"Wait," Do'zefen ordered, stopping outside the gates to Windhelm. Desharo stopped running, giving her a confused look. "I need to ask you something before we proceed, and if your answer is not the correct one, I am taking you back to the camp."

"Like you could stop me," he grunted. "Regardless, what is it?"

"What do you plan to do once you find your circlet and have retrieved it?"

He was ready with an answer, though he knew she would not like it. "Make him pay, of course. What else would I-hey!"

Do'zefen had grabbed his arm and began dragging him away from the city. The boy tried to pull away from her, but her grip was too strong. Planting his feet on the ground, he managed to tear his arm out of her grasp. She wheeled around and reached for him again, but he stepped backward so that her hand enclosed only cold air. The warrior gave up and crossed her arms. "I knew this was a mistake!" she growled. "I was going to help you get your circlet back, but if you were going to harm that man, I see no need. We are going back, and do not struggle anymore; I will knock you out if necessary. Now, come with me."

"No!" he protested. "You are not stopping me! I will even do this on my own if I have to! I can take care of myself, and I know what I am doing. The filthy Nord deserves it!" Desharo turned around, but did not walk away; he simply stared at the gates looming over him. The longer he looked at them, the taller they seemed to get. He began to feel sick, so he went over to the side of the bridge and looked out over the partially frozen water.

"You have no idea, and that statement proves it! You are nothing but a cub, Desharo! You may be of age physically, but you still have a lot to learn! Revenge is not the smart course of action! It never is!" she nearly shouted, her voice becoming more filled with anger with each sentence. "I thought we taught you better than this! How is harming the Nord going to help you?"

"I told you: he deserves it!"

"And why does he deserve it?"

"Because he stole my circlet!"

"So why does that make you any better than him if you cause him harm?"

"Because what I am doing is fair. What he did is not!"

"No, but hurting him is not either! I think he is a terrible person to do such a thing, but am I getting mad at him for this? No, not beyond reason! I still think of him as a person!"

"That's because it wasn't your circlet that was stolen!" Desharo yelled furiously, turning around and glaring at her. She opened her mouth to argue, but said nothing. The warrior sighed and went over to him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"I don't blame you for being angry," she said soothingly. "Really. But please understand that hurting the man will not help at all. I will gladly help you get it back, but unless hurting him becomes strictly necessary, we cannot bring harm to him. Am I understood?"

He longed to tear himself away from her, march into the city, and tear apart the Nord, but the mere thought proved she was right, he figured; he may be an adult physically, but he is far from it mentally.

"...yes. Can we go, now?" he muttered, facing the city gates once more. She smiled and nodded.

"Of course."

"Stay alert," Do'zefen warned quietly as the two crept past the inn. Smoke rose out of the chimney, and a few drunk Nords stumbled out of the building. They paid no attention to the Khajiit, leaving only the smell of alcohol behind. Besides them, the streets of the stone city were barren.

"Yes, yes. I know," he muttered, making a face at the putrid odor; the smell of alcohol had always been unbearable for him.

The warrior crouched down, hiding in the shadow of the inn. "I hope for both our sakes that you do. The drunken ones will either be a large problem or no trouble at all. There is not likely to be anything in-between. Besides them, the guards will not be pleasant if they find us. Khajiit are still not trusted."

Desharo hid in the darkness as well, biting back a retort about her stating the obvious. Instead, he whispered, "How will we find him? I cannot remember his scent well enough to track it. Besides, all Nords smell the same to me."

"We will not have to go far. Nor will we have to rely on scent to track him. Look." She pointed to a man who had just come out of the inn, clutching his head and swaying from side to side as he walked. On his head was a golden circlet with an emerald set into the middle.

"That pathetic excuse for a man is wearing it!?" the young Khajiit growled. He unsheathed his dagger, ready to go cut the Nord into pieces for putting the circlet on his worthless skull. Do'zefen shot him a warning glare, and he hesitantly put the weapon back in its sheathe, still keeping his eyes on the Nord.

The noble turned down an alley leading to the rich part of town. They silently followed him, keeping in the shadows along the way; they were sure they could take him in a fight, but he could easily call the guards or alert someone to their presence.

The two stopped outside of a large manor. It looked remarkably well kept; flowers of all different colors adorned the front of the house, and the grass would have been emerald green in the daylight. He went inside the manor, but the Khajiit stayed outside for another half hour at Do'zefen's urging.

"We must wait. Given his state of drunkenness, he will not likely do anything but get into bed and fall asleep quickly. Still, caution has never hurt anyone," she had explained.

Thirty minutes passed. Desharo glanced at the warrior, silently asking if they should continue. She nodded and crept up to the door. She took out a lockpick, but paused for a second. She then put it away and turned the handle slowly. To both of their surprise, the door swung open with only a small creak.

"We are lucky," she smiled. "He was so drunk that he forgot to lock the door." The warrior stepped inside and beckoned for the boy to follow. He obeyed, closing the door behind me.

