Part two of the Blacktyde Chronicles that start with 'Before the Storm' and continue with 'High Tide'.

NO previous knowledge of series/character needed! This is a short story about my Dragonborn's childhood, and could alernatively be read as part one of the BC.


On a dark winter's night snow was falling on the village of Wildeye in great white feathery puffs that stuck to every surface, filling cracks and crevices and rounding all corners. They coated the closed shutters of the wooden houses and covered trees and bushes in thick blankets that glittered softly whenever the swaying lantern's cone of light fell atop them.

Ra'Jira saw little of the beauty around her. Cloak drawn close around her tense, shivering shoulders the Khajiit shuddered with revulsion. She should have listened to her elders back when she had lived happily in the fairest of all countries of Nirn, Elsweyr, with her family. They had told her that in other countries water fell from the sky and she had laughed at the absurdity of such nonsense.

Living in a canyon in the Red Rock Desert had not prepared her for the first downpour of her life, mere four day's travel from her homeland's border. The Khajiit had almost turned back then and there, but the thought of being the entire clan's laughing stock had stopped her dead in her tracks. She had been warned, after all.

If anything was worse than rain, it was snow. Frozen water that came whirling towards the ground in deceivingly beautiful flocks that melted at the slightest touch, leaving a person drenched long after the snow was gone.

This was what Oblivion must be like; an ice-covered hell, a wasteland of endless white without colour, life or warmth. There was a saying that went with this country, one that Ra'Jira had never paid any heed to, but that she recalled at that moment. 'The only thing colder than Skyrim, the land of the Nords, were the people that inhabited it'.

Ra'Jira did not know how they could stand it; the biting wind that cut through all layers of clothing and the sheer temperature – and without a warm, thick pelt to boot. The Khajiit would have believed her fur to be a suitable protection against the cold, giving her an advantage that the Humans and Mer did not have. She had spurned their idea of dressing in clothes, only taking her shi'ari, a brightly dyed toga, for reasons of modesty.

A hundred miles further north she had bought her first dress made of rich wool, and not the flimsy fabric of her home. Before winter arrived a humbler (but much wiser for the experience) Ra'Jira had purchased shoes.

'Maybe it was the amount of drink that coursed through their blood that kept the Nords from freezing', the Khajiit mused and shook her head, smiling at her own thoughts.

Here she was, mewling like newborn kitten when she had not made it as far as Skyrim yet. No, for now this one's destination was merely Bruma, the northernmost of Cyrodiil's cities and home to Imperials and Nords alike. The travelling merchant's wares were colourful and exotic and caught many a person's eye. She hoped to make a fortune here, where the land was harsh and the life more so; dull and cheerless compared to her homeland. These people were starved for some gaudy trinkets and small objects of luxury.

Ra'Jira knew an opportunity when it presented itself. The trader was shrewd, she had to be. The White Paws were her clan and she was the matriarch's chosen daughter, which allowed her to use the honorary title to show her elevated status. But this Khajiit was no stranger to fighting either, the constant threat of bandit raids that her clan had to deal with made her a warrior despite her young age.

Names were no protection, Ra'Jira knew. Not in Elsweyr and not here. If anything, it only made life a little easier when she met others of her kind. The humans didn't care.

The guard at the gate did not care for her appearing after nightfall, either.

"This one was delayed by the snow," Ra'Jira explained. "This one is cold and hungry and would like nothing more than to sit by a warm fire. This one has wares to sell," she added in a seductive tone, making it clear that she was no beggar to be ignored and left outside the gates until dawn. After some further quibble a few coins changed their owner and the portcullis were pulled up and the Khajiit was allowed to pass.

The Jerall View Inn was expensive, but welcoming and well-kept and everything a tired traveller could wish for after a long day on the road.

oooo

In the morning Ra'Jira learned that her lodging's name had been chosen for a reason. She had slept until midday, enjoyed a hot meal and went for a stroll through what would be her home until winter turned to spring once more, allowing her to cross the mountains.

Outside all colour seemed to have bled from the world, leaving behind only black and white; a monotony was most calming and soothing to the eye. Everything was soft and blurry and even though it was mid-day a muted twilight lingered in the narrower alleys of the city. And above everything, the Jeralls loomed, a mountain range bigger than anything this Khajiit had seen before. It was moments like these when she truly was glad to have journeyed abroad despite the discomforts she had to face on a regular basis.

Bruma was a small city, and could be called such only because of the grand stone buildings and castle, otherwise nobody would have labelled it anything but a village, no matter whose count's behind warmed the throne. The further one ventured from the center the humbler the houses became. Wood replaced stone with straw roofs instead of shingles.

There were two mills and at least four carpenters in Bruma; the city's main trading goods being wood and stone. The woodcutters lived to the far right, close to the forest's edge and the miners', stonecutters' and masons' quarter was closest to the mountain. The castle looked dour and uninviting and was dark with soot. The cold must not become its current inhabitants.

