Sweets for a Sweet
I sit watching the curve of the path for what feels like days. The sun rises on me, turning my bones to steam as it carves a path through the sky. At its apex I become liquid, melted. As it slowly begins westering, I begin condensing, returning to my solid state. By night, I am whole again. But I am still watching the curve of the path.
The hours melt together as the wind picks up, rustling the leaves in the trees around me. I silently curse the noise, aware that it hides the telltales of an approach. Not the noise of footsteps nor the rhythm of hoofbeats will carry to my ears with the wind shushing through the trees as it is.
Sometime after midnight the air calms again and I relax in my place, returning to my watchfulness. I settle into the crook of the tree, my eyes trained on the curve of the path once again. The moon rises slowly, casting its white light on the landscape, silvering the path to a white stream. Still there is only silence.
Slowly my muscles begin relaxing and my mind drifts. My eyes drift shut and the stars swirl above my head, an intricate, ageless dance. I'm uncertain how much time passes when I suddenly jerk myself awake. A noise carries toward me in the light breeze and my eyes burst open. The steady clop of hooves approach, echoing dully around the curve of the path. My quarry approaches.
I shift my glass bow from my back and ease an arrow from the quiver, swiftly checking the tautness of the string before nocking the arrow and drawing it back to my ear. I train my eyes on the curve of the path, still chalky in the full moon, and breathe slowly through my mouth, steadying my hand.
The rider appears around the bend, oblivious of death staring him in the face. I take one moment to focus and determine that he is, in fact, my target, before loosing my grip on the string, sending my arrow hurtling straight through his heart. He tumbles from the back of his horse, dead before he hits the ground. The horse, startled, turns and bolts back the way it came.
I drop lightly from the tree, securing my bow and striding quickly across the dewy grass toward the body. I quickly check his pockets, remove proof of his identity, then take my personal reward: the sweetroll he was carrying in his pocket. I can't help my love of desserts.
Leaving the body behind, I slip quickly into the underbrush and mount my horse, Shadowmere. I'd left her hidden nearby for a quick getaway. As we take off cross country, I pull the sweetroll out of my pocket and nibble on it, already planning how I would spend the earnings for this job. Hail Sithis.