Here I'm set by the hearth of my home, with an uncertain quill in my trembling fingers; for these fingers are not versed in the placement of words, nor in knowing the secrets they hold - and unfold when placed aligning the rules of soul, as I've seen in stories the great masters of old once have told. But how should I, a mage or no, with these written markings conjure now to you the same tempests searing me deep within my chest? How can I, with mere blots of ink, here on paper birth a love or a loss? How could these phantasms [memories] of insoluble truth within me, with man-made symbols here on paper become enchained? And how will I ever know if our age-old agreement, that once without words was conceived to settle the symbol with sound, holds the same for me as it does for you? What common ground do we have in this guessing game, but yet another word to outweigh them all, expressing so boundless a truth it can never be captured in a medium or a mind- only experienced as it pierces our hearts.

I ask forgiveness, reader, if these black-inked tracks of thought are confusing. I haven't the skill to breathe these phantasms here upon this page and make them read themselves lightly like a summers breeze. But I will try my best to create with words the same whole the painter and the composer toil for years when alone; for today I know I have no other power but this: The power to share of bliss and woe, the power to, at least temporarily, gift life. To strengthen the little light that shines in the darkness. If there's but one peeping little heart out there, who even for a short little while may through these pages see that small light glimmering in the darkness, I will be content, knowing I've succeeded in my responsibility (our responsibility?) - To fill the void with light.

The travail that we sometimes call 'life', and which has now led me to this task of writing, began by that road that leads to the yellow autumn hills whereupon the town of Whiterun resides. As I write, I will try to remain within myself as I was, then and then, save some explanation here and there.

For starters, if what follows would seem odd, it must be said that among all natures sights, a tundra of hay and flowered leas is the only release for shackled souls whom only silence may heal – Have you ever been there, in that solitude so vast and complete that it sates all thirst for space in even the loneliest human hearts? In a silence so whole and replete that your withering dreams begin to seed and to bloom and to sing; and soon you hear your dreams in the wind, in that ceaseless whistling song that soils no silence, for it lives there as does the blood in your veins. For we were right there, in the middle of it all, me and my noble mare, Vienne. And there in the horizon was She, beautiful Whiterun atop her hills, with puffs of chimney smoke trailing about her thatched roofs. The sight of her battlements and fluttering pennants brought many sweet memories back. For you see, the town of the white mare was familiar to me from a decade past; Then had I, a young graduate mage, along with a group of arcane scholars spent there one summers week before continuing with our excursion to the college far in the north. I remember more than can here be listed; voices rich with laughter, scents filled with flowers and looks brimmed with youthful joy, and sometimes ache, for some had also laid curious and longing looks on a laughing young dame. Then had I thought the world and myself to be beautiful and good, and though a decade of loneliness had since proved me wrong, these memories evoke even now my deepest dimples. There's a certain good charm in the crackling sound of fireside flames and in the glinting calm of Nordsmens eyes, for they know of things you can't learn from books or scrolls.

Infatuated with my numerous memories, rocking slowly in the lulling trodding of Vienne, and hearing the gentle wind within the hay - Ah, like that I drifted asleep in the saddle before ever counting one and two, what with being so warm in my silken robes, and with the clap and clop of Viennes hooves striking the pebbles upon our road like lullaby bells. I would've woken up peacefully to her snorting at the gates of the town, and I'd have taken her to the stables and fed her well, and in the night lodged myself at the Bannered Mare; but none of this ever happened. An anomaly of mathematical improbability broke everything before that. This is how it all happened, and where my wretched tale really begins:

I flinched violently awake into a hard blast of freezing air; it was like a slap against the face, so hard and abrupt was the upcoming wind. Gray clouds amassed furiously up in the skies, thickening in the eye of some unseemly coming storm; everything happened so fast, too fast, almost instanteously - I'd barely had a breathe before a second and immensely powerful rush of wind roamed through the fields, squishing all the hay flat against the soil unlike I'd ever seen. When I took notice of Viennes furtive ears, startled by her frightened whinnies, it was already too late; she had completely lost her nerves, and charged off the curve of the road and right towards the town. She leapt so fiercely over the first boulder in our way that I fell from the saddle and rolled in the grass and dirt, gasping for air against the strenghtening wind. And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it all ceased. A dead quiet landed the plains, and I was alone now, knuckling my eyes and staring at the distancing rear of Vienne in disbelief.

Yet within only a few frightful heartbeats the heavens opened up with a mighty roar. Hard rays of golden sunlight flamed down on the tundras from a widening rift in that gargantuan mass of clouds. The light nearly blinded me, and from within the shining rays of sun there blazed into the world a bolt of golden fire in a thunderous din! A blinding sight of divine rights it was, yea, a flying bolt of brilliant flames shining with golden light, transforming into a living creature of fire upon spreading its blazing wings. It straightened its course, diving close to soil and right towards me, growing and growing with wrathful light, and the clouds up parting wider and wider, the wedge of sunlight driving shadows ahead like making way for their king, so that the winged deity basked in a glory of golden flames – all in me, all thought and blood was frozen in time as the bolt came towards me; faster than any arrow, faster than the wind, faster than lightning it stormed towards me and passed right over my head, the gust in the aftermath of its flight wrapping me in a tornado of dust and rattling air, pulling at my robes so fiercely they were about to tear apart. Breathless I stared at the creature plunging up towards the sky, the winds skittering in its wake like servants after their sovereign, and the sun dancing on its glimmering scales as on the waves of ocean. The creature emit a booming voice towards the skies, "DOV."

