Night had already begun to settle over Skyrim. To say that Feah was tired would have been a gross understatement. Her furs felt twice as heavy as she made her trek across the tundra in search of her campsite. Her wound stung in the crisp air and her bones felt brittle and weak.
In the thick of the forest, she could make out the glow of a fire; surely she was almost there then. Drawing a deep breath in, she shouldered her satchel and forced her limbs the rest of the way- dry leaves crunching under her boots as she limped. Had she not been so tired, and so close to shelter, she would have made her steps as silent as the grave. Instead, she trumped through the underbrush, twigs snapping around her.
Vorstag came to greet her as soon as he heard her coming; something that he, regrettably, seldom did as her steps were not usually so blatant. He pressed his lips to the cold skin of her cheek and took her bag from her sagging arms. "Welcome back, Love," he smiled.
She gave her best to look happy to see him; she certainly was- but her eyes lidded with exhaustion made it look more like a grimace than anything.
He didn't take offense as he never did. He simply took her elbow and guided her to sit by the fire, hoping the warmth would put some pink back in her lips. She slumped down, making her joints practically sing their appreciation. "So, what beasts did the great Feah best today?" Her husband mused, stirring a pot of something.
"Bandits," she began as he handed her a bowl of steaming stew. It smelled rich and salty- probably horker by the looks of it. She said nothing more as she began to slurp down the meal. Vorstag beamed at her. She was small and quiet for the most part, but she could eat like a Sabrecat after a long day.
Her eyes searched his over the lip of her bowl. Vorstag, having been a bandit for most of his life, sometimes made a pained look when she came home with the blood of a bandit camp on her blade. He never protested, but she wondered if a part of him resented her for taking on jobs like that. And well, being Dragonborn, her services were in high demand and bandits certainly were an issue these days.
Even so, there was no malice in his face. With a placid look, he ran his fingers through her dark hair that was matted and tangled from her excursions. "Tell me about these bandits," he said.
She set the bowl in her lap. "I suppose a group of them ambushed a young girl on a path near Falkreath. A rather gruesome rape and murder by the sounds of it," It was the girl's father who had requested her help. He has been absolutely beside himself with grief. She remembered the way he had implored her to find those responsible and return their cruelty. "She was supposed to be wed to a nice farm boy from a good family. She was a good person," he had sobbed. "What right did they have to take that away from her?"
When Feah reached their hideout, it was just after midday. One watched guard outside the cave. The arrow sliced through his throat before he'd even had time to register that it was flying towards him. He dropped to the ground with a dull thud. After taking the handful of septims from his coin purse, she continued on into the cave that smelled of mold and musk.
Two bandits stood by a fire a little ways from the entrance. "You should have seen her face," one said mimicking the girl's cries in a falsetto. The other laughed but was cut off with a wet gurgle as an arrow sunk into his chest.
"Oi, who's there?" The first growled and Feah stepped out of the shadows, allowing herself to be seen. She dropped her bow and reached for her axe as the bandit drew his sword and charged after her. "Die, bitch!" He screamed.
With deadly precision, she landed a blow to his temple with the hilt of her weapon, spun, and sliced into his neck as he fell. She had to practice her theatrics somewhere, of course. She leaned down to wipe the blood from her blade with the fallen man's furs. She then took the liberty to rid him of his valuables as clearly, they were no use to him now.
Three more heard the commotion and came to see what was going on. When they found the lithe Bosmer standing over their dead brethren they too drew their weapons and bolted towards her, all snarls and curses.
There was an echoing crackle as a flame grew from the palm of her left hand. It cast deep shadows against her angular face and turned her crimson eyes a deadly shade of sanguine. She was absolutely feral.
One bandit was a scrawny man with odd bald spots on his head. He looked no more than twenty or so. His slices were uneven. Sloppy. He hacked and slashed the air just too late as she dodged each lash. Another, a burly man in contrast, however caught her off guard and kicked her foot out from under her. She faltered for a moment too long and he managed to slice a shallow line into her side. Had she not been wearing her armor, it would have been serious. Warm blood bloomed from her skin regardless, but she knew it could be fixed if she treated it soon.
