Prologue
Dirt, filth, and darkness. The only three things Kitima has ever known. A young cub born into the life of work, or "slavery", that's what most of the other Khajiit seem to call it. She helps cart whatever ore is left from these marred cave walls, constant layers being heedlessly ripped away. She shambles mindlessly back and forth, then back again, counting down the hours to her next meal.
She is usually brushed away and left to the outskirts of the cave tunnels. Often eavesdropping on what others have to say, growing her knowledge from it. But, her knowledge of her parents, or wherever she came from, is far yet to be seen. She is like a ghost midst the workers. Barely noticed or asked upon.
Author's Note: As you all know this is my very first story so please review all of it! I wish to improve my writing skills for my readers. It only gets better from here! Thank you so much!
P.S: At this time, Kitima is about 12 years old. She's also small for her age.