The inside of the house was magnificent, to put it lightly; paintings that probably cost a fortune hung on every wall, while goblets encrusted with shining jewels lay on a large table in the room to the left beside golden plates. A bright silver vase stood on top of a small cabinet to the right of the door with roses made from what looked like jade and rubies stood inside it.

"Call me crazy, but he seems a bit...vain," he grinned, taking all of this in. Do'zefen offered a quiet chuckle.

"Yes, I agree. Still, if you have the money...why not, I suppose."

They split up under the agreement that, should trouble befall either one, they would not fight and would instead leave the house immediately. Do'zefen took a door at the far end of the hall while Desharo crept up the stairs to the second floor. The steps led to a broad hallway with three doors on either side. It was not as shocking as the first floor, however; a few brown cabinets that sat against the walls were the only decorations.

The first door on the right led to a study with a large desk in the center and many bookcases filled with tomes.

Nobody needs that many books, he thought, going up to them. As he got closer, he realized that the Nord probably had the same thought process, as most of them were coated in dust. A few were about the history of Skyrim, a few about various trades and crafts; some were even about other countries. The only one that caught his eye was a book labeled, "A History of the Khajiit". Desharo took it off the shelf and opened it, skimming through the pages. He had to stifle a laugh every few paragraphs, because the information in it was obviously false. In the very first chapter, it said that Khajiit were just men that had been transformed by magic and banished to live in the forests of Elsweyr because their power was feared.

"Who the hell wrote this?" he chuckled quietly, looking at the front cover. A name he had never heard of was written on the bottom part of the book, but it sounded Nordic. Desharo was about to open it up again when he remembered the reason he was sneaking around a man's house in the first place: the circlet.

"Crap...I've wasted enough time," he whispered to himself. He went to put the book back but decided to take it after a moment of thought. It would certainly be interesting to talk to Do'zefen about it at a later time. Besides, the Nord stole from him. Now, he had stolen from the Nord. It was only fair.

The door opposite the study led to a room that was far less interesting; it was almost completely empty except for a few chairs. Deciding that he didn't want to know, he left the room and went through the second door on the right.

Thank Alkosh, he thought. The man was asleep on a large bed, still in his day clothes. A pungent odor of alcohol, likely from both the man and the several bottles that lay scattered across the floor, hung around him, much to the Khajiit's displeasure. A few gems lay on a small table in front of his bed, and on the table to his right was a golden circlet. He hurried over to it as quietly as he could, making sure to avoid the bottles, and picked it up. To his disgust, it still felt a bit warm from being worn and reeked of mead. Resolving to wash it later, Desharo put it on and grinned in relief.

The Khajiit turned around and had to clap a hand over his mouth to stop himself from yelling in surprise; Do'zefen was standing in the doorway, her sword in her hand.

"You found it. Good. Let's go," she mouthed, gesturing towards the stairs. Desharo nodded and began making his way towards the door. He stopped at the end table with the jewels. Surely taking a few wouldn't hurt. Probably knowing what he was about to do, Do'zefen glared at the boy with a look that said "don't even think about it" before going back down to the first floor to wait. He rolled his eyes and, after making sure that she was gone, took an emerald and a sapphire, putting them in his pocket. Now they were even.

He then glanced cautiously at the Nord who was still fast asleep, now muttering things under his breath. He took a step backward, still looking at him to make sure he didn't wake up suddenly. Unfortunately, the bottles on the floor had been forgotten in the euphoria at regaining his possession. He stepped on one of them and fell to the floor with a loud crash. To make matters worse, the book he had been carrying flew backwards and landed on the Nord's face, waking him up.

"Ow! Wha...who...who's there...?" he stuttered, still drunk, pushing the book away. Desharo laughed silently; although unintentional, he thought that hitting the man with a book was probably one of the best things he had done all day. He knew the Nord couldn't see him due to the darkness, so he stood up and watched him struggle to get out of bed. He began rummaging in his drawer for something. After a few minutes, that something turned out to be a candle, which he lit quicker than expected. The Nord stared at Desharo as light filled the small room.

"...who are...wait. I know you," he grumbled, his words slurred. "You're the-" He hiccupped. "You're the cat I took that circlet from...hey...you're wearing my circlet! Give it...back!"

He pulled out a dagger and waved it around, slowly stumbling in the direction of the Khajiit. He wasted no time in running out of the room and down the stairs without any intention of keeping quiet.

"I assume he woke up and saw you," Do'zefen grunted as he tore down the stairs. The boy nodded, and they bolted out of the house. Although they knew he was too drunk to follow, they ran into an alley, just in case the guards had been called.

"We cannot leave the city yet," Desharo said once they had stopped. "He will have expected us to leave right away. If he does call the guards, they will be more likely to search outside the walls than inside them."

