A/N: I apologize for the long wait between Chapters I and II. For those of you who were waiting, I hope this lengthy chapter can make up for it.
To everyone else? Thanks for liking Chapter I enough to click on Chapter II. It's much appreciated.
Enjoy.
Chapter II
"The odds of survival were slim in this frigid wasteland of rubble and thieves."
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Distant, vague sounds found their way to my ears.
The neighing of a horse, the faint squeak of an old wooden carriage. A young boy, curious as ever, and deep, booming voices that had an air of command. They all sounded worlds away and at the same time just out of reach.
A man desperately pleaded for his innocence, a woman's strident voice denied it, a series of whirrs followed.
A heavy voice asked curiously, "Who . . . are you?" The same heavy voice was soon apologetic.
Scraps of sentences swam through to me from a male voice that wasn't as deep but bursting with authority: "Ulfric Stormcloak . . . murder . . . restore the peace . . ."
I felt like I was listening from underwater. Sounds blurred back into nothingness as I sank further down.
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There was an earsplitting ROAR. All grogginess was shaken from me. My eyes snapped open and I found myself lying flat in the dirt, staring up at a staircase that wrapped itself around the inside of a dank stone tower. The entire structure was quivering.
Dirt and pebbles fell from the ceiling high above me. Slowly I propped myself up on my elbows and looked around, stunned. My mind wasn't registering.
There was a second bone-jarring boom that sounded a lot like thunder and in an instant I'd scrambled to my feet, wincing from the noise. It was then that I realized I'd been tightly gripping my Ruger and that there was a small, familiar weight pulling the left side of my pants. My hand flew to reveal a magazine full of lead bullets from my pocket and I looked down at myself to find I was wearing the same white t-shirt and dark sweatpants I'd had on the night before.
At least I think it was the night before . . .
I was even barefoot and went on to wiggle my toes in the fine dirt beneath me. I knelt down and scooped some of it up in my palm, let it sift between my fingers as I tried hard to convince myself I was dreaming.
How much time had passed I wasn't really sure of, but memories flashed through my mind. The crazy woman who broke into my apartment . . . maybe she drugged me. Maybe this was all a hallucination.
Another thunderous roar made me doubtful. Would a hallucination be so clear? So loud?
I stuffed both the gun and extra ammo in my pockets and tied the strings of my sweatpants fast around my waist to keep them up. Cobblestone began tumbling down around me, each chunk landing with a thud in the dirt. I looked around for an exit as there was another deafening screech, disorienting, and to my left noticed a thick wooden door. With a heavy push the land beyond revealed itself to me.
Fire.
I could smell and feel it before I could see it. The light was blinding, my eyes adjusted slowly, and screams filled my head. Screams of, "Dragon!"
I couldn't grasp what was happening or where I was. All I could take in was the fire raining down from the top of the tower I'd been in. I stood stunned under the small arch of the doorway, staring upwards with boyish confusion at the flame that poured from the neck and mouth of an enormous, scaly beast. My eyes followed the trail of flame to the scene before me in which houses, horses, and people were being scorched alive. Some who hadn't yet been burned were shooting arrows at the thing, others fleeing. My gaze came to rest on a young woman not ten yards away whose hands were bound behind her back. She was in the dirt struggling to stand up; a decapitated body lay a mere few feet from her.
It's just a mannequin, I swore to myself. Deep down, though, I knew I was in denial. I'd never admit it.
Against all instincts that were screaming at me to stay put, I raced forward to help the woman. I couldn't define what had compelled me to do so, but the next thing I knew my hands were around her arms and I pulled her to her feet. Flame poured down around us and in a single moment her eyes locked with mine, full of gratitude and fear. They were the color of the Caribbean.
"Hey prisoners, come on!" I turned towards the gruff voice, finding its owner to be a man who looked suspiciously like Thor. "The gods won't give us another chance, this way!"
He'd even said "gods." But the winged monster let forth another cry of rage and I had no time to question him or any of my million fleeting thoughts. I gazed into the sky and watched the creature of my childhood fantasy circle this burning village. There were more dead here than living, more red than any other color. In a glance over my shoulder I saw that the tower I'd just been in was now a pile of ruins, and miles beyond that snow-peaked mountains stretched as far as I could see. I truly wondered where I was.
