"My hands are cold."
"All of our hands are cold, stop complaining."
I rubbed my hands together and blew on them. It didn't help much, as I could see my breath forming tiny ice crystals when I exhaled. Those Stormcloak bastards would pay for making us camp out in the Pale while we hunted them down.
"Glatian! Get some more would for the fires!" The Captain yelled in my direction. I sighed and got up. The further away from the fire I got, the less feeling I had in my legs and arms.
"Where the hell am I supposed to get any damned wood out here?" I grumbled to myself as I looked around at the frozen desert that the Nords dubbed The Pale. I was used to the warmer climates of Cyrodiil as I owned a house back in Cheydinhal. It's where my wife and son were now.
I trudged through the waist deep snow to a boulder I saw about fifty meters away. I hoped there might be a few sticks lying on the ground as there were no trees in sight. I almost felt warmer as I approached the frozen rock. As I circled the boulder I realized to my surprise that it wasn't my imagination or even just the fact that I was moving. There was a roaring fire pit behind the boulder. I glanced around. The snow was melted around the pit and I found footprints in the mud left behind. There was a horsehide sack on the ground close by and in it I found meat and apples. I stamped on the pit. Something wasn't right here. If this was the doing of an Imperial then they would be in our camp or at the very least in viewing distance. It could be a smuggler or mercenary of some sort…or it could be a Stormcloak. I picked up the smoking logs and carried them over my shoulder back to the camp, dragging the sack along behind me as well.
"Captain Bekkard!" I shouted as I approached.
"Finally!" He answered. "And what's that you're dragging behind you?"
"I found a camp. I told him when we were face to face. A burning fire, a sack of food…someone's been camping behind us. They were gone when I arrived but if the fire was burning then I'm sure they'll be back soon."
"Alright, get up men!" Bekkard shouted after I'd finished my story. "Someone's been spying on us, and we're going to figure out who and why!"
The men groaned when he told them they had to leave the fire, but were itching for action deep down and didn't protest. I wrapped my hand in cloth and grabbed the iron sword I had laid on the ground near my bedroll. I could feel the cold radiating off of it even through the rags on my hand.
"Who d'you think's spying on us?" One of my fellow soldiers asked me, a Nord by the name of Hjold.
"I don't even know if it was a spy…" I answered. "He left no sign of his intents.
"Wait you're the one who found 'im?" He asked me, excited. "What was he doing?"
"There was no one there, Hjold. Just a burning fire and a sack of meat and apples."
"Then how d'you know he's a spy?"
"Like I said Hjold, I don't. The Captain's assuming he is since no one else would be stupid enough to make a camp out in this frozen wasteland. No one except maybe a poacher but the nearest giant camp is close to a mile away."
"Quiet back there!" Captain Bekkard yelled back to us, and we fell silent. My heart thumped a bit faster as we approached the boulder. Not from fear. I knew we could overcome whoever was camped so close to us. The camp showed no sign of more than one person having stayed there. No, just the thought of battle made my heart race. I knew from a young boy I wanted to join the glorious Imperial army and fight for Cyrodiil and the Empire. I never would have guessed the conditions would be so harsh.
I heard a cry as Bekkard rounded the boulder into the camp and watched as he dragged out a half frozen Bosmer dressed in furs. Bekkard threw him on his back in the snow.
"Filthy Stormcloak spy!" He yelled at him, pointing his steel sword at the Wood Elf's throat. "What are you doing here?"
"S…Stormcloak?" The elf stuttered. "I'm no Stormcloak!"
"Prove it!" Bekkard demanded.
"He's an elf, sir!" Hjold spoke up. "Nords hate elves. They'd never allow one in the Stormcloak ranks."
"That's what makes him a perfect spy." Bekkard answered. "Search him!" The two closest Imperials shook around the Bosmer and searched his clothes.
"Just this sack of dead rabbits, sir." They told him. "Nothing else."
"No one would choose this spot just to hunt rabbits." The Captain grumbled. "I'll ask you one more time before I run you through: what are you doing here?"
"Please…" The elf begged. "Please…I'm just…out catching some rabbits. It's more peaceful out here, away from Dawnstar."
"Ahh I see." Bekkard answered. "Looks like we've got ourselves a poacher, boys. I wonder what the Jarl of Dawnstar would think of you."
"No! Please!" The Bosmer put his hands together above his chest and begged. "The Jarl can hardly eat all of the meat! I...I'm just trying to make a living!"
"Make a living in an honest way, thief." Bekkard snarled.
"I'll never get the chance to if you turn me in!" The elf was trying to plead to Bekkard's kindness. Those of us who knew him knew that it would never work.
"Shoulda thoughta that before you took to poaching. Drag him back to the camp men."