, and now as he made his way over the sand he peeled and ate them one by one. He wasn’t about to do anything on empty stomach after all. He reached his destination, the tent where he knew that Gregor and Raelynn had made their temporary home. As he approached, he realised he’d been whistling to himself along the way, and he abruptly stopped - wondering if the Breton was asleep, she’d not be happy to be woken by his melodies that was sure. He knew that the Imperial would be awake though, he just did. Hard to sleep when you were so weighed down, that he knew from experience. He raised a closed fist to the flap of fabric that was the door, and tapped against it with his knuckles, “knock knock, rise and shine…” he uttered softly, his voice still gruff from sleep. A few seconds passed before the tent flap parted and Gregor stepped outside. He was already dressed in black and steel, his face the only uncovered part of his body, but almost invisible beneath the shade of his hood. “Fjolte,” Gregor said and gave the man a respectful nod by way of greeting. There was a deep hollowness to his gleaming gaze and his shoulders were visibly slouched. “I don’t know what to expect,” he admitted immediately. “Lead the way, I suppose.” Fjolte’s eyebrows raised at the sight, and he gave a half-smile in the direction of Gregor. “That makes two of us,” he commented bluntly with a shrug. As for leading the way, he did just that - and began walking over the sand in a direction that led them away from the heart of the camp. He walked quietly for a while, not moving too quickly - he had observed the overall slowness of the Imperial, and he wasn’t about to leave him struggling and lagging behind. After some minutes, and once they were out of the earshot of the camp, the Nord glanced sidelong at Gregor and was sure to take a deep breath before he began to speak. “I’ve but three rules Gregor. First is that have to listen, and listen to everything,” there was a vagueness to his words, and a softness to his tone that suggested that there was something spiritual involved in the listening. That it was more than listening to the words of the Monk. He continued over the sands, rising and falling over the small dunes that littered their path. “You must trust. I’m trusting you right now, didn’t bring my weapon, that’s cos I trust you’re not going to hurt me. In return, I need you to trust me, and trust in my word and in my process… Strange as it may seem.” his voice began to trail off as he stopped dead in his tracks, looking from left to right, as if he was trying to remember the way. “What we speak about together during these sessions, I want you to know I won’t be sharing anything. Not with Raelynn, and not with your leaders, don’t matter how much they ask me to. When we talk, we’re two brothers. I don’t expect the same from you — if you want to share our conversations with anyone then by all means do so.” With another moment of looking over the horizon from left to right, he settled on right and turned that way to continue their path. “Third rule is that you try. You don’t have to do everything I ask, but you have to try. That’s all I ask of you. Doesn’t sound so bad, eh? Can we come to a gentleman’s agreement on this?” Fjolte turned to look at Gregor, even in the slight gloom his smile was visible. “You are nothing like my brother,” Gregor said. It wasn’t a malicious statement but just an observation. He threw his hood back and ran a hand through his hair, which had fortunately retained the volume and lustre of life. He thought about Fjolte’s rules and nodded again. “We can.” He wasn’t sure how much weight his promises to try held without knowing what it was that he was supposed to try, but there was nothing he could do about that. “Be a bit weird if I was your actual brother, I’d likely be smaller for a start,” he added with light laugh. He didn’t know how much he could get away with where Gregor was concerned, but it wasn’t going to stop him throwing a jest if he could. Maybe the man would laugh back. Wasn’t likely to happen, at least not yet. “With that out of the way, I hope you’ll come to enjoy what we do together — and I hope that it will help you.” After more walking, they eventually came upon a tall rock face that must have stood several times of even Fjolte’s height. It was covered in sharp rocks that stuck out, small areas of ledge dotted here and there, and sections where the rock looked as though it had been carved out. It had a certain [i]texture[/i] to it, that made it perfect for one thing - scaling. The Nord looked at it with a wonder in his eyes, and he sighed happily while stood under it’s looming shadow. “Beautiful isn’t she? By my estimation, sun will be rising soon. That looks like the perfect spot to observe, doesn’t it?” He pointed a finger up at the top of the rock