"Quickly, brother!" Thor was calling to me. The girl I'd helped up was already with him and I hurried to join the two in a tower very similar to the one that was now rubble behind us.
A pair of dead and bloodied bodies were first to draw my attention. They were slumped against the stairs and looked all too real . . . the smell all too overpowering to be mistaken for anything but dead. My head spun and I leaned heavily against the wall. It was as if I was the only one who even noticed them.
"Jarl Ulfric, what is that thing? Could the legends be true?"
Jarl? When was the last time I heard that title? I racked my brain, trying desperately to occupy my mind with anything other than the dead . . . soldiers? Are they soldiers? Jarl . . . studying the medieval era?
A tall man with thick braided hair answered plainly, "Legends don't burn down villages."
"This can't be happening," I muttered to no one in particular as I bowed forward and rested my hands on my knees, feeling weak.
"I'm sure there isn't one person here who is not shocked by this dragon, brother," Thor said to me.
I sighed and looked down at my bare feet, now the color of ash and dirt. It was a miracle I hadn't stepped on something burning yet.
"So . . . that is a real dragon?" I asked edgily. "I'm not on the set of a movie or something? Where are we anyways and why do you keep calling me 'brother?'"
The two blond men looked at me in the same way that I used to look at my calculus teacher. Ulfric opened his mouth, about to comment, but a deafening roar cut him off and the tower trembled. Instead he shouted over the noise, "Ralof, we need to move. Now!"
"Up through the tower," said Ralof. Damn, so he wasn't Thor. It would've explained so much. "Let's go!"
The three of us followed, the bound woman having been silent so far. There was a break in the stairs where a soldier was struggling to move rubble out of the path. For some reason his uniform stood out to me – a navy blue cloth partially covering what must've been leather. Then I realized Ulfric and Ralof wore the same color.
For the first time I noticed that the woman I'd helped was dressed in ragged, tawny clothing. Wild brown hair reached just beyond her shoulders and I silently wondered what her story was. I was about to offer to untie her when the wall just ahead of us burst inwards.
Someone cried, "Get back!" but not before the soldier trying to clear the rubble was snatched away in the jaws of a beast. I stood gaping.
I turned to Ralof. "Are you sure I'm not on one of those TV shows where gullible morons get pranked all the time?" It was the only plausible explanation. "I'm sure by now the audience has had its laughs. Whaddya say we call it quits?"
Ralof stared and then said quite abruptly, "You speak in strange tongues, brother." I nearly face-palmed. "There will be plenty of time for talk if we make it out of here alive. See that inn down there?" He pointed through the missing chunk of wall where the dragon had broken its head through. I nodded. "Jump through its roof and keep going. We'll follow when we can."
"What?" I stared uneasily at the smoldering building below. "I can't make that jump," I said, shaking my head, "it's too far out. Never mind the twenty foot drop." Never mind I'm barefoot. Never mind the floor looks like it'll collapse if I land on it. Never mind the building is on fire.
"There's no time to be afraid," urged Ralof.
"I'm not being afraid, I'm being sensible," I countered. I was afraid though. Afraid, petrified, and deeply, deeply disturbed.
My options became limited when the dragon roared again and this tower, too, began to crumble. I covered my ears, longing for nothing more than silence. The dragon was deafening, no matter the distance I felt as though I'd forever be tortured by its sound. It was as if its voice tore into my soul; it was not a sound I'd soon forget.
I wasn't sure then where Ulfric or Ralof had gone. I lifted my head, having been shaken off balance by the reeling tower. Across the gap in the burning inn I saw the brown-haired girl; how she'd made that jump I would never know. What I did know, however, was that it was possible, and unfortunately it was my turn.
I backed up, pressing myself against the sooty rubble that the blue-garbed soldier had died trying to move. If this is a prank, now is the time to stop me and say, 'This has gone too far!'
No one was going to stop me though. No one was going to step out from behind a curtain and cut the scene, introduce themselves to me and apologize for any inconvenience, ask me to sign a document acknowledging that I'd be on national television in a week or two and then call a taxicab to take me home. I envisioned myself crawling into bed that night, laughing away what an odd experience this had been and then going to class in the morning. My friends wouldn't be able to get enough of it.
Oh, how I could dream.
The dragon thundered mercilessly. Cobblestones again crashed to bits before me, and I took the dragon's roar as a green light. With a nerve I didn't know I could muster I raced towards the hole in the wall and the blue-eyed girl lingering across the way. For reasons unknown she was waiting for me, watching me with those sapphire eyes.
