Chapter 1: Puddles
It was raining again. Heavy water droplets were pelting onto my face even with my hood on over my head. I hated the rain, it was monotonous, repetitive even. Riske hated it too. His gallops were slower than usual and low grunts were heard when I attempted to hold onto his slippery black hair. Poor horse must have been cold, and then tired out from my weight that he had to carry.
The ride from Kynesgrove usually wasn't hard or even too far from Riften, about a mere three days, but the rain was relentless. And rain meant fog later on in these hills. It would be harder to steer and maneuver ourselves then. We might be lucky enough to stumble on some abandoned camp or maybe even Greenwall, but for now it was hard to determine where we were at all.
Greenwall was now overrun by bandits, which is why I was told to not use the main road, but by the looks of it that may be our safest choice. Luckily, I had some arrows left, enough to take out lowly bandits anyways. It should be okay; by the time we even reach their fort, it would probably be night time already and that could promise a clean escape.
By now we had passed a few caves and a watchtower's silhouette could be seen above the lush tree line. Shor's Stone was close. I looked up at the grim clouds and saw the darkness that was beginning to overtake the already dull day. Night was approaching soon and the danger of vampires or whatever was still around even after the Dawnguard incident. Not to mention saber cats and dragons. Maybe it was best to stop by the inn and leave in the morning.
I pulled up at the small town. Dim lights from candles that were lit inside flowed out the windows, and the scents of supper flooded the main road in the village. Although there was a handful of people outside, most likely because of the rain, the atmosphere was lighter than the last time I was here. Hopefully, the spiders that I had cleared out from the mine were dead and hadn't made little babies again. Maybe Filnjar was still here, and if he were, that meant coin could be saved.
I slid off of Riske, causing him to make a satisfied grunt. Taking hold of his reins, we fell into a relaxed walk as we toured the dark town for a familiar face. Finally, the rain began to shimmer into a light drizzle.
There were only three or four houses here I remembered. My eyes scanned the darkness for Filnjar's home. At last, a house with a tanning rack and forge came into view. I happily tugged Riske up the house's stairs and stopped him underneath the straw roof, with the forge nearby. At least, now he could be warm and dry. I left the black horse with an apple that was mixed up with potions and weapons from my pack.
I walked up to the door of his house and gently knocked on the wood, mindful of the time that it was and the guards that were watching. After a few moments, the heavy door swung open with a happy Filnjar behind it. His hand holding a mug of ale and a growing smile on his face.
"Well, by the gods, look who it is," he rasped gleefully raising his arms. "I haven't seen you in a long time. Welcome back to Shor's Stone, Dovahkiin."
