Strong, cold gusts of wind whipped at the hunting party as they trekked forward through knee-deep snow. A particularly powerful gust swept Kjoret's hood back. She reached and grabbed it to pull it back over her brunette hair, which had been pulled into a tight bun. Snow swirled around the group, reducing visibility, but Kjoret caught the High Elf's amused look and returned the smile. Ayrie was her hunting partner once again for this expedition- a pretty, 17-year-old High Elf who was skilled with the sword, but easily learned to use other weapons and even magic.

Mabjaarn Flame-Hair, Queen of Windhelm, led hunting excursions several times a year. It was said that on one of these hunting trips several months prior, the party had heard a woman's scream and the roar of a bear that echoed from a cave. The group approached the source of the clamor, only to be suddenly surprised by an Altmer woman who rode a huge cave bear that lumbered out, panicked. This woman turned out to be Ayrie, who quickly impressed and befriended Mabjaarn Flame-Hair. Since then, Ayrie had spent time in Windhelm and was always invited to go hunting with the Queen. Additionally, it was common practice for Mabjaarn to invite the craftsmen of the city on these trips. Kjoret's father was Windhelm's smith. However, he preferred the warmth and security of his forge. Kjoret, on the other hand, while also skilled forging weapons, enjoyed getting to use them. She went in the stead of her father, and was set to be partners with Ayrie, seeing as they were similar in age. Kjoret was 15 and also proficient in swordsmanship. The pair got along splendidly.

The hunting party had went north from Windhelm, and neared Mount Anthor. A pass between two mountains was to be their camp for the evening. Mabjaarn's three children, all in their 20s, along with Kjoret and Ayrie went to the back of the procession to find the supply horses and bring forth tents and cookware for the rest of the hunting party. Kjoret unpacked the goods and found a large mammoth hide that was to be used to form a tent. She found two twisted mountain pines with low branches and used a rope from her satchel to tie each end around a branch. She flung the mammoth hide over the rope, which formed the peak of the tent. Four heavy stones were set into place to anchor the bottom corners of the hide. The mammoth hide was so large that pieces hung from the front and back, forming flaps and protecting the inside from the harsh elements. Ayrie returned with an armful of bear furs to use pad the ground and for blankets later that night. The pair spread them out before taking off some of their armor, changing into clothing still warm, but comfortable.

A delicious scent wafted through the tent flaps, and the women emerged to find a stew brewing in a kettle over a blazing fire. Jorunn and Fildgor, Mabjaarn's two sons, had brought back firewood and several larger logs for everyone to sit on. Mugs of mead were handed to the Nord and the High Elf as they took their seats on a log. The rest of the hunting party finished propping their tents and came to eat and drink by the fire.

Magnus had long since set, and stars speckled the sky, but were dwarfed by Masser and Secunda. The wind had died down, and the evening air was now instead filled with shouts, song and laughter. Mabjaarn, already deep into her cups, suggested a mead-slamming contest. Ayrie's gaze lifted, she smirked, and rose to face Mabjaarn. Men cheered and Kjoret grasped at her partner's forearm.

"What are you doing, Ayrie?!" Kjoret asked, incredulous.

"Winning," replied Ayrie and broke loose to accept the first mug of mead that one of the men offered to her. She approached Queen Mabjaarn, who had a mug in her hand and plenty more set aside, ready for the contest.

"Haha!" Mabjaarn erupted with laughter, "I'm not about to lose to a milk-drinker High Elf! May the best drinker win!" She and Ayrie clanked their mugs together and began to slam mead. Mabjaarn finished hers first, tossing aside the mug and grabbing another. Ayrie was not far behind, however. After tossing her mug to the ground, she picked up two more, beginning to quickly down them. Jorunn suppressed a snort of amusement. His mother, a strong Queen, and a Nord nonetheless, was about to be outdone by a youthful High Elf!