I only wish those eyes hadn't seen me fail.
I could've made the jump, I know I could've. If only the dragon hadn't smashed the tower with impeccable timing, I would've gotten the proper launch off the edge . . . but the floor lurched the moment before I leapt and instead of sailing I stumbled, the stone swept away from my feet, my hope swept away from myself. My stomach rolled, my breath caught in my throat as I plunged head over heels through smoke and horror to what could only be my death far, far below.
And I swear the dragon was laughing.
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'Wow, would you look at that view, Daniel?'
We were atop the Prudential.
'It's breathtaking.'
Like the veins of our bodies, highways wove through a gentle green mass of hills and trees.
In the opposite direction the infinite ocean sparkled with the blazing rays of a setting sun.
Overhead, an airliner roared as it voyaged out to sea.
Another day gone by, another sun gone down, and the miserable populace in the cars on the veins did not even know what they were missing.
Pain.
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Pain.
Never before had I understood a word so well. The pain was unforgiving, gripping with its relentless claws and suffocating with its sooty breath. It tortured me to consciousness and scorched every inch of my body, a feeling of flame when there was none. I knew though, I don't know how I knew but I knew – burns weren't among my injuries. The burning was a result of the more serious wounds, the ones that were piercing my leg and crushing my chest and dully exploding in the back of my skull.
Slowly my eyes opened, heavy with what must've been ash. I found myself enclosed in a murky darkness. Light was dimly spilling through from somewhere but all around me was stone, inches from my face and pinning down my body, pressing ruthlessly into my chest and seeming to directly crush my lungs. I couldn't get a full breath so I wheezed slowly, coming to grips with my situation and making a desperate attempt to dull the panic that was beginning to boil my blood. This was no prank.
Calm down, I told myself. And instantly my mind flashed back to a hooded woman with moonlight silhouetting her, telling me, Daniel . . . calm down.
Why had she brought me here?
A silver-corded necklace dropped with a clatter to a cool hardwood floor. Moonlight gleamed off of the royal sapphire at its core.
Give this to the first woman you meet, she'd said.
The amulet; where had it gone? Eyes the same shade of the sapphire rippled into my mind. They watched me carefully, anxiously, then tragically as I fell and fell and fell.
I have to find her.
Maybe it was the key to survival, a ticket home, a wish on a shooting star. My only instructions, bizarrely simple instructions, and they'd escaped me. I decided right then and there that I'd fulfill the command of the madwoman who'd broken into my apartment. But first, I had to free myself from this crippled, ashy tomb.
I lifted my right arm, finding it to be uninjured and unrestricted by the debris; I could move it freely within the rocky enclosure. I quickly discovered that my left arm was pinned to the ground by the ruins; the sharp edge of something cut sorely into my forearm, rendering it immovable. With my right hand I pressed gently against the varying stones surrounding me. Like a game of Jenga, I slid my fingers across the rocks until I found one that was particularly loose. I braced myself, expecting the structure to collapse inwards on me, but having no other options I shoved my palm hard against the stone.
It gave way surprisingly easily. I listened to the rock tumble to the ground, clashing with other stones on its way as an amber light surged in through the gap. I pushed more and more stones aside, motivated now, and cold, breathable air worked its way toward me. I inhaled – shallowly, as my chest was still being crushed – but the frosty air was rejuvenating. It reminded me of a night that seemed like an eternity ago.
I found myself gazing into a deepening violet sky. Stars gleamed and the sun hung low to my right, as if hesitating to leave me in the darkness. I kept working at the stones until my right shoulder was free, and with that accomplished I was able to partially prop myself up on my elbow and get a better look around. Not before dizziness overcame me though, and with that the full force of a migraine pulsed ceaselessly in the back of my head. I couldn't resist the urge to reach my hand behind my head and take account of the injury . . . my fingers instantly fell upon dampened hair, and I knew it wasn't sweat. There was no question, when I pulled my hand back in front of me I was surprisingly unsurprised to find it glistening with crimson in the sunset. It would've made me sick in other circumstances, but I knew I didn't have too much time before the sun's light would be gone. No time for useless panicking, that meant.
