*Month: Evening Star – 13 – 4E 190
The Gods of the land must have seen a sin so great to throw unforgiving storms towards a lone child. The boy's cries were but whispers against the blistering intensity of the otherworldly winds. What would once be considered gentle and calm, the snow pelted against the child's face as he trudged on, wrapped all over with scavenged rags and torn man-wear. He couldn't will himself to look forward. Even as his thoughts were interrupted, broken and disjointed by the echoes of the blizzard freezing his head, one thought continued to break through; I must move forward. I need to move forward.
If a higher power truly did exist, then they either saw contempt in the young being or indifference, completely turning a blind eye to the boy's suffering. The cold stiffened his inner core as he walked. His feet, covered with leather and scavenged wool-remains, were becoming much denser and weakened when it came to the horrid weather around him. Despite this, not a single thought demanded the dying body to turn back. He didn't want to turn back. He didn't know what was back there.
His mind was blank, but it something he had done on his own accord. He had to leave the old world behind him. There was nothing left for him there. But he was an innocent, new mind. Normally Bretons such as himself would know better, but the half-man half-mer decided against the logic present in his mind. Even back at home, nothing was safe. He had seen the horrid ways of the world, and he wanted to get away from it all. More than anything, he wanted to start anew and find a new way of life, hoping to find a land where he could be safe and have comfort.
But such a mindset was futile and naïve, for there is nothing truly safe in the realm of Skyrim.
The cold… the bitter, relentless cold; to the child, it was quickly becoming hell on Nirn. He believed he knew much, but his frail, innocent mind had never heard of the world outside of Skyrim, outside of Tamriel, and beyond the beyond. It was a mistake for him to believe he could understand the world, but the ones who raised him to this point were truly reluctant to show this child what the world truly can be. Here he was, fighting against a storm that would make an army rush back home. Something kept him going. The voices in his head kept urging him forward. But they weren't his voices; he was truly hearing something nearby.
A wave of relief smacked him. He finally felt free from his torment, but it was a kind of sanctuary that destroys one will to continue. Upon seeing the potential of safety, his body buckled, believing that this was enough. The mind of the young child began to vanish. His hopeful grit left him as he fell face-first into the snow. He groaned as his body gave in, surrendering to the world around him. He was wrong to keep fighting this long. He shouldn't have gone on this far. He knew he had made a grave mistake, but it was too late for him now. He wanted to weep, but he was too tired to do so. The child wanted nothing more than the cold to just vanish. The life within him was receding. There was no will to crawl. All he could hear was snow crunching around him. His mind went for the worst situation. There was no hope for him now; to feel this way was something foreign to him, but he finally understood it. When he saw the ones he cared about getting taken away from him, he remembered their faces. Even though he couldn't see himself, he felt it; he was making the same face as them.
The sound of crunching snow grew closer to him. The Breton child could feel his long, unkempt hair freezing his scalp, piercing into his head. It was numbing him to the pains of the world. He was ready; he accepted what was to come. Before everything else, he was finally happy that he grew closer to a state of rest.
Something wrapped around him. He didn't have the strength to protest against the odd being. The child's eyes still looked blankly at the ground as a furred man hoisted him upward, carrying the boy like a lone infant. Whoever this man was, he was holding the Breton child tightly. The half-breed was confused by the man's actions, as well as his presence. How could he have known? As the child wearily opened his eyes he saw, amongst the heavy mist of snow, a triad of fortified, moveable dwellings. They were more than just a small collection of tents; these dwellings were held together with a strong framework, yet could be moved with ease. The child eyed the wheels of each of the puny settlements. Wagons of sorts, but fashioned with certain pieces that would aid in giving the creatures pulling them with some form of warmth and cover. Whether it did enough was yet to be seen, but the beings appeared to be content with what they had.