It took some time and paperwork before Ra'Jira could set up her stall in the marketplace. By then she was familiar with many faces and called out to her customers by name, offering a bottle of scented water to one woman and a lovely piece of jewellery to a soon-to-be husband as a gift for his fiancée.

Life was good. The villagers – 'citizens' the Khajiit reminded herself – had quickly lost their suspicion of her. Ra'Jira knew how to be well-spoken and though they did not know the first thing about the cat folk's society, the others were impressed when she told them she was the daughter of a 'countess' herself, sent away to gather experience before she would lead her people. And honestly, who cared that she tweaked the truth a bit? It was as good a comparison as those barbarians would understand, anyway.

Over time, she had grown fond of them and their weird ideas – foolish concepts, as any Khajiit would have called them. Humans weren't so bad once you gave them a chance. And they had the most delicious fish dishes one could think of. It seemed unsurprising that Ra'Jira quickly befriended the fishmonger, whom she bought her dinner from almost daily. The Imperial woman's hair was short and curly and streaked with grey, but she was robust and strong, pushing her wheel-barrow through the streets with ease, crying out in praise of her wares.

Others might find the smell repellent, but the Khajiit's mouth began to water whenever she caught a whiff of fish. And these were caught every day by her husband and the cold and ice they lay upon kept them fresh.

She dodged a squealing pack of children that raced through the streets, slipping on the slick cobblestones and laughing. Ra'Jira smiled. The young ones were not different from kits, bundles of endless energy that wanted nothing but to play. They were fun to look at, the Imperial children so thickly bundled up in furs and cloaks until they were round with their arms sticking out at a weird angle, and had a waddle to their step that made them absolutely adorable. Rosy cheeks aglow and -

Something bumped into her, knocking the air out of the trader with a whoosh. The Khajiit managed to stay upright, waving her arms for balance, but her 'assailant' was knocked backwards, landing on his behind.

"Whoops," Ra'Jira chuckled and then she forgot to say anything else, mainly because of the boy sitting in front of her.

He had a somewhat dazed look on his face, a short, unruly mop of black hair that the wind had blown in all directions and the clearest, bluest eyes the merchant had seen outside of her own race. He was tall, but looked to be quite young. However, judging the age of human children was beyond this Khajiit's ability. She thought ten might be close, but that was only a rough guess.

Most noticeably though, the boy was dressed in clothes that were little more than rags. The pants were too big and had been rolled up several times, being held up only by a rough cord. The same was true of the shirt that was rumpled and not the cleanest and worn threadbare at the elbows. A sleeveless vest accompanied the outfit as well as shoes that were just leather rags wrapped around the foot. And that was it.

'He must be Nord', Ra'Jira realized and felt the bitter chill of this lovely winter day much more keenly all of a sudden. Anybody else would risk losing limbs to frostbite or outright catch their death.

"Who are you?" the boy asked, ripping he Khajiit out of her thoughts, eyes wide with wonder. He probably had never seen one of the cat people before.

"This one's name is Ra'Jira," the merchant replied kindly, reaching out to help him to his feet. "And you, young one?"

"I'm Wulf," the urchin replied, accepting her hand to pull himself up.

"Wulf," Ra'Jira repeated, rolling the unfamiliar name around. "Like a wolf?" she asked, thinking that the comparison would please the boy.

A long-suffering sigh was her answer. "Nu-uh. Like V-OO-L-F." Apparently she was not the only one to get it wrong. "It's short for Wulfryk," he explained.

The boy looked like he wanted to say more, but just then a girl interrupted them, shouting loud enough to drown out everything else in the street. "Come on, Wulf! Gaio found the haunted shack and Matus says he can climb the Nose better than you!"

The lad had important business to attend to, the Khajiit saw, breaking into a smile. "Go on," she urged and gave into the compulsion to ruffle his dark hair. The boy jerked away like burned and dove under her hand, spinning out of reach before the merchant could blink an eye. But still he looked at her in wonder, if with no small amount of suspicion.

"This one will be at the market, if you wish to come by," Ra'Jira told him, unsure of what had just happened and watched him run after the other children. She was sure she would see him again.

oooo

"Ah, here you are, I wasn't sure you'd come," Lysa greeted her friend with her usual loud voice and friendly smile.

"This one just bumped into one of the playing children." Ra'Jira gave the details to the other woman while she browsed for today's dinner. "Or he into me. Errr, Wulf, that was it." There, that trout looked absolutely delicious.

"Who?" the fishmonger asked "Oh." Her tone had grown cool suddenly and it made the Khajiit look up. "That would be Garmr's bastard. Useless scoundrel, that one. Chops wood and takes the one or other job here and there. Don't know where he gets all the money from that he spends on drink. That brat of his won't turn out any better, mark my words. If you want some good advice; stay away from them. They're trouble."

Now if that didn't pique one's curiosity, Ra'Jira did not know what did.

oooo

Her young friend came to visit her on the next day. There were few people out on the streets today and she welcomed some company and livening up of what otherwise would have been quite a slow and tedious day.

"Good morning," the merchant greeted him, trying not to flinch at his clothing – or the lack thereof. He was dressed exactly the same as yesterday. "How was the climbing?" she asked with polite interest.