I took a moment to scan my surroundings. My entire body was beneath rubble, stones and shards of wood. To my right was a massive pile of scorched remains of what must've been the inn. A crumbling tower of cobblestone was piled at my left, and I was trapped beneath the base of it all. I wasn't too sure how I'd make it out of this, but I took it one stone at a time. Repeatedly reaching across my chest with my free hand, I unburied my left arm – rock, by rock, by rock. From somewhere deep within came the strength to keep moving, and I finally reached the last stone that pinned my arm to the ground.
I was slightly more startled by the amount of blood I saw this time, and even more astonished by the fact I was still conscious. A razor-edged stone dug into the entire length of my forearm, and it took a lot of painful pushing and shoving from my right hand to finally free it. By the time I could weakly lift my left arm from the soggy dirt, the sun had set, an owl was calling in the distance, my eyes were watering and the gash that ran the length of my forearm had me feeling dizzy again. I shut my eyes tight and laid my injured head back in the ash, pressing my arm against my body and letting my no-longer-white t-shirt soak up some of the blood.
Got to keep moving.
With the maneuvering of rocks, I'd created space between my chest and the stones that had been previously crushing me. I took a deep breath of the frigid night air – my first full breath – and figured if I was careful, I could slide the rest of my body out from under the rubble. Keeping my injured arm pressed to my shirt, I reached backwards with my right hand and got a solid hold on a large boulder I could use as support. I gripped the top of the rock, curled my fingers around its edge, gritted my teeth and slowly, oh-so-slowly, began to ease my body and legs out from under the rubble in front of me.
It was an action I'd quickly come to regret.
It'd taken mere seconds; I cried out in agony. I'd never felt such pain before. It came with the first movement of my legs, my left leg, something was severely wrong. How I hadn't felt it sooner was unknown to me, but the pain was so unmistakably sharp, clear – the torment never once ebbed but continued to pound brutally within my leg.
I opened my eyes, unaware that I had closed them. The stars glared as I gasped raggedly, my grip on the rock behind me had gone slack. My left arm lay limply against my chest. The pain reverberated with the beat of my heart – that dull, careless beat that kept only the time until death.
I had to see my leg. I couldn't define whether it was curiosity or the irrepressible need to survive, but my mind kept coming back to the one thing that was keeping me awake. I was beyond cautious with my movements. Not once did I move my left arm, I wasn't even sure I could anymore, but with my free hand I slowly plucked away the rocks that separated my upper half from my legs. It felt like hours, yet it couldn't have taken more than one. The moon's position hadn't changed too much from what I could tell, but then again I hadn't exactly been focusing on it. I found it challenging to even focus on moving the stones, the simplest of tasks. The one thing gnawing away at me, however, was the cold. Cruel and uncaring, its frosty breath never ceased to freeze my skin and bones. My arm had most likely frozen to my shirt, the wound on the back of my head seemed to have iced over. Like a robot I dug away at the rocks.
Finally – it could've been an eternity – there was nothing pinning me to the ground. I pushed myself into a sitting position and felt my back peeling away from the hardened dirt, as if I'd been lying there a lifetime. I cradled my numb arm in my shirt, as the other arm was needed to keep me upright after seeing what had caused the agony in my leg. It was maybe a foot and a half long, the jagged wooden shard that pierced straight through my upper thigh.
That's not my leg, was my first thought. Denial. But acceptance came quickly, followed by vomit. I was luckily able to avoid myself, only after which I felt even more drained. I held fast to the sturdy stones by my side as my mind reeled and another wave of dizziness beckoned me to go to sleep.
I would've drifted off too – would've laid right back down in my own vomit and died somewhat peacefully – if it hadn't been for the voices that perked my interest. It was the first sound I'd heard in a while that wasn't a result of my pain, deep voices that belonged to a pair of men. My eyes flicked open; I was again alarmed by how they shut so easily without my knowing. I turned towards the voices, now being able to make out the heavy footsteps, and eventually saw the dark figures themselves as they picked their way across the remains of the inn to my right. The moon gave off enough light to see by, and the men noticed me before I could decide to be afraid or relieved.
"Told ya I heard something," said one. "This one's alive."
Still torn between fright and relief.
"Guess we got lucky," said the other. They were advancing on me, and from their unwelcoming tones I chose fright. The adrenaline kicked in and helped to numb the pain in my leg.
"And it don't look like he's goin' nowhere, neither."