face — there it seemed to lie as a flat shelf of the rock. Out of all the things that Gregor might have expected Fjolte to start with, mountaineering was dead last. “You want me to climb the rock,” he said, his gaze drifting from Fjolte to the edifice and back again. It was not a question. He opened his mouth to say something else when he remembered that he had promised Fjolte that he would listen to everything and try, so he closed it again and approached the rock. The leather of his studded gauntlets was rough and had a firm grip on the stone when he placed his hands upon it. Gregor gingerly found purchase on a ridge and hoisted himself up a few inches, supporting himself with the steel toes of his boots. He found that it was easier to lift his own weight than before and his muscles did not tremble from the exertion. And thus he made his way to the top -- not fast by any means, but surely and without faltering. He pulled himself onto the flat shelf of the rock edifice’s peak and shimmied over to make space for Fjolte until he sat with his legs dangling over the edge. Had he been afraid of heights before? Probably not. Gregor remembered the tree he used to climb in. This wasn’t very different. “I’m impressed!” Yelled the Nord from the bottom of the rock, he had intended to climb alongside Gregor, but his immediate willingness and surprising skill, had well — surprised him. He laughed before beginning his own climb. Of course, he wanted to challenge himself, and he took to the furthest part of the rock - the part that was roughest and began his own climb. He gripped at the stone, the corded muscles in his arms rippled as he pulled his weight up, tucking his legs behind him. He didn’t need them for this. There was a certain finesse and grace to the way he moved, like he’d done it many, many times. Fjolte was meticulous in where he placed his hands, and in the way that he breathed with each movement. In no time at all, he’d reached the top too, and he took the seat beside Gregor, his own legs hanging over the edge now. There was a layer of sweat across his face and chest too, and he was somewhat exerted. Not that he minded, he’d challenged himself and won, so he was smiling too. “You did it! Have to admit I expected some more resistance from you.” “A promise is a promise,” Gregor said as he stared out over the desert below them. Fjolte was right, it would be dawning soon and they had a premium view. But how would it help? The light of the sunrise scattered the darkness, true, but it could not illuminate an abyss. “I don’t want to resist anymore.” “What have you been resisting?” Fjolte asked as he placed his hands behind him flat on the rock and leaned back. He looked out across the desert too, observing the tents. He wondered just how many there were — perhaps he would count them later on a walk. It was a surprise that Fjolte did not know the answer to that question. Or maybe he just wanted to hear Gregor himself say it out loud. “Death. Judgement. Morality.” The Imperial did not look at the Nord. It was easier to talk if he could pretend he was alone with merely a disembodied voice for company. Fjolte just listened, bringing up a hand to stroke through the small amount of stubble that he wore as his beard. He hummed in response to the words said by the Imperial. He just wanted to sit with them for a while, he didn’t wish to look at the man either— it was a hard sight to come to terms with, even if he knew he would have to face it eventually. “How does it feel now that you’ve stopped resisting?” That made Gregor laugh bitterly. “I don’t know. Awful, I suppose. I have conquered death but coming face to face with judgement and morality was…” He fell silent and shrugged. “Felt like shit, didn’t it?” Fjolte said, finishing his sentence for him before sucking in a breath through his teeth. “Not that’d know how it feels in your exact position. I heard and felt what they all said and it wasn’t even for me. Bet it stings you something fierce…” He sat up and leaned forward this time, looking over the edge of the cliff. He could see in the sands, even from this height, the soft indentation of their footprints. “But you sat there and did it, you looked that judgement in the face and took it. Every word, every nuanced movement of those people that you have travelled with…” “What is it that you [i]want[/i] to feel, Gregor?” What a strange question. Gregor didn't speak for a long time and resigned himself to watching the start of the sunrise as the first rays of light appeared over the horizon. Eventually he spoke. “Content with who I am, what I've become. This… [I]thing.