Chapter 1: A Chance Encounter

The flames licked the firewood and seemed to hiss at her like some Serpent of Nordic legend.

"The wood was wet," she thought. Still, it was the best the Hjallmarch had to offer this time of year and at least the rains had stopped. It was only going to get worse at any rate, it was still only Frost Fall.

"I should have just stayed at the Dead Man's Drink for the night." Then she would have a belly full of mead and a song in her ear.

Across the fire, some purple mountain flowers swayed in the wind, as though trying to escape the flames that were clawing at them.

The night was alive with music - the crackling of the fire, the distant sound of Lake Ilinalta feeding the White River, of the dragonflies buzzing, of the night birds singing their sweet song and...""

*CRUNCH*

Movement. In the distance. She unsheathed her iron dagger and slowly rose from the log she had made her chair. All she could see was the light of the fire in front of her and all she could hear was the rustling of the bushes further ahead.

...and then she saw it. Two long sharp teeth emerged from the bush and two bright shining eyes above them. A sabre cat, she realised, but it was too late. The beast was pounding towards her. She froze with terror. As it came upon the fire it seemed to take flight and suddenly it was above her. She closed her eyes.

*THUD* *THUD* *THUD*

Now it was on top of her, clawing at her stomach and biting at her face, except ... it wasn't moving. She opened her eyes and instantly met the eyes of the sabre cat. She didn't understand what was happening ... then she noticed an arrow fletch sticking out her would-be killer's ear.

"Are you alright?" a voice shouted, but she couldn't tell where from. "Quick, get that thing off her!"

As blood dripped onto her face from the dead sabre cat's ear, she tried with all her strength to push it off her. Suddenly the sabre cat flew up as quick as it flown towards her. A man and an elf held it between them like you might hold up a friend whose had one too many ales. A woman approached from her left.

"What's the matter, cat got your tongue?" she asked. The man let out a hearty laugh. "I asked if you were alright."

"Sorry. I...I'm...I'm fine, th...thanks for the help." It didn't feel enough, but she didn't know what else to say, her heart was still racing.

"You're lucky we were passing by, " the elf said, "or the best part of you would now be rotting in a sabre cat belly. Tell me, fellow Bosmer, what's your name?"

"Galathil." she replied, still shaking.

"A pleasure to meet you Galathil, my name is Silnor." the Bosmer replied. "I notice you don't have much in the way of equipment."

It was true, she didn't. All that she owned was set about that fire place. Her bedroll, her backpack (that contained nothing but a small axe and a few green apples), her trusty iron dagger and, of course, the clothes she was wearing.

"Do you even have a bow?"

"No." Not anymore, but she didn't want to think about that, let alone tell a complete stranger.

The woman laughed. "A Bosmer without a bow? A curious thing, like - "

"Like the Divines without Talos," the man interjected, studying Galathil's reaction throughout.

"Alright Ulren, save it for Sovngarde." the woman shot back. She looked furtively over each of her shoulders in turn. "Here's as good a place as any, I should think, and better than most. Might we share your camp fire whilst we eat, Galathil?"

"Of course, please do. I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name?" Galathil replied.

"I'm Falia, that oaf is my brother, Ulren, and Silnor you've already met." He bowed his head courteously at the mention of his name. "And we are The Hunter's Hand." Galathil looked on none the wiser.

"Surely you've heard of us?" Ulren asked with alarmed grimace.

"I'm afraid not." replied Galathil meekly.

"Alas, our star wanes Ulren." added Silnor, a sly smile etched across his face. "No matter, all the more reason to seek fame and fortune anew."

The four of them took their seats about the fire as Falia passed around some bread and cheese. Ulren offered her a bottle of ale, which she gladly accepted. Silnor had just finished skinning the sabre cat's pelt and was placing it in his backpack. "So what's your story, Galathil, what brings a Bosmer this far north?" Falia asked her through a mouthful of cheese.

"My story?" That was the last thing Galathil wanted to discuss. "Oh, it's far too long and boring for a night as cold as this."

"Perhaps another time then." Silnor chipped in and as he glanced across at Falia.

"Perhaps." Galathil smiled. She'd always had an easy smile, or so her younger brother Erthor had always told her. She thought about how much she missed Erthor, and her mother and father and little Indrel. And Faldan. She missed Faldan most of all. "If you're here, I'll find you brother." she thought to herself.

"Where are you heading?" Falia inquired. "We're following the White River up to Whiterun, you're more than welcome to share the road with us."

Galathil smiled her easy smile. "It would be an honour to travel with The Hunter's Hand".