Chapter One:

18 First Seed 4E 212

A crisp wind passed through the copse of trees. Synne shivered and pulled her cloak tight around her. She rubbed her hands together vigorously, blew warm air into them, and then tucked them under her arms. Her eyes moved from the quiet woodlands of southern Eastmarch to the star-lit sky above, where she recognized a few constellations. It was rare, especially when you lived in one of the coldest Holds of Skyrim, to be able to see the stars and northern lights in the waning weeks of autumn.

"Are you done star-gazing?" a voice asked from below.

Synne flinched from the sound, her attention enraptured by the stars and aurora borealis, and then peered down—her hand on the hilt of her iron dagger. Beneath her stood a tall, lean-muscled man dressed similarly to her—although he was armed with a bow in one hand, a quiver of arrows slung across his back, and an iron shield that was partially hiding the leather casing. He never left home without it. Synne placed a hand against the trunk to balance herself as she shifted into a half-kneel, half-crouch.

"I though Ma told you not to sneak up on me like that!" Synne replied with a grin. She climbed down from her perch that had been her post since she and her brother ventured into the forest. When she was on the last branch—one that had given Synne difficulty when she first tried to scale the towering oak—her brother set his bow against the tree, extended his arms and she leapt into them. "Thank you, Balfhe." Balfhe gently set his sister on the ground, twigs and leaves crunching beneath her leather hunting boots.

Balfhe smiled gently as he adjusted Synne's mantle, the simple expression breaking the stubble that began to line his jaw, and placed a hand on her shoulder. "It's no problem, sis," he murmured in that easy-going voice. The Nord girl beamed at her brother and smoothed out her woolen shirt and trousers. "Did you see or hear anything?"

Synne frowned and shook her head, some of her dusty blonde hair falling free of her ponytail. "No sounds. None that are close anyway."

Balfhe sighed, ran a hand through his unkempt brown hair, and stared out towards the dark forest. "I set some snares not too far from here." He plopped himself down on the frozen earth and patted the space next to him. Synne didn't hesitate and scooted close to her big brother, hoping to steal some of his body heat. "I guess we'll have to wait and see what daybreak brings." She didn't miss how he'd removed his favorite war-axe, forged from the fires of the Skyforge in Whiterun by Eorlund Gray-Mane, a gift from their older sister. Balfhe slid the iron shield from his back and set it against the tree they were sitting against. He eyed the sky, his gaze focused on the moons, which were obscured by the forest canopy.

"Do you think we'll have to move further south to find some game?" Synne asked. "Ma said that the butcher in Windhelm is upping his prices so much that it's almost…against the law."

Balfhe shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe. But deer have been abundant in these parts for years—even more so since those giants were taken care of some months ago."

Synne thought for a moment and then said, "Da said that trolls have been spotted by travelers and merchants. Do you think that's why there's no game?"

"Perhaps," Balfhe replied. "But the nearest cave is at least nine miles to the west. I'd be surprised to find any this far north. Climate's too cold for them." He smirked, as if he'd thought of something funny. "The weather's almost too cold for us hearty Nords."

Synne wasn't as sure as her brother. "What…What if there are trolls lurking in the woods? What if they come too close to the mill? What will Gilfre do?"

"Don't know." Balfhe stifled a yawn. "Probably send a missive to Jarl Enwulf requesting aid. If he can't help us, there's always the Companions in Whiterun who're always searching for worth-while contracts." Synne nodded absently and shuddered as another biting breeze passed through. "Do you want me to start a fire?"

"N-No," Synne answered. "Y-You'll scare the g-game away." She sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve. "I-I'll be okay."

Regardless of his sister's words, Balfhe brought the girl close to him and wrapped his fur-lined mantle around her. "I think all of our talking scared the animals away for the rest of the night," he whispered softly.

Synne grinned mischievously up at Balfhe. "I never could get the grasp of hunting."

Both siblings laughed quietly.

- XXX -

Synne was jerked awake by the sounds of screaming and roars. Next to her, Balfhe had his head against the trunk of the oak and eyes shut as he dreamed. The noises, which had been loud enough to jar the girl from her own dreams, didn't seem to faze her big brother but they unsettled her. Someone was in trouble and they were probably the only two people within five miles that could lend a helping hand.

"Balfhe!" Synne cried, shaking his shoulders roughly. "Balfhe, wake up!" He grumbled incoherently and then shifted so he was facing away from Synne. The girl huffed and glanced at her hand, tendrils of wily lightning danced in her palm as she summoned the spell, and then pointed her palm and her sleeping brother. The lightning leapt from her hand and hit him square in the chest—not enough to hurt him but enough to wake him.

And wake him it did.

"Wh-What!?" Balfhe exclaimed, blue eyes blurred from sleep. He shook his head, rubbed his eyes with one hand, and then gawked at Synne. "I told you to stop zapping me with that!" He pointed a finger at the sparks jumping in his sister's hand.

Synne let the spell disappear. "I'm sorry! But someone needs help! I think they've been ambushed by bandits!"

Balfhe stared at Synne for a moment. "There haven't been any bandits since—," he started.

His train of thought was interrupted when a blood-curdling roar punctured the stillness around them.