[/I] I can't be a good partner to Raelynn otherwise.” His voice cracked and the leather of his gauntlets crackled as he balled his fists. “I promised her a house. A home. Did you know that?” Fjolte almost laughed, [i]almost[/i]. But that was just the memories of the Raelynn he knew, the one that was difficult to tie down and to have open up. The knee jerk reaction fell away and he realised that to hear that actually made him feel happy for her, and only reassured him that he was doing the right thing by helping Gregor. He was helping them both he supposed. “I didn’t actually, but that’s a beautiful goal Gregor. That’s a goal of happiness, not just to be content, but to be happy. You can work with that - we can work towards that.” His own blue eyes looked over upon the horizon as that same light that had hit the Imperial hit him too. Was it a more beautiful sight than the night sky? Probably not but it was close, and watching it from their vantage point made it all the more special. With every ray that peaked out, the stars began to disappear one by one. Fjolte smiled knowing they would be back later and then he looked at the mans hands, the clenched fists. “You should let go of whatever else is sitting on top of that, blocking it… Unclench your fists.” Gregor did as Fjolte said. “I don't see how unclenching my fists helps with letting go,” he said. “Hell, this isn't something I can 'let go’ of. I'm a murderer and a necromancer. Everything between us is confidential, yes?” A sudden recklessness beset Gregor and he spat out the next words with unexpected ferocity. “I killed the Vigilants. Hannibal wanted to burn the trove of scrolls and books that the Altmer in Falkreath had. I couldn't let that happen. I needed that information. I killed his friends, his lover, and then I killed him. His soul was the first I sacrificed to the Ideal Masters.” For the first time Gregor looked at Fjolte. Lights danced in his eyes. “Explain to me how I am to 'let go’ of that.” The Nord blinked slowly, but he was not all that shocked deep down, the man was a necromancer afterall. He’d seen him in full force in the prison, felt and tasted the horror that had oozed from his being. Soul trapping… Robbing an afterlife… It still made his stomach turn to think of it, to imagine that he could be denied Sovngarde. It was a wound in his mind that felt fresh, but now was still not the time to ponder that. So the confession made by Gregor now, as disgusting as it was, Fjolte could not allow it to shake him, and in fact somehow he felt like he had more in common with the Imperial sat beside him. It was no kinship, or brotherhood, but he understood that the two of them had experienced the kind of anger that pushes a man over the edge of normal limits. He had not dabbled in the dark arts during his violent past, but really, if he had any kind of magical talent in his body then who was he to assume he wouldn’t have gone down a similar path? He sat quietly for a while, nodding and humming as he collected his thoughts and formulated his response, rubbing his stubble again, moving his jaw from side to side. “It helps because you’ve just told me something you chose not to tell your friends. It helps because it just does. Feels good to say it. Maybe it won’t now but it will, you know?” He brought his hand to the back of his neck and gently scratched, his mouth scrunching up at the side as he groaned, “I was a Stormcloak, myself. I remember very clearly a day where I cut open a living human being just to see what their insides looked like.” His voice was low, a growl even, and he looked down into his lap, yet his disposition was still calm, his mood had not changed nor had he faltered at the words of the Imperial. He had not hesitated with his own confession. “I spent so long being angry and that’s how my anger manifested, needless violence. Yes Gregor, what you tell me is confidential, I said as much to you. I may not have touched dark magic, but darkness has lived in me and I worked hard to rid myself of it.” “Whatever you have done, I do not believe it compares,” Gregor said, deflated. The moment had passed and he was back to his demure self. He looked away and shrugged. “War is hell. I know that. That it brought out a beast in you does not surprise me. It is admirable that you have become a changed man, of course, I don’t mean to belittle your growth or achievements, but are you really equipped to… treat, I suppose, a monster like myself? A killer in the employ of a warlord is one thing. A necromancer that turned on his allies and murdered them, forced them to fight their own resurrected friends, and then fed their souls to the great maw beyond the void...” Saying it out loud made it even worse. He didn’t believe Fjolte when he said that it would help. This wasn’t an unburdening, it was just a condemnation. “It is entirely another. I suppose you are hoping that the same methods that worked for you might work for me, regardless of the depths of the depravity that I engaged in,” Gregor said, his tone flat. He