Kjoret lost count of the mugs each one downed, but more mugs were scattered about Ayrie's feet than Mabjaarn's. The Nord Queen groggily reached for another mug that was held out to her. She stumbled, and collapsed into the snow, drunk and defeated. Ayrie stepped forward, grabbed it, and finished the mead, despite already having won. While still standing, Ayrie was in better condition than Mabjaarn, but not by much. Kjoret stood up and wrapped an arm around Ayrie's waist to guide her to the log to sit once again.

Jorunn clapped his hand against Ayrie's back and said heartily, "It seems my own mother is the milk-drinker and not you! Ha! Well done, Ayrie. You are certainly full of surprises, aren't you?" After bidding the two women a goodnight, he and Fildgor helped their mother stagger to her feet and led her to the tent where she and Nurnhilde stayed. Slowly, the other hunting party members also retreated to their respective tents. Kjoret and Ayrie were left sitting together on the log, by a fire that had been reduced to glowing coals.

"I told you…" Ayrie's statement was interrupted by a drunken hiccup, "That I was going to win." Kjoret couldn't help but grin. She sat back slightly and allowed for Ayrie to lean against her for support. Ribbons of teal, lime and violet illuminated the night sky as the aurora became visible since the fire's light had diminished. The two sat in a comfortable silence for a while, admiring both the view and company.

"It is late, Ayrie, and it will only get later and colder. Let me help you to the tent," Kjoret offered a hand to help her hunting partner up. The pair slowly walked to the mammoth hide tent and slipped inside. Kjoret then helped her friend to the ground and laid next to her, pulling up a bear skin blanket to cover them as they slept.

"Kjor?"

"Yes, Ayrie?"

"Will you tell me some legend your Nord storytellers share? I know little of the stories of your Northmen."

"A story? Ayrie, I'm in no condition to recount a long story tonight. Besides, would you even remember it come daybreak?" Kjoret smiled as she nudged Ayrie.

"Then tell me about your ice swords. I have not seen such weaponry before."

"You're a stubborn one, aren't you?" Kjoret teased. "This tale is a short, rather uneventful one, I must say. As you know, my father works the forge back in Windhelm. On rare occasions, he gets shipments from the island to the northeast, Solstheim. An elusive mineral is found only there, called Stalhrim."

"Stalhrim…" Ayrie's voice trailed off as she sounded the word out.

"Stalhrim was said to be enchanted ice used by the Ancient Nords, Atmorans. The rock apparently is found in tombs on the island. The ice never melts, and important warriors and rulers would be encased in the material. The first time my father received a shipment of Stalhrim, I instantly loved the look and feel of it. Master smiths are able to shape the ice into weapons, for a price. I wanted a weapon of my own - two to be exact, I prefer dual-wielding as you've noticed. I worked long hours at the forge and saved up all the gold I could."

"Surely you couldn't have gotten enough gold in several months from forge work," Ayrie pointed out.

"Umm… well, you have me there. My fingers may have found their way into some of the nobles' pockets or picking locks to their homes." This seemed to entertain Ayrie greatly, so Kjoret continued, "Through various methods, I worked to earn gold. The next time my father received a Stalhrim shipment, I bought what material I could afford. The next few weeks I spent forging my two swords. They are well worth the price and effort. Stalhrim blades rarely need to be sharpened, and they'll no doubt last me many years."

"If I didn't spend what gold I do have on traveling, maybe I would get one for myself," Ayrie noted. A silence followed. "Kjor? I'm cold. I might be able to outdrink a Nord, but I still don't understand how you cope with these temperatures."

"Maybe you are a bit of a milk-drinker, Ayrie!" Kjoret joked. Yet she still inched her body forward, closer to Ayrie's back, which faced her. She pulled up the bear pelt and ensured her friend was covered. The warmth they shared promised to lull them into a comfortable sleep.

"And Kjor?" Ayrie asked in a quiet, sleepy tone, "Thank you."