"Boring," Wulf replied with a yawn. "Matus is a shit climber. He only did it to impress Gloria anyway, and he didn't even make it halfway up."

"Hmm," the trader hummed. "And you are better, yes?"

She wanted to indulge him, but the boy puffed up with pride at her words. "Sure I am! See that tower?" he asked, pointing in the direction he wanted the merchant to look. "I climbed it, once," Wulf boasted with a wide smile.

"Of course." Ra'Jira responded with evident disbelief.

"You can ask the guards if you don't believe me," the boy challenged her.

That was odd. "What do the guards have to do with it, Ra'Jira wonders?"

The answer came swiftly, accompanied by an even wider grin than before. "They were chasing me."

"Why?" If she sounded suspicious now, she could not help it.

"Turns out we're not allowed to climb the palace walls," Wulf finished with another shrug.

Ra'Jira laughed, delighted. This little one was entertaining. "Did you know the Khajiit are the best climbers there are?" she enquired, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

"Really?" Young Wulfryk looked sceptical, but intrigued.

"Yes. Look." The trader flexed her inhuman hands, and usually hidden claws slid out.

The look on the boy's face certainly was worth showing off a bit. "Wow," he gasped, openly staring now. "Are they real?"

"Very real," Ra'Jira confirmed. "And very sharp." She let the claws retreat again, feeling snug.

"Is that what you are?" Wulf asked after a moment's thought "A – a- Kha – Khatsheed?" The way he pronounced it made it sound like 'cat shit'.

"That's Khajiit," she corrected him until he got it right. He smiled, pleased with the praise he got when he finally managed to pronounce the unfamiliar word. There was a loud, growling sound that Ra'Jira realized was coming from the boy's stomach. "Hungry?" she asked. "This one has smelt meat pies by Jana's stall." She counted out some coins and handed them to the surprised boy. "Buy enough for two," the Khajiit reminded him not unkindly.

It was only a few coppers and it wouldn't hurt her much if he ran off with them. Let it be a test.

But the urchin returned, and quickly enough that the food was still hot and steaming in the chilly winter air.

Ra'Jira quite enjoyed the company of her young friend. She still caught him staring and once he warmed up a bit there was no end to his questions, but she did not mind answering those. "Where was she from? Were there other cat-people in Elsewhere? What is a desert? Did she eat mice?" And, finally, very shyly, "Could he pet her?"

Ra'Jira generously allowed him to stroke one furry arm, because he seemed genuinely curious and absolutely fascinated by her. It was a thing seldom found, such open-mindedness and from what she knew, rather unusual for his kinsmen.

They talked so much, that the pies lasted for a while, but when the merchant saw the boy's longing gaze, she relinquished her other half. She was repaid by the most sincere look of gratitude she had ever seen.

None of them noticed the approach of the other woman until she was upon them and loudly cleared her throat to get their attention.

"Eating pie are we, eh? Where did you get that from?" she whined, the words directed not at the merchant, but her young companion. The high-pitched, nasal tone was violating this Khajiiti's ears and she almost responded by asking the woman to move on, but somebody beat her to it.

"That's none of your business, you old hag," the boy shot back without batting an eyelash at insulting an elder.

'Oh, this is delicious', Ra'Jira thought, leaning back and enjoying he show. If any of her siblings behaved like this towards one of the other clan members, her mother would have tanned their hides. But the young one was not one of the kits and Vinicia was one of those snobbish people that looked down on everybody else. She had even tried to run the Khajiit out of business by badmouthing her. She deserved everything she got, and more.

oooo

"I heard Vinicia complain to her husband today." Ilana worked at the bakery and paid her friend a visit, helping her pack and carry her goods. "She looked furious. Did she pester you again, dear?"

"She did, briefly. Young Wulf ran her off," Ra'Jira replied, smirking in satisfaction despite the fact that today's business had been practically nonexistent. That boy had quite a dirty mouth on him.

"Wulfryk?" Ilana repeated. "Garmr's son?" She sounded almost as unhappy as Lysa had. "You watch yourself, he's a wild one," the baker counselled after a moment's thought.

"Wild? - How?" the Khajiit wanted to know. Wild meant enjoying life. Wild was good. "Besides, he seemed rather nice," she countered.

"Oh yes, he can be," Ilana laughed. "The loveliest angel with the saddest eyes you'll ever see. Don't fall for it; it's only for show. That boy's a rascal, alright. And there were several incidents with the other children... "

"Why don't you tell me more?" Ra'Jira proposed "Over dinner and a mug of mead?" She had grown quite fond of the sweet drink and friends deserved being spoiled every once in a while. An offer like this could not be refused and together the two stored away the merchant's goods before jogging over to the inn, hoods drawn up to prevent the whirling flakes of snow from getting into their hair and behind their collars.

As it turned out the 'incidents', as Ilana had referred to them, had stirred up half of Bruma. Parents no longer wanted their children to play with 'Garmr's bastard', as Wulf was commonly labelled. Something about it did not sit right with Ra'Jira; it wasn't like one could choose one's own parents. It seemed foolish to blame the child for any shortcomings of his sire. But it wasn't only his ancestry they found fault with; it was also the boy's own behaviour.