was thinking out loud at this point. “Perhaps it does not matter who I was. You are treating the man I am now. I do not believe I would do such a thing ever again.” He nodded to himself. “Yes, perhaps. Very well. Go on.” “I wouldn’t compare our experiences, only share my own so that you know who I am. Is anyone equipped to treat a Lich? Has it been done? I don't think so. Can't say I read about it in any books. Doubt Mannimarco dragged his arse up a cliff on the whims of a Nord Monk…” He could sense Gregor's mood shift, but that was to be expected. How could the man possibly do anything else but ebb and flow between his thoughts of guilt? Fjolte shuffled and repositioned himself on the rock, Gregor wasn't aware of it - but all of this was progress. “I don't know what will work for you, but I trust in myself - [i]in my faith[/i] that this is why I'm here. Meeting you of all people, at this time right now? It aint a coincidence. I've spoken to men who come to me for help, but they don’t even know what they want. How can anyone find what they want if they don't know what it is? If they can't clearly picture it?” After he spoke, he pulled his legs back from the edge, and moved to a position of sitting with his legs crossed instead, he motioned for Gregor to do the same with a tilt of his head. “You knew what you wanted almost immediately when I asked you. So tell me about it. Let go of… [i]all of that[/i], and tell me what that happiness looks like.” Ignoring the fact the did not have to breathe to survive, Gregor inhaled slowly and sighed, draining all the air from his lungs and leaving him empty once more. He joined Fjolte and sat opposite from him, as cross-legged as his armor would allow, but stared down at his hands, avoiding the Nord’s blue gaze. “Happiness,” he repeated. The lich was silent for a long time, the only sound around them being the wind as it gently soared over the dunes, and the almost audible depth of Fjolte’s patience. “Happiness is a house… somewhere secluded, but not too isolated. Raelynn will want to be close to civilization. Maybe in a forest, or by the sea,” Gregor began. “It’s a large house, a manor. Not a castle, though. That’s too martial. Something elegant with a lot of light and fresh air. There’ll be flowers, and animals, and a room where Raelynn can be creative. You know, potter around, work on her alchemy or her other hobbies. And somewhere she can see patients, perhaps. I don’t think she’d ever abandon her calling as a healer.” The more that he talked, the more tender his voice became. It sounded as if he was speaking about something so fragile that anything more than a loving whisper would shatter it. “But I saw the way she helped her father’s business in Gilane. She’s shrewd, you know? I think she might want to follow in his footsteps and become a merchant of her own. So there will have to be space for that, too. An office,” he said and smiled. “I just… want her to be happy and safe and free to pursue her dreams.” “And what will you do in this house?” Fjolte asked after a long breath of his own, he could feel the change in Gregor's voice, the way he only looked at his hands. But he was trying, and that brought a small, hopeful smile to the Nord’s face. “What will you do when Raelynn is occupied?” Every question had a reason behind it, and so far Gregor had been more receptive than he'd expected. Fjolte smiled again with a warmth and deep seated wisdom in his eyes. He was a jester at any other time, but now he was as steady and solid as the rock they were sat on. “You don't need to answer it right now if you can't, but think about it,” he rolled his neck, letting his head move from side to side as he continued to slowly breathe in and out, soaking up the delightful heat of the sun. “Now, think on that feeling… Let it fill you from head to toe… Imagine it is tangible and inside of you, growing.” Fjolte stuck a hand in his pocket, and began rummaging until he found his copper bell, holding it delicately in a pinch of his fingers so as not to ring it prematurely. “Feel that image of happiness in your chest - expanding with every breath you take… Bigger, and bigger, and bigger… Let it take root within you… Does it have a colour? A smell?” The Nord's usual boisterous voice had been replaced with a soft whisper of his own - he didn't want to shatter the fragile glass of Gregor's imagined happiness either. “Listen to what it tells you, Gregor…” “It's as blue as ice and smells like lavender,” Gregor breathed. “All I do in that house is taking care of it, to make sure that Raelynn can do what she wants. I don't want something for myself. I had my chances, Fjolte, I don't deserve anything. I will be its guardian and caretaker and that is good enough for me.” “You do want something for yourself. You want Raelynn, you want a life