The Haunted Forest of Solitude
Gareth cursed loudly, his words accompanied by a fine cloud of his breath that dissipated in the frozen air. He had thought the arrow would have been enough to take down the deer, but as it pierced the animal's haunch the deer had simply pranced away. He flexed his fingers around the hard, icy wood of his hunting bow, and said aloud to the forest, 'It's freezing!' The trees made no response. He ran in the direction of the deer's flight, his footsteps crunching on twigs and the previous night's snowfall. It wouldn't be long, he decided after a glance at the sky, before winter came, and his hunting expeditions would have to be postponed.
He continued following the deer's tracks, thinking of the beast as twenty septims with legs that had (temporarily, he assured himself) eluded him. He thought of the warm, welcoming interior of the Winking Skeever in Solitude, where he sold the meat and pelts he collected after a week's worth of hunting. His thoughts drifted to Runa, who always smiled at him as she counted out the septims he earned, and he remembered how she had laughed with him over a mug of mead in a corner of the Skeever, how warm her skin had felt when she let him run a hand up her skirt…. Gareth groaned as he lost the track of the wounded deer and contemplated returning home to Solitude with nothing to show for the day's efforts. He wouldn't even be able to buy Runa a drink, he though dismally. He stopped to catch his breath, every exhalation a white cloud among the trees. Gareth rubbed his arms to generate warmth, and as he determined which direction was the way home he heard crunching footsteps some distance behind him.
He froze, but the sound kept coming from behind him—the sound of multiple people walking slowly through the woods towards him, the noise of their approach accompanied by a chorus of unfamiliar rattling, as if someone with gravel stuffed in their throat was trying to breathe. His hands dropped down and he slowly drew the steel dagger slung against his thigh. Gareth turned around slowly and almost dropped the weapon as he saw what was coming closer and closer to him.
There were five of them, their eyes piercing blue lights set in gray, decayed faces. They wore black armor of a design he had never seen, and carried dark, rusted weapons in skeletal hands. Draugr, Gareth thought in terror, and then his mind raced. Draugr? What in Oblivion are they doing above ground? The group of undead kept coming closer, the rattle of their breath and armor growing steadily louder. Gareth looked behind him, saw only trees, and with the surge of energy brought on by pure panic ran away through the forest. He heard the draugr snarl from behind him and give chase, but all he thought about was the shoreline he saw peeking through the trees ahead. He ran out from the tree line and jumped screaming into the icy river, his strong muscles propelling him through the water. As he crawled onto the opposite shore, just under the Solitude Sawmill, he looked back. The draugr stood at the water's edge on the other side of the river, observing him, their eyes burning in their sockets like blue torches. Gareth pulled himself off of the ground and, shivering, ran up the road to the Solitude main gate, thinking only of survival and warmth and Runa as the draugr turned away and melted back into the forest.