It was then that the young child saw a smaller being ahead. The man holding him grinned warmly, seemingly melting away the cold air around them. Both the adult and the child saw the young, feline-like being. She eagerly waved her arms before rushing back into the safety of the fortified wagon. It was not long before the adult did the same, bringing the lone child in with him. Could there be a feeling any more welcoming than this? From the harshest colds, the child was brought into a small residence that yielded a warmth that blanketed him upon entering. Even so, he remained curled up within the man's arms. Weakly, the child saw that of a feline's face. The Breton froze, taking in what he was seeing. As he looked into the intense, green eyes of the man who saved him, he saw the face of an aged Khajiit. The black fur covering his face almost dangled off the sides of his cheeks. There was some discoloring, showing the Khajiit's reputable age. The child turned to face the other young one, recognizing her as a Khajiit as well. Her fur was that of a golden brown color, with a much brighter coloration around the inhaling regions of her innocent, worried face. There was a trace of black hair near the back edge of her scalp. It yielded a color of an estranged dark, crimson brown. The young Khajiit's green eyes eagerly reached out, but the adult in this small residence hastily pulled the Breton back. "Do not touch. This Breton is too exhausted for play." The young Khajiit drooped her ears before wearily looking away. Her tail sagged, defeated when she realized how futile any attempt at pouting would be. The adult carefully placed the Breton child next to him with a fresh assortment of garments. "Ma'ro welcomes you into his care. Ma'ro is lucky to have a daughter with an eye for treasure," he smiled. The Breton was familiar with how the Khajiit spoke, so he was able to recognize, despite his weakened state, that his savior was Ma'ro, the Khajiit. When Ma'ro looked over to his daughter, he couldn't help but smile when he saw the young girl scratch nervously near her cheek. Was she embarrassed? She further looked away when the Breton child looked over to her. "This bitter cold is unforgiving, yet it pains Ma'ro to know that a child was a victim. Ma'ro wants you to change." He placed the fresher clothes at the feet at the curled, tense Breton. "This Breton looks no older than my daughter. It would be horrible for any adult to send their child out in this storm. How many years have your eyes seen?"
The Breton child was still reluctant to speak. Even though he was in a place that one could describe as a sanctuary, his exhaustion was getting the best of him. Wearily, the child raised his fingers, one at a time, and the adult Khajiit counted along, reaching the number eleven. Ma'ri gasped back. "He must be fooling Ma'ri!" She exclaimed. "Only a year older than Ma'ri!"
Ma'ro saw the exhaustion on the child's eyes. Asking too many questions, at that moment, would bring poor results. The boy needed to rest, that was what Ma'ro realized. "For now, Ma'ro hopes for you to recover. Maybe then Ma'ro can take you back home, wherever the home may be." He was instantly greeted with a morose shaking of the head. "… No home?" The Breton weakly looked away, ignoring the words of Ma'ro. They were too true. He couldn't bring himself to even hear the sudden movement around him.
The girl spoke back to the Breton boy. "Can Breton be Ma'ri's friend?"
Ma'ro sighed before leaning back, staring up at the roof of his settlement. There was no hope of returning this child. Where could he even think to return the child? The adult thought to himself for a few moments, playing with the new idea. Ideas of payment came to mind; he and his daughter had rescued this young child from death. It shouldn't matter that the child was young; he could serve Ma'ro well, raising him to be a decent young man. There wasn't a moment where he thought about the consequences of inviting a Breton child into the caravan; at least, not until he looked over at the Breton one additional time. The mark his daughter left could make things difficult, but this child was on his own, willing to trudge into the unforgiving land after what was taken from him. Doubt began to cave into his mind until he finally reached a bit of a conclusion. His eyes grew tense as he stared back at the Breton child. "If Breton wishes to be with Ma'ro, then Breton must be like Ma'ro," the adult Khajiit snarled. The daughter instinctively scowled back, but soon felt compelled to listen more once she saw the Breton's unmoving eyes. Ma'ro knew the Breton child understood loyalty greatly. In the child's eyes was the will to repay. "Breton must be one with the Khajiit. Ma'ro shall give you the name of the Khajiit. The life of the Breton child is renewed here; any name other than the one Ma'ro declares shall be forgotten. Does Breton understand?" Despite the oddity of how the Khajiit spoke, just like normal Khajiits, the child nodded back. Ma'ro smiled, appreciating the child's sense of loyalty. "As a Breton, and as one of us, a name of my great uncle shall be given. Chago, Ma'ro expects repayment."
The Breton boy understood it well. Ma'ro did more than just save him, but he welcomed him in his caravan. Like the others, he would have to pull his own weight.
The weight of exhaustion made it easy for the boy to go to sleep. Surrounded by a new family, he felt at ease. His weary body nestled against the soft clothes laid out to him prior. The hardest part of the day's journey was over. However, his thoughts raced within his state of sleep. A nightmare, no, there was a terrible event happening, but he couldn't recognize it as such. Before him were beings of tremendous power, towering above any sort of men and mer, or any sort of beast folk. Such creatures existed only in legend. Scorched landscapes ravaged the environment around him as he heard a dreadful cry echo across the lands. The mythical beasts flew overhead, leaving chaos in their wake. Before the eyes of the Breton-child were men clothed and covered with thick cloaks. A storm followed close behind them as they approached, staring back with unforgiving eyes. Their skin was an inhumanly white color, like that of the undead. However, the child could see that they were truly alive. They eyed him, smiling with malicious intent.
The child could only look back with a fearful awe, dumbstruck at the things taking place before him. The mythical creatures became shrouded with a mysterious and ominous hatred, coated with formless signs of life. As the wearers of cloaks approached, leading a storm behind them, the Breton's eyes watered. Weakly, he fell behind him, watching as a man stared down with one eye, looking deep into the child's innocent soul.