"He was picked on by the older children," Ilana explained after they had eaten and were now nursing mugs of hot mead. "They chased him and threw snowballs at him. So he challenged them to a snowball fight. Only, his 'snowballs' were rocks covered in snow. Some of the children were injured badly; Flavius has a scar across his entire forehead and almost lost an eye."

Ra'Jira nodded. She had seen the child with the scar. He had claimed he had been attacked by a wolf outside of the city. Now it sounded like it had been more like a wild Wulf. She did not laugh though, knowing that the baker would not understand the source of her amusement. It was good to know her friend knew how to defend himself. In the end, one always had only oneself to rely upon. A hard-learned lesson for most.

Ilana continued, oblivious to the thoughts of her Khajiit friend. "That was last year. This summer he punched Clevitia's boy, and knocked out his two front teeth. The brat was a bully and probably deserved it, but still. That Wulfryk has a nasty streak. The other children his age are scared of him and their families are, too."

"This one saw him running with playmates, surely they cannot be very concerned," the trader countered.

"Yes, yes," the other woman waved the merchant's reasoning aside. "They seem drawn to him like moths to light. Children can be cruel. Maybe he wants to belong, but often they make fun of him because of his lack of parents. At the same time they admire and envy him because he can do what he wants all day long."

Her words made sense, Ra'Jira saw the truth of them. It wouldn't be good for a boy of his age, all this freedom and lack of discipline. Maybe she could talk to him the next time they met.

Ilana was toying with the now empty mug, twirling it on the table. A crease appeared between her eyebrows and she sighed, put the tankard down and sighed. "I should warn you," the baker finally voiced what was on her mind. "He steals."

"Does he?" The Khajiit's ears perked up. Humans and Mer had a very weird understanding of property and she had been taught by her mother at length that thievery was a grave offence and that borrowing without question also counted as such. Ridiculous, but that's how it was. If she did not want to land in jail or lose a few fingers she had to play by the rules.

"Yes, small things. Food mostly. It's... well, everybody knows."

Interesting. Could it be that these people were not quite as stiff and law-abiding as she had believed? "So, when he snatches something you look the other way," Ra'Jira ventured, cautiously.

"Exactly," Ilana, said, relieved that her friend understood and did not judge. The baker was by all means ignorant of the laws and customs of Elsweyr, otherwise she would not have worried at all. "It's not like he does us any real harm. I mean, did you see the state he is in? It's obvious he doesn't get enough to eat at home."

Yes, the Khajiit remembered the hungry look on Wulf's face and felt really glad to have shared her pie with him. It cost her almost nothing and it had seemed to mean the word to him.

Ilana carried on, not quite finished. "People tried to help, you know? This is a community and we help each other. It wasn't so bad at first, Garmr worked hard to make a living for them both. But they lost it all when he became a drunk. A few generous souls once tried to get some things together for the boy. His father ran them off, screaming that he didn't need their charity." She shuddered. "Terrible man, that one."

Her words reminded Ra'Jira of something she had seen earlier. "Does he beat him?" she asked. "What about his mother?"

"I don't think so; boy never shows any signs of abuse." The baker appeared neither particularly upset nor interested. "Only, he is on his own a lot. I feel sorry for him, you know?" Ilana confessed quietly. "I remember when they arrived in Bruma; just Garmr and the boy, we do not know about his mother. But now all his father does anymore is drink and the boy runs wild."

It was not a pleasant way to end a conversation and so Ra'Jira steered their talk into another direction. An hour later her friend excused herself. It had been a long day for her and the next one began before sunup. They walked together for a while, until the women headed in different directions, each to her home. The Khajiit had a small hut that she had already prepaid the rent for; she still liked to eat at the inn from time to time, but staying there would have emptied her coin purse faster than a band of Black Tail Brigands.

The snow crunched beneath her shoe-clad feet and though the merchant feared they might make her soft, she was thankful that the humans had invented them. After a while, her ears picked up another sound. Footsteps, light and soft that fell almost perfectly in time with her own. The dark alley was deserted with no patrolling guards in sight. But the night was the Khajiit's friend, with her sharp eyes she had an advantage over any potential mugger.

"Ra'Jira can hear you," Ra'Jira hissed, earl flattening while her hand went to the knife at the small of her back. Claws were good, but solid steel was better.

A curse in Nord came as an answer. Seconds later, a familiar figure stepped out of the next intersecting street. The trader whistled with surprise; the boy was good to have gotten this close without her noticing before. Every Khajiit mother would have been proud for her young one to be as stealthy as a shadow.

"Your legs are too short to keep stride with a grown-up," the merchant told a Wulf who was sulking at being detected. "What are you doing out at this hour?" she asked when he had caught up to her.

"Same as you," came the vague answer, accompanied by a toe being scraped through the snow.