There a 0,00% statistical probability flew in all its beauty, making a round around the entire tundra, displaying impossible grace in all motion; how! Striking its wings it blast the air with a bang, shooting away with unearthly speed, then steering in the wind with those membranes large as ships sails, caressed the torrents of air under its wing spread like a fan, and curved in a majestic arc back towards me, folding its wings and pressing them into its scaly sides that it became only an arrow, piercing the air so fiercely the whistling filled the scene, overcoming even the storm courting its flight. When it looked like it would shoot past me towards Whiterun, it suddenly took height and fully spread its wings, landing with strong limbs right in front of me, with a force that sent dirt into towering heights, and which shook the very ground beneath my feet.

You notice I'm eagerly describing the dragon, it's flight and beauty, leaving not a word for myself or the world surrounding us – You could wonder, weren't I scared out of my wits, wasn't I thinking about death, or escape, or anything at all? A sane person surely would have, and I myself wonder the same from the safety of my writing desk, but would I now write of anything else but the dragon would belie the purpose of this writing – Yes, then I had no self, I had nothing in me, no breath or thought but this creature.

The dust shrouded its entire stature from my sight, and with that veil between I was released from the spell – A weakness rushed through my body, and I collapsed onto the grass, my heart pounding in an attempt to make up all the lost pumps of blood. What could I then but stare at it and weep in pitiful fear? Perhaps prepare for death or who knows what? So I sat there on my butt, gasping for breath, afraid in the way you are in the shadow of a creature towering thirty feet over you and which is filled with an alien intellect (not the most common feeling, I know, but try thinking what insects feel about humans), staring with teary eyes at what could be my end, unable to even blink. And how it then presented itself sealed my breath: it stretched its entire length to a stout posture, all it's countless plated scales rattling like the metal of armies. It coiled its infinite tail around its legs, and straightened its neck as high above as possible to better catch the rays of sun, as if placing itself to be immortalized on a canvas; as if concerned whether a human – me- could think of it as something less than a regal of the clouds. Its enormous eyes were swirling with deep bronze colors, glimmering with a smile it's rigid jaw could not show me. It stood so, perfectly still, so still one would have thought it petrified were not the eyes alive with a mornings laughter as free and careless as the wind itself.

The tundra wind had settled down, now only softly rustling in the hay, lying in wait for the dragons flight. We remained so for a long, silent moment, it posing and me sitting (and quietly sniffing). After an eternity I had the courage to try my numb feet; I stood up, shaking, hardly breathing, knowing not what to do or say – how do you even talk to a dragon? What would you say? Without warning it reached its front claw towards me, at which I couldn't hold in a scared gasp, nor stop myself from peddling away from it, as useless as that was. But no, it merely laid its enormous claw on the ground in front of my feet. I stopped then, trembling so badly I had to take support from its finger with both my hands, afraid that if I crumbled down it would make a bad impression. It's skin was cold under my palm, like metal. The dragon parted its jaw, and began, unbelievably enough, speaking, and with what voice! Deep like the roots of a mountain, and thoughtful like an ancient scholar: "BRIT MONAH, ZU'U LOS MIRMULNIR."

My own peeping voice nearly died under its relentless (though surprisingly gentle) gaze, "Noble dragon, I don't understand your language…"

It lowered its visage atop its extended arm, so that its eyes were level with mine and only a few feet away, then remained silent again, looking into me with that same mysterious smile of infinite morning light (and joy). Beginning to feel feverish and like in a dream I reached my little hand towards its face, or rather watched myself do so - I had no control of motion or thought. Upon touch it again parted its jaw, "Ven fen koraav hin zul, ahrk hi fen mindoraan mu."

And with that, it braced its body and leapt, membranes first slapping soil until the wind rushed to their aid; now the gusts of those wings embracing me, washing off all dirt on my robes and twirling impatiently all around me, gracing me with its cold touch like a divine hand, and then they parted; the dragon took speed and flew like thunder into the clouds, the storm following, and thus silence descended on the tundra. The sun remained. Other travelers that had been on the road were comings towards me. Even from the watchtower nearby some men (soldiers, it later turned out) were running towards me, shouting something incomprehensible to me. By the time they reached me I was only half conscious, dizzily giggling at their bewildered looks, my head utterly emptied; a feverish wave washed over my body, the concoction of pent emotion, build-up of fear, wonder, and immense relief. I fell on my knees, gasping, and the last thing I remember is panting on all fours, vomiting my guts out on the grass. And then, blackness.