"You've got to help me," I choked out to the two, taking a chance. I could only imagine what I must've looked like, covered in ash and blood, freezing in the cold.
They came closer, chuckling now. For the life of me I couldn't figure out what was funny. "Help you! Sure, we'll help lighten your load," said the bigger of the men. "Search 'im for what he's got."
The shorter but stockier man climbed over rocks and rubble to get to me. He smelled heavily of whiskey and dried meat. Curly facial hair kept his face hidden and pebbles fell onto my lap as he leaned down to get a better look at me.
"Aye, he's as good as dead," the man called back to his mate. Then something by my collar grabbed his attention and he said quietly to himself, "Now what's this little beauty?"
His thick, burly hand reached towards my neck. My heart sped.
"Back off, man," I told him, raising my good arm in defense. But he only pushed it aside and pulled from around my neck something that I didn't even know was there. The wound on the back of my head was scraped in doing so and I winced painfully, but when I looked up, there in the moonlight, the sapphire amulet hung from this man's fingertips.
It was around my neck this whole time! It must've been tucked under my shirt, and it'd taken this thief to notice it. Anger flared within me. "No! You can't take that," I growled, and with an unknown strength I reached up and curled my fingers around the silver cord, nearly pulling the necklace from the man's grasp. Pain shot up my leg with the movement but it quickly blurred into nothingness as a newfound drive surged within me. I couldn't let him take the amulet.
Even in nothing but the moonlight I saw the man's eyes narrow, as if no one had ever dared to cross him before. With a swiftness I wasn't expecting he brutally kicked me in the jaw. I fell limp against the debris to my left. My head hammered blindingly and the stars in the sky weren't the only stars that I saw. My hand landed against my leg, against my pocket and something that bulged within . . . the Ruger.
The criminal snickered as he crunched back across rocks and debris to his partner. I dug up the energy to right myself and somehow pushed away the dizziness that was becoming intolerable. I pulled out the pistol, flicked off the safety, and carefully took aim. Every action I made was deliberate, every word the truth. And somewhere deep down the truth frightened me as I heard myself call out:
"Stop or I'll shoot!"
The man paused briefly, nearly back to his buddy now. He turned around and in annoyance said, "Shoot? I don't see no bows or arrow." His pal laughed.
The comment never registered and I said menacingly, "I mean it."
The last time I'd spoken those words while aiming a gun was when my apartment had been broken into, and I knew then that I'd never truly meant what I said. But now – this situation was different. So drastically different that when the two men turned their backs on me and began to walk away with my amulet, I pulled the trigger with ease. With the pop of the gun one of the dark masses slumped to the ground in the moonlight.
His mate stood stunned, frosty breath visible as I heard him utter while gazing down, "What kind of dark magicka is this . . ." He knelt beside his partner, must've turned him over, said something to him, then chanced one final look at me sitting among the rocks before taking off into the night. The moonlight showed his last expression of horror clearly, and only then did it strike me what I'd just done.
More vomit. Dizziness. I ashamedly stuff the gun back in my pocket and leaned my forehead against the cool stones to my side. I breathed slowly as the adrenaline and anger and sorrow subsided, watching every breath of mine form into a small frosty cloud then dissipate before my eyes. Thoughts of the man I'd just killed were quickly replaced by the sharp pain in my leg that refused to be ignored.
I sat up and took a long look at myself. My left arm hadn't moved from its cradle in my t-shirt; I couldn't even feel it anymore. My right leg and arm were uninjured. I felt the back of my head again, now just a tender lump. I think the blood really did freeze over, I deliberated. And my thigh, my left thigh did not look good. The wooden spike that penetrated it was buried deep into the ground as far as I could tell. Not that I'd ever be able to walk with the shard through my leg – my only options were to tear my leg free or die. Death would've been so easy.
I exhaled, dreading what was to come and knowing it couldn't be done slowly. How much pain could a person tolerate before losing consciousness? I knew if I blacked out again the odds of survival were slim in this frigid wasteland of rubble and thieves.
Slowly I worked my palm under my leg. I had to scoot forward in order to create enough space for my hand, and even that minor movement was agonizing. I grit my teeth and gripped the back of my thigh close to where the wooden fragment had gone through. The leg of my sweatpants was soggy with what could've only been blood. How am I still alive?