together. Half of that life is you. You want that for yourself, it's good that you want that,” Fjolte wanted to place a comforting hand on his shoulder, to give him a squeeze and anchor him to the thoughts and feelings that he was conjuring, but perhaps it was too soon. “How do you feel now?” he asked quietly, running his thumb over the bell. They were not ready for that yet, not just yet. Gregor shook his head. “Tired.” That dream was so far off. Right now he was in the middle of people who would either kill him if they knew what he was, or people that hated him for what he'd done. There was no safety and comfort here. And these were the people he'd have to defeat the Dwemer with in order to make that dream a reality. How was he going to make sure that they succeeded? How was he going to make sure he would keep Raelynn alive? “So tired.” The Nord turned his head back to the sunrise with a sombre expression, placing his hands into his lap. “Sounds about right. I'm grateful for every sunrise I get to see and watch, makes me feel small. Humbles me, and that’s no easy feat…” he chuckled airily. “What ails you the most right now? Where do you need me to start?” “You tell me,” Gregor said and looked at Fjolte again. “This was your idea, was it not? I haven't slept since the ascension. All I see when I close my eyes is death. Ghosts haunt my every step. The people I've traveled with for months hate me. Hell, I hate myself. Everything I've done for a whole decade was a grave mistake. The world is afire. My soul…” He grimaced and shifted in his seat. “It's not here. I don't know where it is, but it's not [I]here[/I]. Not in this desert, or this country, or this realm. What can you even do to help? Where do you even start? I don't know.” “You said there are things you don't remember… We start by retrieving those memories. We need the full picture… Think about what you do remember.” Everything that Gregor said made his eyebrows furrow, deep in thought as he got to work in planning how best to put him back together. [I]Lost his soul? Ironic…[/i] the Imperial clearly had his doubts but that was to be expected. People in general were skeptical of spiritual activities and journeys such as that which he was wanting to take him on. “It's not going to be easy, it might not even work… We're going to take this at the right pace, consistently because I don't feel like giving up on you without trying [i]fucking[/i] hard. I'm quite certain Raelynn won't allow me to give up, and she's not giving up on you either.” He sighed, this was a mammoth task, this was a commitment and a half if he'd ever taken one on. At least Gregor hadn't pushed him off the cliff, so there was at least that. “I don't think anyone hates you either, they're scared of you, aye. Best thing you can do for them is push them out of your mind right now, push that to the side and work on being better. You want to be the man who can give Raelynn a home? Let's do it, nobody can hate that man.” The lich did not say anything for some time. “Retrieve my memories,” he muttered at last. “How do you propose we do that?” At that, he smirked. “We'll take a journey into your mind, the deepest parts of it - and we'll find them.” That… really did not answer the question, and more than likely would leave Gregor with more, but that was Fjolte, unwilling to give away his secrets. Slowly, the Nord rose to his feet, standing to his full height with another big stretch, before he peered over the edge of the rock again. Their footprints had now gone, buried under the shifting sands once more. “Alright, time to get back to camp. If she's not already awake, she will be soon… You ready?” Following Fjolte's example, Gregor got to his feet and stared down at the sands below. “Climbing up looked much easier,” he said and glanced sidelong at Fjolte. “You sure about this?” Meeting Gregor's glance, he gave out a laugh in response, “be my guest - but I think I'll take the shortcut this time!” With a roguish grin, and a glint in his eyes he turned on his heel and made his way across the ledge to a slow incline, an easy path to the bottom that had been there all along. Despite himself, despite everything, the Nord’s jest was so simple and pure that it elicited a chuckle from Gregor all the same. He followed Fjolte down the incline, heavy boots kicking up sand and dust that had laid dormant on the rock for a long time. The idea of reliving the missing memories filled him with trepidation. Was he ready to discover what had happened? Would Sora and the others be mad if they knew that this is what they were doing, instead of something more obviously conducive into turning him into something resembling a normal person? Gregor could see why Fjolte wanted to start with the memories, though. First make his mind whole and then the rest. Once they were back at