"You don't know what I'm doing," Ra'Jira laughed. Except for taking a walk in the dark and he was right; they were indeed both doing just that. "Don't you have somewhere to be?" she asked the boy, after he just trudged after her in silence.

"Nope."

"Won't you be missed at home?" the merchant probed again. From what everybody had said, the last thing she wanted was a nightly run-in with that Garmr. "It's quite late."

"Nope. Faðir doesn't care."

His nonchalant attitude only empathized all Ilana had said this evening. The Khajiit decided it would be rude of her to pry further. They walked together to the house that was hers for the winter.

"You live here?" Wulf asked, curious once more. His surly mood had blown over and he was all excitement again.

"Only until spring. Then Ra'Jira has to travel on. There are many distant lands this one has not yet seen."

"I'm going to travel when I'm grown up," Wulf declared and the Khajiit was sure it was a decision he had felled this very moment. For his sake, she hoped that he would not spend his life stuck here.

oooo

Ra'Jira saw more of her young friend as the winter passed on. Often he visited her at the market, though he was not welcome there, the other vendors always weary of his sticky fingers. A few times he was running with the other children, but Ilana had been right; mostly he was on his own. It didn't seem to bother him.

Today, it was market day and the main square was particularly busy. In Cyrodiil, so one journeyman had told her, Loredas was the designated market day. It did not surprise the Khajiit at all that the Imperials had laws (and probably charts, predictions and probably even divine prophecies) about which day appeared to be the most suited and lucrative for selling wares. Like all the other vendors, she cried in praise of her wares and many customers stopped by her stall. The gaudy, colourful trinkets were exactly what was needed to cheer up a cold winter day and they drew the eye like nothing else.

Out of the corner of her eyes Ra'Jira observed Wulfryk. The children had used stones to draw shapes on the cobblestones, and he was jumping over them, lost in his solitary game. But every now and then his head would shoot up and he would disappear into the crowd for a couple of heartbeats, only to reappear again somewhere else and to go back to playing.

Around midday a tall, gaunt baker accused him of nabbing one of his snowberry tarts, angrily stomped over to the boy and demanded he turn out his pockets. The urchin did, and with no small amount of protest, only for them to be empty. Every single one.

Smart boy, not to keep the stolen goods on his person, Ra'Jira grinned, increasingly impressed with the boy. He should have been born in Elsweyr.

Suddenly Wulf pointed behind the still arguing baker with a loud shout. "Look!" The man turned and realized that he never should have left his stall unattended. An entire gaggle of giggling children had snuck up and were raiding his goods. Wulfryk used the distraction to break free of the tall man's grasp and ran through the crowd, nimbly darting around (and, in one case, beneath) the busy buyers. He reached the stand first and made off with a tart in each hand, the baker cursing him and the other rascals on the top of his lungs, face red and blotched.

Who would have thought that this Bruma could be such an exciting, fun place?

Early mid-afternoon, Ra'Jira's young friend appeared behind her stall. He had an incriminating smudge of syrup on his chin and nose. She welcomed the boy with a warm smile and offered him the stump that was her seat, as well as a warm pelt to wrap himself in. She could not stand to look at his poor clothes.

"This one thinks that hawker got what he deserved," she mused, half to herself and half to the boy sitting beside her.

"He was stupid and slow," Wulf answered.

The Khajiit did not answer. He had given voice to her thoughts, exactly. "Where are your other things?" she asked instead.

She was given a wide-eyed and innocent look. "What other things?" He sounded so sincere, she almost believed him.

"The ones you have been hoarding since morning," Ra'Jira replied. "Unless they are well hidden I would get them somewhere safe before somebody else finds them." He still had much to learn.

"Uhh... " This was obviously not the reaction Wulf usually got. "Alright." He jumped up and left, handing her back the pelt. The Khajiit waved him off. She had made ten times the fur's worth today already and the day was only half done. He needed it and she didn't, it was as simple as that.

It was evening and one or two or three hours before closing time when the last person the merchant wanted to see appeared at her stall.

"Didn't I say I don't want to see your face here anymore?" Vinicia complained, backed by her husband, a fat, balding man who gave in to his wife's every whim. How lovely. Why they kept bothering her when she had the permission of the authority to set up shop she did not understand.

"Stupid face," the Khajiit replied. "You said you didn't want to see Ra'Jira's stupid face around here anymore," the merchant corrected her in a friendly tone but with a warning glint in her feline eyes. She saw one bored guard stir at the sight of trouble and head their way.

"Is that what that boy is teaching you?" the man puffed out his chest – or would have, if he had one to speak of. Instead, the motion only made his gut more pronounced. "Insolence for your betters?"

"I don't teach her anything!" a young voice called out behind them, before the trader could respond. It belonged to none other than Wulf. He stood with his arms crossed, no doubt trying to appear imposing. "Ra'Jira knows how to recognize people with skeevershit for brains all by herself!"

To say everybody was stuck dumb at the affront was a big understatement. Somebody in the crowd snickered nervously.