Synne almost fell over as Balfhe surged to his feet, axe and shield in hand. She led him in the direction of the sounds, her hearing picking up the inhumane snarls of beast and the fear-filled cries of the unlucky travelers.

"There's a group of them," Synne gasped between breaths, the icy air stinging her lungs.

She didn't chance a look back to see if Balfhe acknowledged her—or if he was even still behind her. Synne was fast, one of the fastest children that lived in Mixwater Mill, and she often outran her friends when they would race or play a game of tag. Her feet slowed as she reached the edge of the forest—the Eastmarch/Whiterun Border just under two miles from where she stood—and gasped when she saw two trolls fighting a group of mages, no, three mages in what was once a camp. There was one lying listlessly on the ground several paces from the others.

"What in Oblivion?" Synne heard Balfhe hiss under his breath. "Trolls? What're they doing this far north?"

Synne, who'd been watching the mages trying to fend off the forest-dwelling creatures, turned her head. "Maybe the same thing we're doing," she offered. But unlikely, since I don't see a bow anywhere. A thought crossed her mind. "Balfhe…what if those giants were the only thing keeping the trolls out of the woods?"

"Can't do much about it right now," Balfhe muttered as he unclasped his cloak before securing his shield to his left arm and drawing his axe with his other hand. He leveled a stern look on his sister. "Synne, stay here. If things go wrong, race home and get Da and some of the other warriors, understand?"

Synne opened her mouth to reply but Balfhe had already charged through the trees and into the heart of the fight, roaring a battlecry as he ran.

His abrupt appearance stunned the mages and Synne felt her jaw slacken when Balfhe ran into the first beast with his shield, toppling it over, and then brought his axe down into the creature's skull in one fluid movement. He rolled off the dead troll—just out of reach of the second monster—and brought his shield up in front of him.

Akatosh, Kynareth, Mara, Stendarr, protect my brother, Synne prayed fervently.

The first troll's companion snarled loudly—loud enough that it forced Synne to cover her ears and cower behind the shrubs dotting the forest boundary—and beat its chest with its thick-muscled arms. Balfhe shouted back at his adversary, banging his axe against his shield, in challenge.

I-I need to go get Da and the others, Synne told herself but her feet were rooted to the ground and refused to listen to her brain.

The monster burst forth with surprising speed and connected with Balfhe, the barrier of wood and metal bending against the weight thrown upon it, and sent the Nord skidding over the frozen dirt.

"Go…check on your…friend!" Balfhe ordered to the sorcerers. "Agh!" Synne's eyes widened when the beast grabbed the rim of the shield and lifted it, along with her brother.

Balfhe swung his axe and the ever-sharp edge of the blade bit into the animal's soft flesh. It recoiled, wailed in agony, and Balfhe fell back just as one of the spellcaster's unleashed a torrent of fire from their palms. The troll screeched something fierce as the flames singed its fur and flesh and danced out of the fire's reach.

The distraction gave Balfhe time to recover his wits and his breath.

He needs help, Synne realized. Her hand automatically found the grip of her dagger as she watched the troll cross the clearing in long strides and tried to tear Balfhe's head from his shoulders. She tore her eyes from the battle, peered in the direction of the mill, and wondered if someone would hear the fight this far—if she could make it back home and return with the others. The workers had to be up—.

"Argh!"

Synne whirled just in time to see her brother hit the ground, his axe flying from his hand and his shield arm a mess of flesh and blood. The beast loped forward, stood over its downed opponent and flung its arms in the air, howling a terrible victory.

"No!" Synne screamed as hot tears trailed down her cheeks. Balfhe can't die! He can't! I must do something!

Without thinking Synne tore from her cover, sprinted forward with her dagger out, and lunged for the troll. She plunged her dagger hilt-deep into the troll's exposed flank and felt hot, sticky blood splash over her hands. Her elation was short-lived when the creature smacked her away with one of its massive arms. Synne gasped when her head hit the ground. She laid there, dazed and confused, and groaned when someone rolled her onto her back. A blurry, shadowed face consumed her vision.

"Lass!?" The voice sounded far away.

Synne blinked, trying to clear her eyes and make the ringing in her ears stop. "Huh...?" It took some effort but the world eventually stopped moving and came into focus. The mage threw their hood back to reveal a pale, Nord face lined with an ash-black beard and hard brown eyes (and a bruise forming across the right side of his face). "I'm okay…" Synne pushed herself up and felt the Nord put a steadying hand on her back. "Honest."

He moved his hand to her shoulder. "What in the name of the Eight were you thinking, lass?" While he didn't yell at her, his tone was like stone. "That thing could've easily ripped your head off or spilled your entrails all over the clear—!"

Balfhe needed help—Balfhe! Synne scrambled to her feet and started for the battle when she felt the Nord apprentice grab her wrist and hold her in place.

"Let me go!" she demanded, trying to free herself to no avail. The man's grip was unwavering. "I-I need to help my brother!"

A bladder-loosening snarl cut the air and the mage holding Synne swore. "We need to get out of here!" he yelled to the others as he dragged Synne back into the woods. "Now! Grab the Magister and follow me!"

