Caranwen, breathing hard, flattened herself against the trunk of a blossoming tree as two Thalmor Justiciars strode past, deep in conversation. Her progress over the past hour or so had been much like this, involving following the road to Skywatch but allowing the trees and foliage to provide cover. It was difficult. Auridon, though its landscape was lush and unspoilt, was not at all densely forested and she was not proficient at sneaking – to say the least. Though stealth was an art she had yet to master, her journey so far had proved an induction. Slowly, she was getting used to sinking down into a crouched position, using the landscape as cover and inching her way along whilst keeping parallel to the road. Paranoia exercised its grip on her whenever agents of the Thalmor walked past.

Only when the Thalmor left, did she relax. Shifting into a standing position, Caranwen shook out her aching muscles and glanced to the sky. The sun was fast approaching the horizon, and evening drew near. Everything became more sinister under the veil of night – this was another reason Caranwen was eager to reach Skywatch before nightfall, before her mind began playing tricks on her… even now, she was sure she could hear the howling of a wolf.

The howling sounded again, much louder and closer. Panic seized her, paralysing her muscles.

The creature came darting from nowhere, a ragged blast of grey fur hurtling towards her. She barely had the sense to move her legs before it was upon her, and threw herself out of its path before the thing could topple her over. Drawing on her magicka reserves, Caranwen called a swirling ball of red light into her outstretched palm and flung it towards the wolf.

Much to Caranwen's relief, the Fear spell took hold of the wolf's mind and it bolted for the trees. Not wanting to take any chances, she sprinted in the opposite direction until she was sure the creature wouldn't return.

Shaken, the young Altmer woman stood and took deep breaths until her heart rate returned to normal. When she raised her head she noticed that the road was diverting eastward and on the horizon, distant as an apparition, stood the proud spires of Skywatch.

The recent brush with combat and the reassurance at the sight of her destination sparked Caranwen's adrenaline levels and she travelled with a renewed determination. With the city fast approaching, she ran her hands briefly through her hair and composed herself. Looking a little dishevelled would only spark the Thalmor's suspicion, and she would need to blend in unnoticed before she reached the docks.

Her worries seemed to be paranoia talking, however. The Inquisition had since left Skywatch and the ordinary Dominion guards who patrolled the city did not possess half the cruelty of those higher ranking officials. They were simply there to keep the order, and gave her no more attention than the occasional nod as she walked through town.

Out on the docks, her choice of boats was slim. Most sailors with any kind of sanity had left port earlier in the day, or had dropped anchor for the night and were drinking at a local tavern. Only one boat, a sizeable merchant ship, was still being loaded with goods.

Without even stopping to ponder on whether or not their crew would react with hostility, Caranwen approached an Imperial man in plain clothes with crate in his arms.

"Excuse me, sir?"

The man frowned, evidently displeased at being stopped while he carried a heavy load. "What do you want, elf?"

Caranwen realised she hadn't even considered the fact that most people would regard her as one of the Thalmor, and that proving otherwise would be difficult. "I… I request passage on your ship."

"Well, it isn't my ship," his frown had deepened into a glare, "so you'll have to ask Ra'jara over there. No doubt he'll let you – his lenience is his downfall."

Caranwen approached the figure he'd motioned to, a grey-furred Khajiit with gold hoops lining one ear. He stood, arms folded, his body outlined against the evening twilight.

"Are you this ship's captain?" Caranwen asked, a little intimidated despite the height her Altmer genes leant her.

He smiled, revealing pointed canines. "Indeed, Ra'jara is the captain. And you would request passage on the ship?"

"Yes."

"This one welcomes you to the Bloodmoon."

Caranwen stood, a little frozen. It was this easy? "Is… is that all?"

"There is no test. Khajiit has muscles, unlike you. If you turn out to be a Thalmor spy, you will be crushed by the crew like torchbug under heavy boot." With that, Ra'jara laughed long and loud.

"I feel welcome already," she muttered.

Ra'jara's ice-blue eyes twinkled, "This one detects sarcasm. Bold, coming from small torchbug like yourself." He laughed again, clearly amused at his comparison of her to an insect.

"Don't mind him."

Caranwen was startled, whipping around to find the source of the words. It was a low woman's voice, with smooth tones that melted away into the background with ease. The speaker, when she turned to face her, was a woman short even for a Bosmer, yet her frame was taut with muscle. Though her face was fair, it was marred by a deep scar that ran the length of it.

She gave a grin, "Didn't see me? I should hope not, or I'd need to train harder. Now, come on – the rest of the crew should be dining by now."

Caranwen followed her below the deck. "My name's Caranwen," she offered by way of introduction.

"And mine's Elith. You know, you're lucky you found us when you did – not many merchant ships cross these seas anymore, not when the Dominion's so isolated."

"Why do you do it, then?" Caranwen asked.

Ahead of her, the Bosmer woman opened the doors. "Quite the curious one, aren't you? You'll find out sooner or later."

Below deck on the Bloodmoon, the smell of food hung in the air. Clearly, these people ate well; however they made their money, there was plenty to fuel their appetites. At the crews' invitation, she took a seat at the table and ladled soup into her bowl, partnering it with fresh bread.

The crew themselves were a group of misfits – they were racially diverse, though nobody showed any prejudice. That in itself was odd for Caranwen, who had grown up under the rule of the supremacist Thalmor. With that and the isolated nature of Alinor these days, it was little wonder she'd never seen an Argonian before she now sat across from one. Realising she was probably staring, Caranwen flashed them a brief smile and averted her eyes to her food.

"Try the seared slaughterfish," a young Breton man beside her urged, "it's excellent – but save room for the sweetrolls."

Elith, who had drawn a seat up beside her, laughed. "Meet Bastien – our resident sweetroll thief. Divines even know why we tolerate him."

"Elith, you condemn me so! I may have been a mere sweetroll thief back in High Rock, but now I am a seasoned larcenist!"

Caranwen laughed a little, beginning to relax in the company of the Bloodmoon's crew. "You could have stayed in High Rock, and become a court jester."

Elith smirked. "You know, I think you'll fit in here."

She could only hope the Bosmer woman was right.