The warrior nodded, and they took off running again, weaving in and out of alleys to confuse anyone who might be following. They only ceased when they had to catch their breath an hour later.

"Do you...think we lost...them...?" he panted. She poked her head out of the alley, but apparently did not see any guards or angry Nords.

"...yes. I think we will be fine. The man was drunk, and will likely not be taken seriously anyway." She sat down, breathing almost as heavily as her young friend was. Desharo did the same, sighing out of both relief and exhaustion.

She stood up after ten minutes and stretched. "We had better get back to the caravan. If Ja'grano wants to know how you retrieved your circlet, I will say we went to ask for it back and he gave it to us. He will believe me if I tell him this."

"He'll believe anything you tell him," he said quietly.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. I was just pointing out that he seems rather fond of you."

"We are good friends, Desharo. Nothing more."

"I did not realize good friends were so phys-"

"Desharo. Enough. Now, if you will get your head out of the clouds, we should-"

"Are we interrupting something?" a rough voice asked. Three figures, all Nords, stepped into the alley. One wore steel armor, while the other two wore black hooded cloaks that concealed their faces.

"Oh, not again," Desharo growled, unsheathing his dagger.

"Aw, that's adorable!" the Nord in armor smirked. "The little kitty wants to play! Who's your friend, kitty?"

"Desharo, ignore them. They are not worth our time," Do'zefen snarled, attempting to lead the boy away from them.

"Desharo, ignore them. They are not worth our time," he mocked, attempting to sound like a Khajiit. They disregarded him and started to walk away with a quicker pace. Before they could, a giant wall of ice appeared, blocking the only way out. They turned to see one of the hooded Nords with his hand outstretched.

Do'zefen pulled out her sword and stood between Desharo and the three men. "I will take care of them. Just stay out of it," she commanded. He agreed, but kept his dagger at the ready. She charged forward and slashed at the mage who had created the wall. He ducked and shot a fireball at her. The sphere narrowly missed, shooting past her side and striking the stone wall behind her, leaving a large scorch mark. She then blocked a swing from the Nord in armor, who was using two axes, and kicked him in the chest. He fell onto his back, but before she could finish him off, the mage sent another fireball at her. She picked up the Nord with difficulty and used him as a shield. The fire struck his armor, leaving it dented and burned and knocking both of them to the ground. The female warrior rolled onto her feet and stabbed the man through the destroyed part of his armor before he could react. He became motionless.

She wiped the blade clean. "I am not in the mood for this right now. Will you leave peacefully, or do I have to make you?" she snapped at the two hooded men. One of them chuckled before running up to her with unbelievable speed. He moved so quickly that, had one blinked, they would have thought that he had teleported.

"Know your place, cat," he growled. The man picked her up with apparent ease and threw her against the wall with such force that it fractured and left a large depression upon impact. She cried out in pain before hitting the stone ground and becoming motionless as well.

"Do'zefen!" Desharo yelled, running over to her. She was unconscious but still breathing, albeit just barely. The other man sauntered up to the boy, as though without a care in the world. The Khajiit glared at him and stood, readying his dagger. The man laughed and took it from him with no effort.

"I was hoping two Khajiit could put up a better fight," he said lazily. The man tossed the dagger into the air, grabbed it, and slashed it across Desharo's stomach. He howled in pain, kneeling and clutching his abdomen. Warm blood seeped through his shirt and onto his fingers, staining both his clothes and fur a dark red. The man smiled and broke the dagger in half as though it were a small twig, casting it aside while the other man watched. The Nord knelt and pulled his hood down. His skin was pale white, his face gaunt and starved-looking. His hungry, blood red eyes were sunken, and it looked as though he had gone several days without sleep.

"...you're...a vampire...!" the Khajiit gasped, trying to stand up. The pain increased, forcing him to kneel once more.

He sighed and sat down in front of the boy, frowning. "Yes. It's not easy, you know; you have to feed every few days, people shun you, reject you...all because they don't understand. You probably already know what that's like, don't you? Yes, a Khajiit probably would know. An Argonian might as well, come to think of it. In any case, being a vampire is not all power and cunning. No, it's hard work and fear. A lot of fear."

"Why are you telling me this...?" he growled, looking daggers at the man in front of him. "If you're going to kill me...just...just do...it." He was beginning to feel light headed from the blood loss, and it took a great effort to remain upright.

Without hesitation, the man leaned forward and bit Desharo in the neck. He screamed in pain again, this time dropping to the ground beside Do'zefen. The man withdrew and stood, covering his face with his hood once more.

"Why, you ask? Because, in three days, you will have to experience this, just as I have. If you live that long, anyway." He nodded to the other Nord, who picked up the man in armor and followed the vampire out of the alley.

I'm going to die here... he thought as tears began streaming down his face and mixing with the pool of blood beneath him. I...I don't want...to die... The last thing he saw was the unconscious form of Do'zefen, her armor smashed and her head bleeding. Then, everything became black.