the bottom of the rock, now looking up at it from the other side, Gregor turned back to Fjolte. “What now?” Fjolte met Gregor’s gaze with no hesitation. It was coupled with his easy-going smile even if inside he too, had feelings of unease - he would not allow them to surface. “The exercise we did? The meditation? You need to commit to that now. I want you to familiarise yourself with the feeling of happiness that you thought up.” With one last look at the rock, Fjolte began his walk back over the dunes at the same pace as earlier. “It’s the most important part of all this, it’s the damn key to keeping you anchored when we go searching. Know it by fucking heart, the smell, the colour, the way it makes you smile to think of it. Everyday for as long as we do this, you meditate on that feeling.” With the sun reaching a decent height in the sky, the Nord squinted at the horizon, bringing a hand up to his forehead to give shade. “Start building your home now too, in here-“ he pointed to his own head, tapping on it as he cast a glance in Gregor’s direction. “Make Raelynn smile, make her laugh - learn the sound of it and let it fill your meditation… You [i]need[/i] a powerful anchor.” “Very well,” the Imperial replied. There was something ominous about Fjolte’s words, however. He spoke as if there was something that could go horribly wrong if he failed in his given task. How was he going to make Raelynn laugh now? It had been so easy before but everything was different now. He could barely get himself to smile, let alone someone else. “Easier said than done but I’ll try.” Without thinking of holding his tongue (did he ever, anyway?) he threw out a quick response, “yeah, you didn’t exactly choose an easy woman.” He interlaced his fingers and placed his hands on the back of his head, elbows sticking out. “You’ll figure it out, I have faith in you.” There was a sincerity in it too, despite the feeling of disquiet about what they were about to embark on. He had to get ready too, his own mind would have to be completely clear - his supplies replenished… He huffed a loud sigh at the thought. “So, was this morning everything you thought it would be, Gregor?” “I had no thoughts about what this morning would be,” he replied. “The ways of monks are alien to me.” Gregor pulled the hood back over his head and hoisted his scarf over his face. He was eager to get out of this desert and back in a climate where that kind of appearance made more sense. If they encountered a smith, he thought, he’d buy a helmet with the last of the money Salasoix gave him. That would be even better. “So what do you think?” As they trekked, Fjolte thought of his own experience with Gregor, and momentarily he looked upwards, as if to find an answer there. “I mean… You didn’t throw me off the cliff,” he laughed, before sighing again and answering properly. “You did as I asked. Cleared the obstacle I presented you with… It was no problem at all for you…” [i] Ahh, fuck it![/i] he thought before he placed a hand on Gregor’s shoulder and gave him that gentle squeeze of encouragement he had been tempted to earlier. “You faced the obstacle and discovered a new path waiting for you. I think we’re going to be alright.” Gregor had to resist the urge to recoil from the Nord’s touch. He didn’t want to offend the man, it just felt oddly intimate after everything. His body wasn’t normal anymore and anything that happened to it felt strange and unwieldy. Still, Fjolte’s intentions were good. “I’m glad you think so,” he said, a deliberately measured response. “Whatever that means,” he added. What was [i]alright[/i] for him now? For the hundredth time, he wished he hadn’t gone through with his mad plan and internally cursed himself. It was silent for the remainder of the journey back to camp, as much as he wanted to whistle, to hum, to sing… He refrained from it, putting more space between he and Gregor after everything. He just felt that Gregor was happy to listen to his own thoughts not. There was little else Fjolte could do today, he’d given the man enough food for thought - and enough for himself too. The days ahead were already daunting and he began to run through a mental list of everything he must do. He was about halfway through it when they arrived back at the clearing to the camp. He stopped, giving Gregor one last look, and a final set of words. “Remember to meditate, I’ll come for you when I’m ready. I have to prepare myself too…” His hand grasped at his beard again, eyes falling over the camp as it had started to come to life now that morning had broken across the Alik’r. “I’ll be seeing you, Gregor...” With everything said and done, he continued on his way, picking up his pace now - his eyes set on a much taller rock face in the near distance... Looked like a quiet enough spot for him to make himself ready.