It was time to play along. The Khajiit would rather have avoided open conflict, but now that it was upon her (and through no fault of her own whatsoever) she was going to make the most of it. Like any of her kin she found adversary highly entertaining. "This one thinks she is pretty good at it, too," Ra'Jira purred, her eyes narrowing to slits.

"You'll be gone by the time I count to three," the husband threatened, pointing a finger like a sausage at the merchant's face. "One. Two."

Oh, the expectations of bigoted dimwits. Destined to be forever ignored and disappointed.

"Ma'am, are these people bothering you?" The guard had arrived and apparently Vinicia had a reputation that preceded her. He could not have heard their exchange. Nobody answered. The guard turned his attention to the fat man. "Please, leave before I have to report you for harassment."

"But we have to help him," Wulf spoke up from behind the guard.

"And why is that?" the soldier sighed.

"You can see he's stuck," Wulf explained, wiping his snotty nose on his sleeve. "It's 'three'," he reminded the stunned husband, holding up as many fingers. "The one after 'two'."

"You little – "

It was most unwise to attack a citizen in the broad light of the day and in the presence of the city guard. Vinicia's husband got himself arrested and it was most satisfying – even if his wife bought him out of prison on the same day.

"She's just mean and Rufio is a coward," Wulf explained on their way to Ra'Jira's house; he was helping her carry things this time. The merchant unlocked the doors and let them in, stacking the crates one atop the other. Her wares took up most of the space, along with a big pile of firewood. But for a temporary home it wasn't half bad.

"Do you have another shirt?," the Khajiit asked suddenly.

"Yeah," Wulf answered, picking at a loose thread of the stained cloth. "But this is my winter shirt."

Ra'Jira clucked her tongue and opened some crates, looking through them until she found what she was looking for. "Here. Try this on."

Two gifts in a day; she was beginning to mother to boy. But when Wulf looked like he might burst into tears at the kindness, her heart melted.

oooo

Morning Star was the coldest month of the year and Ra'Jira had not opened her stall in several days.

Some Nords said that if you spit on the ground, the spit would freeze before it hit the ground. The Khajiit had tested it, of course, and found it to be true. By the Mane! Her clan would never believe half of her stories when she returned. And she had not touched moonsugar in over two years!

Her mother would know that she had walked many countries of Tamriel, having done the same when she had been her age. Hopefully she would find her daughter worthy of leading the clan and if she did, the merchant would become a matriarch herself in time and change her name to Ri'Jira.

But such a day was far away yet and the Khajiit was not in Elsweyr, but in her small hut, feeding logs to the fire. Her supplies had dwindled drastically in the past days; she would have to make a trip to the mill soon. The citizens of Bruma had warned her that there would be a time – usually two to three weeks – when the temperature plummeted and she would be wise to stay at home.

A few fur-clad Nords laughed at them, claiming that this wasn't 'cold' in their homeland, this actually was a pleasant winter. The Imperials grumbled and shook their heads and called them crazy.

One stormy night Ra'Jira found Wulf in front of her house. She had not heard him knock and call out, because the wind was howling loud enough to drown out most noise and in the hearth the logs cracked from time to time. When she opened the door to check that weird noise the she imagined hearing occasionally, she found him shaking and blue lipped and ushered him inside immediately.

"Come in," the Khajiit urged "And undress. Here, Ra'Jira has some dry clothes for you. You must be freezing."

"A true Nord is never cold," he quoted, teeth chattering and it sounded exactly like the rubbish his father must have been feeding him.

The Khajiit wrapped him up in all the furs and blankets she had and he curled up on the rug in front of the fire.

The merchant hung up his clothes – they were partly frozen and as stiff and hard as a plank. She lit a few candles, all the while talking. He had given her quite a scare! "What are you doing out here?" she could not help but chide. He could have frozen to death! "Why aren't you home?"

"It's Faði. He's getting worse." Wulf had a large bruise on his cheek.

Ra'Jira felt a bolt of white-hot anger coarse through her. She felt very protective of her young friend. "Does he hit you?" she enquired in a kind voice.

"No." Wulf appeared unconcerned and she calmed down a bit. "He just hits around," he replied with a shrug. "I don't think he even knows I'm there. Can I stay here?" he asked after a while.

"Of course." What a question. "You get warmed up now."

But warming up was boring and all too soon she had to entertain her guest with more tales of her homeland. She missed it dearly, but it was also pleasant to share the memories with somebody. As always, Wulf's curiosity was insatiable.

"What's it like to have a tail?" he surprised the Khajiit with one of his questions.

"What is it like not to have a tail, this one would like to ask of you," Ra'Jira countered.

"I don't know."

"Exactly. Because you've always been without one. Ra'Jira has always had a tail and thus she cannot explain. What this one does not understand, however, is how one can speak that Nord language of yours and not stumble across all the 'hr' and 'gdr' and 'sthrr'." She had picked up a few words from him, just as he had learned a few of Ta'agra.

Wulf pondered the matter for a while before he answered. "Just pretend you're choking on a ball of fur."

After all this time the boy could still surprise her. "How do you know about the fur balls?" the trader wanted to know.

