3.
There are parts missing linking this from chapter 2. Bear with me.
With a precarious step, Oddlaug eventually set off. Hardened snow crunched under her passing, and the exposed patches of earth where the snow receded was as hard as stone.
The ground was uneven, which slowed down her pace and combined with the wind, doubled the effort to push forward. A few times she had almost lost her footing and nearly fell to the ground. Refusing to surrender her virtue, she carried on with Thorsgard at her side encouraging her will, gradually gaining pace and tenacity.
After some time had passed and the forest drew ever closer, she approached a solitary, withered birch, skeletal, almost phantom-like in appearance. Its grey skin flashed cadaverous silver in the sunlight only increasing that effect. A murder of crows was scratching half-heartedly at the cold, hard ground beneath the tree, hoping for morsels. A lone sentry crow perched atop the tree, following Oddlaug's approach, gave call to his comrades to flee. They flew away swiftly, adjacent to the forest line, but not entering it, conjuring a sense of foreboding. It gave a slight chill to her spine.
As Oddlaug drew nearer to the forest line, her heart beat reached a crescendo, hammering in her ears and her breathing escalated in unison.
The air had become eerily still, almost stagnant. No sounds of animals or creatures stirred, as she stood apprehensive, looking into the dark abyss. She perilously looked back at the town of Falkreath, which seemed a mission away, then back at the uncharted forest before her with a newly formed sense of dread.
In a bid to gather courage she evoked Thorsgard slowly from its scabbard. The blade shrilled and resonated as she drew it free, effortlessly slicing the cold, crisp air. She swung it in an awkward figure-of-eight, betraying her novice skill. The sword was so well balanced in its heft, it was almost floating. The shimmering blade fogged with anxious, rhythmic breath.
Oddlaug took a deep breath, filling her shaking lungs and reluctantly pressed on. Her shadow becoming one with the forest, she trembled as it swallowed her.
Each footstep Oddlaug took echoed through the thicket, revealing her position. She winced with every, reluctant stride. The forest's evergreen foliage and towering trees were so thick that no snow lay on the ground, only twigs and damp rot. They snapped like bones under her feet, mulching leaves and needles squelched like rotting flesh. Oddlaug immediately noticed that the forest was so dense in some parts, that light was only a brief visitor and it was an immense effort to see clearly. She kept her eyes peeled for any signs of danger. She swung Thorsgard, vigorously as she traipsed, making little effort of the thorny vines and bushes that blocked her path. The blade sang as it dismembered the brush and Oddlaug swung it with such contempt, it was as if the plant life had personally offended her.
Patches of light scattered about the forest floor.
The sun's light was almost futile, filtering through the trees. Small unknown animals fled upon her approach as she drew deeper into the foliage, the ground-level remained sunken and unsteady. Oddlaug froze with every sudden, unexpected sound. A single songbird could be heard against the maddening silence. Its song resounded against the trees. She continued on.
A strong gust picked up and passed through the twisted branches above, lending the air a wailing voice. The young trees moaned and creaked as they withstood the winds battering fury. The ancient, giant red pines paid no hindrance. The green needled goliaths seemed to reach up into to the clouds and beyond and the she-orc's neck ached as she followed their stature.
The younger, much smaller trees were practically dead and broken, trying in vain to fight their way into the stolen sunlight above.
Where there was space clear enough to call a pathway, it was hard to keep a steady footing, as jagged rocks punctured from the ground and roots of trees snaked their way across the forest floor, like blood vessels set in the dank earth. The lingering smell of damp and musk proved sweet to Oddlaug's nostrils.
Had she ventured here under different terms, the beauty of the place would seem less illusive.
She walked carefully, gingerly avoiding great, frozen mud pools encrusted with jewels of ice. They laid bare a history of animals that had recently passed through. Bear and wolf were most apparent, giving Oddlaug a tighter grip on Thorsgard's hilt.
Her pace subsequently quickened when she noticed how fresh the wolf tracks appeared, and in her lack of concentration, failed to notice the up-heaved root obstructing her foot fall. She stumbled, desperately waving her arms in vain to keep her balance. The ground felt harder and colder than it looked, knocking the air from her lungs and throwing Thorsgard from her grasp. The shiny blade shrilled through the air and slammed into the ground with mighty, unequal force. Kasari groaned as she picked herself up and her lungs wheezed and croaked with the effort.
The notion of giving up and turning back entered her mind as quickly as the sickly, metallic taste of blood entered her mouth. She inhaled sharply at the pain of her newly split lip and grimaced as she felt the warm, sticky crimson flowing from the wound and trickling down her chin. She spat a mixture of blood, saliva and frustration from her mouth and wiped the remnants from her face with the back of her hand. A wave of panic subsequently overthrew her when she noticed her hand empty of her father's sword.
Oddlaug's eyes were frantic as they desperately scanned the nearby surroundings. Relief replaced fear as a flash of sunlight, reflected by the shimmering blade found her line of sight. A burning sensation radiated from her ankle as she painfully limped towards the sword. She wrapped her blood strewn hand around its hilt and with little effort pulled it free from the icy ground. It was surprisingly warm to the touch, almost as if it welcomed her grasp. Carefully, she slid Thorsgard gently across her bear skin sleeve, cleaning the muddy blade.
Suddenly, something strange caught her eye. Breaking her gaze from the reflection on the blade to a set of humanoid footprints, imprinted deeply into the ground where the sword had struck. They led through a pathway of snapped branches, disturbed vegetation and churned soil. With Thorsgard raised, she edged a little closer along the tracks. A cold sweat laced her brow and clammy hands held Thorsgard with the tightest grip. The sword was ready, even if the wielder who bore it was not.
Whoever came through here had been fatally wounded the girl noted, as the unmistakable red mark of blood stained the ground. This gave the Orc an extra ounce of confidence, activating her courage; she decided to satisfy her curiosity to press on, following the wake of the unknown. Thorsgard's song echoed loudly through the trees as Oddlaug hacked at the remaining brush.
Her vision was suddenly blinded by a beam of sunlight that pounded its way through the tree line above.
Particles of dust illuminated by its rays were all that were visible to her. Staggering forward, she could tell she came to a clearing as Thorsgard became silent and nothing resisted its momentum- That and the sudden crunch of hardened snow below her feet.
Oddlaug shielded her eyes from intense light directed into her field of vision, reflected from snow and the white skies above. The radiance was almost overwhelming. Semi blind, she continued forward until her sight, slowly returned. The path before her led to a vast, open clearing that resembled a giant, deep bowl.
The colossal white mountains that formed the border to Cyrodill were more than visible above the tree line in the distance. The peaks vanished with height into the clouds above. Oddlaug felt sudden, mixed feelings of complete awe and inferiority to them. Almost as if she stood in the presence of the mighty gods themselves, or rather, a doomed insect in the shadow of an incoming boot.