I braced myself, dug my right heel into the rocks for support and tensed every muscle in my arm, prepared to use all of my strength to free my leg.
"On three," I breathed.
"One." Inhale.
"Two." Deep exhale. A pause. A prayer.
Three!
A bloodthirsty, blinding inferno ripped through my leg as I pulled upwards. Torture. Excruciating, red, unbearable torture I suffered as the splintered fragment of wood grinded through the flesh and muscle of my upper thigh. I couldn't recognize the animal-like screams as my own; I refused to. The pain seared in waves from its epicenter in my thigh and reverberated throughout my being. Its echo thrashed until even my blood had gone numb. And after what may as well have been a hundred years, the blaze died out, as did the sad, bellowing howls that muted the night. A sparkling sky made itself known to me once again, each star glistening with the water in my eyes.
I sat up shakily, gripping the rocks to my sides with either hand, the gash in my left forearm was numb and nothing compared to my sorry leg. The wooden spike reflected the moon's light with a crimson tint, my left leg free beside it. My dark sweatpants concealed the blood and hole in my thigh, either of which would've had me reeling back in the dirt if I got a good look.
The pounding of my heart slowly drummed itself out, and in the distance an owl cooed.
Coldness clutched at me now. It sank into my bones and wounds; froze my clothes to my body and hardened ash to my skin. I had to get up. No way had I gone through so much just to freeze to death. Movement was vital. My teeth chattered relentlessly.
I clawed and pulled at the sturdy rocks around me, using them to steady myself and get my weight onto my right leg as I kept the injured one carefully bent, allowing no pressure to be put on it. I was reminded of my bare feet by the jagged ground – a minor detail in a major crisis. The moon shone brightly, and as I stood for the first time in a long time I was finally able to take in my surroundings: the small village that I'd woken up in only earlier today was now obliterated. I could make out the charred remains of houses and towers. Rubble blanketed the ground. A layer of ash coated it all, giving the ghost town an air of both tranquility and death.
Another wave of dizziness shook me, but wasn't one that I couldn't fight through again. I held fast to the stones by my side until it passed, then used the same stones to hobble out of the pit of rock that I refused to let be my grave. I soon realized that I wouldn't be able to get far on just one leg; with a conscious effort I pressed my left hand to the wound in my thigh and allowed my foot to touch the ground. I winced and – sucking in icy air through clenched teeth – limped heavily across broken stones and shattered wood. It didn't take long for my feet to become clumsy blocks of ice.
I found myself heading in the direction of the dead thief. The man I'd shot. The man I'd murdered. I pushed the thought from my mind, having enough to weigh me down as it was. It was in self-defense anyways . . .
His eyes were still open when I got to him, gazing blankly into the moon. I couldn't keep from looking at the man. It was blatant that I'd shot him in the back of the neck . . . the scene was gruesome. Blood soaked the ash that stained the wood beneath him, and only moments later did I find myself having a fit of dry heaves, nothing left in my stomach to throw up. By the end of the spasm I was even shakier than before, and without another look at the body I staggered away, guilt-ridden. It was the bigger of the two men that lay motionless behind me; I could clearly remember the size difference. The one who'd run off was the one with the sapphire amulet. A knot built in my throat with the understanding that I'd murdered the innocent man. The look of horror that his partner had given me plagued my mind – it wasn't one that I'd ever forget.
I made my way to the outskirts of the devastated village, where the rubble thinned and frosty grass reached my equally frosty feet. Every step was an effort, but the nonstop movement kept my heart beating and blood flowing. Especially from the hole in my thigh was blood flowing; the palm of my left hand warmed from it with every passing moment, just as with every passing moment I grew drowsier. Sleep beckoned me with open arms, and not only had my left hand heated up, but my entire body felt to be pleasantly warming as if I were sun-bathing on a beach in the Bahamas.
By the time I'd made it onto a narrow brick pathway my mind was too far gone to notice. I felt hot, soft sand hit my cheek . . . not the cold, callous stone of the path. And as I was being lifted it was by the balmy sea, sweeping me away to harmony and happiness. Surely it wasn't the cruel reality of someone trying to save my baffled life.
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Behold the not-so-savvy escape from Helgen.
You can't deny that Ralof looks like Thor. But I've never even seen that movie. (Shh.)
Hope you're enjoying the story, and hope to hear from you,
Rudyeie