"I had a cat. Uh, a real one. Not a talking one like you," the urchin answered and ignored the Khajiit's snort of amusement.

It had disappeared after a day and Wulf had not seen it again. But that night they had dined on meat and Wulfryk had not asked his father where it had come from.

"I'm hungry," Wulf declared when he was no longer shaking with cold and his attention turned to his neglected stomach.

"This one had bought supplies for many days. How about we make us some salmon?" Ra'Jira proposed and was gifted with a huge grin that she happily returned.

oooo

Ra'Jira never thought she would be sorry to see winter pass. In the sun the snow began to melt and turn to puddles and everywhere she heard the soft sound of water dripping. She balked at the thought of leaving so soon and invented reasons why she could not set out just yet. But she could not delay forever and in the end the merchant was forced to admit that she could not stall any longer.

It was time to say goodbye to Bruma and to her friends, but in truth there was only one person she was going to miss. Said boy was visiting her for the last time, unsmiling this time. The Khajiit had never made any secret of the fact that she was going to leave.

It was unusual for Wulf to be so quiet, but then Ra'Jira could not think of anything to say that did not involve her departure. The boy just sat on her rug with his legs tucked underneath him, admiring the merchant's slightly curved knife.

"Do you like it?" she asked.

"Yes. It looks like faðir's sword, only smaller."

"Ra'Jira will give it to you," the Khajiit decided on a whim. "But things do not come for free in life; you will have to give me something else in return."

Wulf only had two possessions with him, half a loaf of bread that was today's meal and maybe tomorrow's as well and an old wooden toy that had seen so much love she wondered if he had picked it up after some other child had thrown it away.

The boy offered her the bread without second thought.

"Your food?" the Khajiit asked. "You do not need toys to live, but you need to eat," she reminded him.

"I can always get another one," Wulf replied with a shrug.

"Such a smart lad," Ra'Jira purred, pleased. "This one should teach you of the ways of the Renrijra Krin."

"The who?"

"The Smiling Scum. The Mercanary's Grin. The Laugh of the Landless. It is what others have called us Khajiit in their scorn. We have taken the name and made it out own." She felt the boy settle against her and smiled. It had taken a long time to earn his trust. The merchant continued. "We have certain guidelines -"

"Laws?" Wulf interrupted.

"No, young one. Not laws. We Renrijra do not believe in law as your people or the Imperials do. We do not follow it, though we strongly believe in justice. These are just some rules that we obey – when it suits us most. It is good to be brave," Ra'Jira cited the first, if not the most important of the thjizzrini. "But sometimes it is necessary to run away." The boy already knew that. He may never have heard of the foolish concepts, but he was already following them, just as any Khajiit would. They too did not need them spelled out but drank the truths in with their mother's milk.

"Life is to be enjoyed, but if you have to kill, do so without qualm."

Wulf's eyes went wide at the last part. Ra'Jira smiled sadly. She hoped he would be spared that last part, but the chance was high that he wouldn't. It was better to know about such things, as they did not spare the ignorant.

"Give freely to the people. Possessions are a burden; they will only weight you down." She hoped she had been a good example.

And the last one. "Ahzirr Traajijazeri. Justly take what is yours."

"What does that mean?"

Interesting that this was the only tenant he asked to know more about. How to explain to one who was not Khajiit? But, maybe, it wasn't so difficult after all. They were already very much alike, not in appearance but where it counted – on the inside. Ra'Jira never expected to find one of their own on her journey, one whose road led through snows bitter cold and not the hot sands that were in this Khajiit's dreams.

"It means that if you have to take something in order to survive, then do so. And if you cannot take it, make sure that it is of no use to anybody else, either. Revenge is a simple and pragmatic goal, but it should be the last one. And make sure you smile when you take whatever is yours."

She had never entrusted another one with such profound knowledge of her people. Ra'Jira sighed. "You should go to Elsweyr," she told Wulf. "The White Paws would welcome you; I name you szarij doha'jiit; friend of Khajiit. You would fit right in." When she reached out to ruffle his hair, this once the boy did not jerk away as he had done before, but surprised the Khajiit by hugging her for a long time.

Wulf never forgot Ra'Jira's parting words.

xxxx

Brutio complained. About absolutely everything. He was a greedy, despicable man who believed himself to be clever, but was only one step above a thug, picking on those smaller than him. He found faults with Wulf's work, pointing them out in a too-loud voice that made his workers shift nervously and avert their eyes as they scurried about. He was too slow. He was too sloppy. The pieces of wood were irregular in size, some no more than shavings while others needed to be split apart further. It went on and on.

Brutio was big, with square jowls, meaty fists and broad shoulders that cowed lesser men. He also had a gut, a too-small shirt that had food stains all over it and he stank of rancid meat and sour milk. 'Bloody Milkdrinker', Wulf thought darkly and scowled at the Imperial in defiance, refusing to break eye contact and determined to stand his ground. It wasn't his fault his father was too drunk to come to work, and that he needed to jump in. That he was not as strong and needed a break from time to time. Wulf was tall for his age, as most Nords were, but he was still just a child and he had never chopped wood before, or done any other kind of work, in fact.

