The bridge ahead marked a symbolic crossing for Lyra, a threshold leading a few more yards East, in the direction of Windhelm, which she'd left so hastily. She suppressed a shiver at the mere thought, the memories of the hardships she'd faced still fresh in her mind, even from this distance.

As they approached the bridge, Lyra noticed Finrod's occasional lapses into silence, his gaze drifting into the distance as if lost in the labyrinth of his own thoughts. [i]Good,[/i] she mused, [i]more time to gather my own thoughts[/i].

When Finrod broke the silence with another pointed question, Lyra couldn't resist a wry smile. "I could ask the same of you," she retorted playfully. "Not many High Elves roaming Skyrim these days, are there?" She said it softly, though even she noticed that the jest held a tinge of bitterness beneath its surface. She wished she understood more about herself, and about her companion -- what was it that separated them from the rest? 

But as the humor faded, Lyra's thoughts turned inward, the weight of Finrod's question bearing down on her like a leaden cloak. [i]Why am I here?[/i] she wondered, the question echoing internally, [i]What good is my life? What purpose do I serve?[/i]

"I... I suppose I came here for a chance at a better life," she admitted, her voice a bit melancholic. "My family... they worked so hard to give me that chance. But..." [i]They're gone[/i], she thought sadly, not finishing the rest out loud. [i]Sometimes, I wish I wasn't here at all[/i].

Lost in her thoughts, Lyra took a few more steps before realizing that Finrod had stopped in his tracks. She gasped, her heart quickening its pace as she met his gaze, realizing how close they were now. There was something different about him, something that set him apart from the men she had encountered before. If anything, the odd part was his seeming utter disinterest in her, she realized with both appreciation and annoyance. She faced him still, standing at the threshold of their journey.