That was when the child felt a strong tap on his shoulder. Chago… that was his name now. He heard it expressed to him by someone with a young girl's voice. The raspy nature of the Khajiit's tone felt more unfamiliar to Chago the more he listened to it. The Breton child was disturbed, but somehow now screaming. His body tensed up as he rocked back at forth, staring blankly at the ceiling. "Chago? Chago?" The voice called out to him. He felt two hands grasp onto his shoulders before he was urgently brought in front of the worried child. The two children, divided by fate, were face to face. "… Ma'ri is sorry. The silly Khajiit couldn't get any sleep." She looked at Chago's tense arms, seeing the silent fear stricken into his mind. "Chago, look at this!" She excitedly whispered. As she quickly crawled over to one side of the wagon, Chago looked over to his left. He could see Ma'ro, soundly asleep with every exhale being met with an audible purr.
It had come to Chago's attention that he hadn't exactly spoken yet. Overwhelmed with the new events transpiring before him, he had forgotten to speak. Such a silent child ever since birth, yet he appeared reluctant to speak to strangers even though he was rescued. As Ma'ri continued to rummage through her large, cloth sack, Chago sighed to himself. "Look, I-"
"Here! Look!" The young khajiit hastily showed the young Breton an interesting contraption. It was some sort of child's toy, but it was one Chago was unfamiliar with. He looked at it with observant eyes, breaking down each key detail of the object with skeptical eyes. It was mostly a stick, but at the tip of it was a stone tied to it. The stone, however, was the size of an infant's fist with a hole shaped in the middle, probably ground from a carving stone of sorts. Attached to it was a piece of string, holding a pebble at the end with a few weak knots. "Here's something Ma'ro made for Ma'ri. Ma'ri normally plays with herself, but Chago is here now!" Eagerly, she reached over and manipulated the Breton's hands. Bewildered by the sudden action, he found himself frozen and easily controlled. She fiddled with the boy's fingers until he securely held the handle of the odd toy. "Flick the stick. Get the pebble in the cup as much as you can." It was a simple thing to understand. Chago looked at the energy in the young Khajiit's eyes. Her eyes shook with impatience. It didn't help that Chago took some time to get used to the weight of the object. The pebble dangled at the end of the string, slowly motioning back and forth as momentum smoothly carried it. There was a feeling of understanding as he finally flicked the toy, allowing the pebble to soar upward. He whiffed, with the pebble missing the opening. The small piece of stone fell to the side, sagging in defeat.
Chago gasped. "What the?"
He would try again and again, growing frustrated with the inconsistent contraption. Chago gritted his teeth tighter with each additional attempt; it just wasn't making sense to him. Sometimes he flicked it too lightly, and sometimes too hard. The pebble would either loop over or it wouldn't even reach the cup. He was soon greeted by the Khajiit's soft laughter. It was difficult for her to conceal it. Chago's face of disappointment only made it harder for her to contain the monsoon of new emotions. She hastily took the toy from Chago's hand, confusing the boy at first. Fortunately, the young Khajiit looked back with a kind smile as her tail wagged. "Ma'ri will show Chago how to do it." She positioned the stick and pebble, holding it in her hands. "None of the grownups want to play with Ma'ri, so Ma'ri shall teach Chago if Chago agrees to keep playing…." There was another word at the end of her feline lips. For a moment, Chago thought that Ma'ri was about to say 'please.' Chago nodded back, bringing life to Ma'ri's optimism. "Alright, watch this! Ma'ri calls this the big flick!"
Suddenly, there was a sudden jerk with her furred hand. The flick made the string become stretched to a certain point that the weak knot became undone. By the time the children understood what was happening, the small stone had already been released from its pitiful knot, soaring towards the slumbering father. A wave of intense fear shook through the children. They grasped onto each other as they braced themselves for the worst. The stone was racing through the air with great speed until it made contact, hitting his arm. Fortunately, Ma'ro's arm was coated with a thick sleeve, gifted from the garments he wore.
A collected sigh left the two of them before they looked at each other. Their arms sagged to their sides as they began to hear the sounds of the snoring Khajiit. The two of them couldn't stop looking at each other, too bewildered to look away and possibly see the father grabbing one of them as punishment for disturbing his rest. Such a fear shook the both of them. It was too familiar. As they watched the Khajiit continue to rest, snoring as if the world was at it should, the two children giggled to themselves. They were more than happy about avoiding trouble for now.
But they weren't truly in the clear. The Khajiit was awoken by the rogue pebble, but the next thing he heard was their laughter. Not just 'their' laughter, but his daughter's laughter. It was a sound too pleasant for him to interrupt and destroy. He didn't want her daughter to be without that feeling. His eyes remained closed as he sighed to himself, content at the fact that his daughter had finally made a friend.