Every muscle in his body ached. His back hurt. There were blisters on his palms that had broken open. Wulf's blood was on the handle of the woodcutter's axe that he now twirled between his sore hands. It hurt, but not as much as facing the hulking Imperial on his own did, whilst everybody just gawked stupidly at the show.

And worst of all, he needed the money to survive. The town was too small and too many people knew about his thieving ways. It had become increasingly more difficult to filch something from the market stalls and breaking into houses was dangerous. That was a secret he had shared only with Ra'Jira. He had to let himself be caught at the market every now and then, because it turned people's attentions away from everything else he was doing.

And he wouldn't always get away, talk himself out or just plead wih his eyes until they let him go. He wasn't that young anymore. Wulf's scowl deepened. Everything was horrible now that Ra'Jira was gone. She had understood him and without his friend he felt lonelier now than he had ever had before he had met her.

In the end Brutio offered the boy fifteen coppers for a whole day of backbreaking labour, less than one tenth of what he paid his father. The Imperial might strut around like a cock in a pen of hens most of the time, but not even he dared to provoke the other Nord. With his silent glowers, the rage simmering inside him, boosted by lots of drink and a very real sword at his hip, nobody attempted to cheat Garmr.

"Two Silvers." Wulf was surprised that his voice did not shake. He should be afraid, but he was angry, tired and hungry. As his father slowly drowned in his cups, food had become a rare commodity. And though he had grown used to evading Garmr's sloppy swings, he dreaded what would await him when he brought home fifteen lousy coppers.

"Sod off, brat," Brutio growled and shook a hand that was too close to his face for Wulf's comfort and he involuntarily took a step back. "Take your money or leave."

It was the final straw. "þúgrís-riðav hludr-o skīta ȋósæd! You piss-drenched Snowback," the boy shouted at the top of his lungs, mad with anger and infuriated with his own helplessness. "I want my money!"

"What did you say!?" Those small, red rimmed and watery eyes had begun to burn with rage as the Imperial's voice rose to a bellow. "I'll teach you some respect!"

He was enjoying this, Wulf realized with a sick twist to his stomach in the split-second before Brutio swung his fist.

Wulf swung the axe.

xxxx

The sound of hooves on stone was loud in the otherwise soundless night.

"Should have stayed away from that flea-ridden cat," Garmr scolded his son. He sounded angry, but then he always did of late, just as he now smelled of drink. "They're skooma-addicts, liars and thieves."

"You are a drunk," Wulf replied indifferently. "And I'm a thief. Besides, I got nuthin' worth stealing."

The man behind him grunted, not happy with the boy's answer. "You do now," he reminded him.

"Yes, faði," Wulf replied automatically, his small hands tracing the patterns on the knife's sheath that had been a gift from his friend.

The weapon was too big for him, but he would grow into it in time. It was a fine blade, the craftsmanship superb and the steel undoubtedly Nord, hard as the leather sheath and grip were soft. When they reached their destination Garmr would have to teach his son how to properly take care of it.

After a while of quiet riding, Wulfryk wriggled around in the saddle, trying to turn and the man grabbed him by the collar to prevent the child from falling off.

"Can we keep the horse?" his son pleaded, looking back at his father, eyes wide and hopeful.

"No," he barked and after a while cursed vividly, asking "What in Oblivion possessed you to take an axe to Brutio?"

"He wouldn't pay me," his son responded, voice quiet and heavy with guilt. "And then he tried to hit me." And, after a long while, "I'm sorry."

Garmr sighed heavily and reached down to squeeze Wulf's shoulder affectionately. He wasn't happy about them having to leave, but some people just had it coming. And maybe it had been time to leave that shithole of a backwater anyway. Too close to Skyrim for his liking. They could disappear and then start over. It was always easy to find work at first.

"I'm not sayin' you shouldn't' ave done it," Garmr grunted, soon followed by "Next time, make sure you hit proper. If we're going to be fugitives from the law, there'd better be a good reason for us to run. An arm ain't worth all this trouble."

"Where are we going?" the boy wanted to know, looking around for the first time. Not that there was much to see, except for the dark forest, their path lit only by the light of the moon.

"South. I am fucking tired of the cold."

Wulf said nothing after that. It would be nice to be warm for a change.


AN: Since this is rated T; Wulf insinuated that Brutio intercoursed a swine, also implying that the Imperial was a swindler and a piece of – dung.

Former summary: In the village of Bruma a Nord boy grows up and a wandering Khajiit trader is astonished at having found one of their own so very far from home. For though his road leads through snows bitter cold and not the warm sands that this Khajiit dreams about, the two are, in the end, very much alike.

Featuring kid! Wulf, this is a two-shot that takes place long before the events of 'Before the Storm' and though I would recommend reading the other story first, it's not a prerequisite, nor is any knowledge of the series.

I changed it because back then I had only one chapter and wasn't quite sure where this story would go and now that chapter 2 is up, I no longer found it fitting.

Thank you for reading!