The large man smiled in his small triumph. It was short lived however as she dashed to him and gripped his face in her hand. Digging her nails into the skin on either side of his nose for purchase, she channeled white hot flames into his flesh. She felt it blister beneath her own and he screamed into her palm. An open mouth meant a burnt tongue which only urged him on as he writhed from her grip, staggered back and grappled at his charred face. The other two paused in horror to watch him.
She spun the axe in her right hand and drove its blade into the scrawny boy's thigh. His leg buckled and as he fell, her knee hooked him under his chin. She heard his teeth crack and the muffled cry as he bit into his tongue. Blood bubbled from his lips and she brought the pommel of her axe down onto the crown of his head. He fell face first, the back of his skull caved in.
The last bandit tried to run. Feah could smell the urine as it soaked his breeches. She grinned wickedly at him and he cried out. "Please!" He begged. "I'll give you anything you want, just l-let me live!"
A deep chuckle sounded from the depth of her throat. The bosmer's head swam with blood lust; she was high off it. How to finish this one off...
With each step forward, he took one back until his head hit the cave wall behind him. She moved in until her chest was flush with his and she leaned in, eyes half lidded. She could hear his shallow intake of breath- could feel the pulsing of his wild heart. Her lips ghosted over his and she hesitated for just a moment. He began to think she was going to kiss him, let him go...
Feah felt the surge of energy from the pit of her stomach, it resonated from her very soul. Heated her body until it was almost painful. It filled her chest- lungs and heart heavy with it, until it burst forth from her mouth, "YOL!"
The bandit was in pieces scattered around her. Bits of arms and legs, charred. Half of his severed head was aflame. The elf's face was splattered with his blood. She wiped it off with her hand that she proceeded to lick clean. It tasted of fear.
Sheathing her axe and strapping her bow back onto her back, she didn't even bother with their now abandoned loot. She was perfectly satisfied. She did, however, stoop down to examine the bodies. The leader was probably the one with all the jewelery, she decided, gazing at the burly man with the burnt face. She took a small blade from her boot and cut off his ring finger at the knuckle and pocketed it.
When she emerged from the cave, the sun was already beginning to set behind the mountains. The Throat of the World stood tall in the distance, looming over her. It would most definitely be dark by the time she made it back to camp, she though to herself. She would return to Falkreath tomorrow and tell the late girl's father that revenge had been taken. She would present him the jeweled finger as proof.
When Feah finished with her retelling, she sighed, her soreness returning to her at the memory. Vorstag had since put away the bowls and had taken out his pouch of water. He offered her some and she accepted it, taking a swig before handing it back.
"Show me your wound," He said quietly.
"I'm fine." The Bosmer assured him.
"Please, Fee." Her cheeks warmed a bit at the sound of her nickname. She only ever suffered him to call her that. Anyone else would surely find a dagger where they wouldn't like it.
She removed the leathers from her chest, and turned her now bare side to him so he could see the gash. The wound ran vertically over her ribs. It was angry looking, having been chaffing against her armor all day. It still weeped a little blood and some watery puss but it didn't look particularly deep.
Vorstag dug through his bag and drew out a salve and some bandages. "Really, I'm okay." Feah who's arms were covering her exposed chest moved to stop him but he hushed her gently and she huffed but allowed him to dote on her nonetheless.
"You may be Dragonborn, but you're not immune to infection." He said, dipping his fingers into the bottle and drawing out a viscous, clear gel. "Can't have you going into shock, now." He gently dabbed the salve onto her wound and she hissed at the sting. He murmured an apology and she ground out something along the lines of having experienced far worse before. He lifted her arms from her chest so he could wrap the linen bandages around her torso which he did with great care.
Once he felt sure that she was fxed up properly, he pressed his lips to hers in a soft kiss. He smiled at her as she pulled away to cover a yawn with her hand.
"Bedtime, eh?" He chuckled.
The bedroll was already set up and so with a little maneuvering, they squeezed in together. It was really too small for both of them but Vorstag had argued that another bedroll would weigh them down and they could better keep warm against the chill of night this way.
She could hardly complain, with her chest flush with his and his chin resting on the top of her head. "Love you, Fee." He whispered. She kissed the base of his throat in response, and together they drifted off to sleep.