Lydia spotted a cave a little further down the road. Sometimes Krass Naja was convinced that Lydia had been an archer in a previous life. Her eyesight was exceptional. One of her many qualities, actually. Krass Naja was beginning to really enjoy Lydia's presence in her life − something that did not always seem to be mutual. Lydia was special, that was sure. She never ever let her guard down and least of all for something as trivial (as she called it) as having fun. She would very often stand next to them sternly, watching out for danger, while they spent nights drinking their bodyweight in mead and telling the most ridiculous stories with more details and extravagance every time they told it again − that was quite often, considering Orcs weren't very creative and loved telling the same stories over and over again. Yet Lydia and Krass Naja had grown closer over time. They said that nothing bound two being together more than the blood of the enemies they slayed together. She could not picture her group without the Nord among them anymore. Or her life, really. Lydia had become an ever-present source of support and knowledge, if also of judgement and sneering. She knew that she could trust Borgakh and Ghorbash with her life, and recently she felt that Lydia could follow her to the death if she had to, too.
Krass Naja found a big boulder in the entrance of the cave and sat on it. As her dear Borgakh gathered wood to build a fire, Lydia roamed the area to make sure it was safe. Ghorbash let himself fall next to his friend with a thump.
- I hate it when it rains, he said.
- I know.
- I mean I really really hate it.
- I know.
- Good. Are we staying long?
- Until it stops raining.
- Good.
For once, she was glad that Ghorbash was a much quieter fellow than herself and Borgakh always were. She really did not feel capable of holding a deep conversation. Her head was pounding, she was cold and her lips were chapped. It was just a while after noon, still early in the day, and yet she felt like sleeping already. It sure did not help that the sky had been a threatening dark grey all day long. Just as her eyes were beginning to close themselves, a cold hand touched her forehead. Borgakh was checking her temperature.
- Better than yesterday.
- Don't think so. My head hurts so much. The others will say I'm a… What's that they're saying again?
- Milk drinker.
- Yeah. They'll say I'm a milk drinker.
- You're not, though. You're just ill and injured.
She ran a loving hand through Krass Naja's hair and sat next to her, on the other side as Ghorbash, pulling her head on her lap, forcing her to lie down. She never remembered falling asleep, yet woke up by a weak fire several hours later, judging by the position of the sun in the sky. She sat up, searching for Borgakh.
- I'm right behind you.
That was Lydia's voice. Krass Naja turned her head, and that simple move made everything hurt even more. Her Nord housecarl stood next to her two sidekicks, who were asleep against each other. Ghorbash was snoring loudly and she wondered how she had even managed to get any sleep earlier, and how her Borgakh could simply lay there, a sleeping beauty. She supposed they had grown used to him over time.
She certainly had no problem sleeping hearing Ghorbash's snoring, because she had slept through it thousands of times before. She had always known Ghorbash. They had both been born in Dushnikh Yal, in the south of the Reach, though he was much older than she was. He was the brother of her chief father, Burguk, and had always been an inspiration to her. When she was little, he had been serving in the Legion, only coming back on rare occasions with gifts for the whole clan, and mostly for his father, who had been chief at the time. She had always loved listening to him, spending time with him, and when she had decided to become a city Orc and go live her own adventures in the wild world, she had asked him to come with her. Her mother had given her a steel warhammer in which she had poured all her anger and her shame. Even though the weapon was supposed to be a mark of pity and shame, Krass Naja had never wielded any other weapon ever since. The hammer reminded her of home. She had not seen her family in years now, and hoped that her younger sister Lash had been less of a disappointment than her. But she had made her choice to go beyond the wooden fence of her stronghold and she never regretted it.
Getting to know Borgakh had been a very different story. They had met when Krass Naja was still barely out of childhood and had visited Mor Khazgur with her father, who at the time wanted to get to know the young women of the stronghold to find a new wife. In the end, she had spent a lot of time with Borgakh, the only other child, and her father had not found any wife. The only woman who was of an age to marry was a forge-wife, and Burguk did not need another wife to take care of their smithy. The little girls had learned enough about each other to know that they were not interested in getting married and sent away to foreigners. Krass Naja had never forgotten that. A decade later, as she and her uncle had been travelling across the province to reach Whiterun, they had spent a night in the stronghold, lying about the reason of their travelling, and it had taken very little convincing to get Borgakh to join them. They had left as thieves in the night.
Joining the Companions had been the only important life-changing event that had been as important in their lives as leaving the Orc strongholds. Krass Naja had heard of the courage and honour of the men and women allowed to join their ranks, and she had convinced her two friends to feel the same way as she did about the faction. When they asked to join the noble warriors of Jorrvaskr, people had looked at them with sneering side-eyes and mocking smiles, but Kodlak had immediately seen the light in their eyes. Three new Companions at once represented a big opportunity for him and his faction. The other members were rather reluctant to allow Orcs among them, but they had quickly learned that they could be trusted. Spilling the blood of the enemy together always helped forging friendships in all circumstances. Their fighting skills were on par with the others', and so it was that they had been fully accepted into the guild. Krass Naja, who out of the three was probably a little bit more hardworking, a little more devoted, had even been offered the honour to join the Circle, but when she had learned of the consequences, she had refused. Her blood would not be tainted with beast damnation. Another had accepted instead. The cat who somehow she could also call her friend, Kha'Nar. Somehow, Krass Naja believed that his acceptance of beast blood must have been linked to the tragic events that happened afterwards. After months of struggle and battles against the Silver Hand, Kodlak had been taken from them. At least, they had saved his soul, even if they had failed to save his life. Kha'nar had become the Harbinger instead in the end. Yet another person who she never thought she would grow fond of when she met him, and who had become a friend of hers despite their differences. Really, leaving the strongholds had taught her so many things, tolerance not least, that everything that happened ever since she'd left felt like a blessing, no matter how painful.
She woke the two others up. Ghorbash grumbled, but got on his feet just as Borgakh did, ready to go. Krass Naja was still feeling very weak, but she let nothing show and took the lead. They reached Whiterun by dusk. The guards greeted her with that wary and yet mocking look they bore when they met her eyes. Nords were not fond of her, even after all this time, even after becoming Thane of the city. She paid no mind to it, too busy trying to fake her well-being. And not quite succeeding. By the time they reached Breezehome, she had to lean on Borgakh's arm and once inside, she had to be tucked in bed. She barely noticed her uncle changing her ever-bleeding bandages, helped by Lydia, and fell asleep right away, lulled by the delirium of her fever.