Synne, still struggling to free her trapped wrist, turned back in the direction of the ravaged campsite in time to see a flash of dark fur appear from the opposite side of the field and pin the burned troll against the ground. "Balfhe!" She couldn't see him. All she saw was a tangle of mottled brown and ebony-black fur rolling around the bloodied pasture. She stared up at the Nord, her eyes burning with unshed tears. "Where's my brother!?" she demanded. "I can't leave him there!"

A hand toucher her arm. "I'm right here, sis. Let's keep moving, aye?"

She could have collapsed from relief but the steadfast hold on her arm prevented her from doing so. Synne craned her neck to see Balfhe keeping pace, his entire front and face smeared with troll blood, and his arm was a mess of bruises and cuts; but otherwise he was okay. The girl nearly jumped out of her skin when a loud, triumphant howl pierced the air and the spellcasters tripled their pace (which wasn't easy considering two of the three apprentices were dragging their mentor through the brush).

"I've never seen a wolf get that huge!" one of the mages, an Orsimer woman from the earthy tone of her skin and lithe frame, exclaimed between gasps. "It was half the size of a newborn mammoth!"

Synne shared a look with her brother but Balfhe shook his head and brought his finger to his lips.

The group stumbled blindly through the forest until the Khajiit mage slowed to a stop. Synne observed their surroundings and figured they were at least two hours from the mill.

"Okay…Kishari thinks we are far from the monster wolf," the Kahjiit mage announced in-between gulps of air. "There is a spot over here, we can heal the Magister and the warrior."

Kishari and the Orsimer set the Magister, a Bosmer woman, against the base of a large pine tree and Synne noticed the unconscious elf was missing her left arm up to her bicep.

"Wilhrod!" barked the Orsimer. "Let the girl go and help us, for Malacath's sake!"

Wilhrod eyed Synne and then briefly Balfhe. "You two going to be okay?"

"We're fine," assured Balfhe. "Go help your teacher."

The Nord grunted something before joining his friends. Once Wilhrod was busy, Balfhe tapped Synne's shoulder and knelt on one knee.

"You mind, uh, fixing my arm for me?" he whispered. "I'm sure Ma will have a fit if I was to come home like this."

"Sure," Synne agreed.

Balfhe offered his wounded arm and Synne, using the corner of her cloak, immediately went to work cleaning it as best she could. Once most of the dried blood, sweat, troll saliva, and dirt was gone Synne held her hands over the gash.

"Wait, hold on there, lass," called Wilhrod. Synne frowned and faced him. "Let one of us do it," the mage explained. "We're from the College—."

Synne put her hands on her hips. "I can do it," she insisted. "I help my ma heal the workers whenever they get hurt."

Balfhe added, "She's more than capable of healing me. Let her so you can focus on your teacher."

Wilhrod hesitated but relented when Kishari shouted for him again. Synne returned her attention to Balfhe's arm and soon soft, golden light poured from her hands and flowed along Balfhe's arm. The skin and muscle knit together within seconds and the only thing that remained was a thin slice that'd heal on its own. Synne dropped her hands and leaned towards her brother.

"Balfhe," she whispered so the others couldn't hear, "when did the wolf appear?"

He sighed and rubbed his head—something he did when he had to think about something. "I think a few minutes after that troll smacked you back to the trees." Synne's eyes widened. I was out that long?! It-It only felt like minutes! "I can't remember clearly. Between the fight and the adrenaline rush…it's all hazy."

Synne bit the inside of her cheek. "Are you hurt anywhere else?" she asked to change the subject.

Balfhe stared at the ground. "Aye…I think the troll might've bruised my ribs."

She pursed her lips and lifted her hands. "Hold still."

He put a hand up. "Don't worry about it, Synne. You're already looking a bit spent just from the one injury. Let your reserves replenish themselves."

"But that could take all day!" Synne argued.

Balfhe shook his head. "Don't worry about it. I'll drink a healing potion when I get back home, aye?"

"Fine."

Her brother offered a smile. "What about you? Got a headache?"

"A little," Synne answered with a pout in place. "But I can handle it."

Balfhe, knowing better than to argue with his sharp-tongued sister, relented and hugged Synne tight. "I'm glad you're okay, sis," he murmured. "You almost gave me a heart-attack when you burst through the trees."

Synne returned the embrace. "I didn't want you to die."

"Well, I guess I have you to thank for that, then." Balfhe pulled out of the hug. "You gave me a few precious seconds to land a crippling blow to that monster."

Synne beamed. "Just wait until Ma hears about what you did! I'm sure the others will start calling you 'Troll-Slayer' or 'Troll-Killer'. You're a real warrior now!"

Balfhe laughed softly, aware of his ribs, and caught his breath. "Hm. I like the sound of 'Troll-Slayer'." He sighed. "Maybe I'll go to Whiterun and join up with the Companions—."

"You can't! Who'll be around to play with me when I'm bored?" Synne retorted.

Whatever Balfhe was about to say was lost when Synne heard a twig break. Synne twisted around and felt her heart leap into her throat. A pair of angry, amber eyes glared at them from the cover of the brush. Balfhe immediately rose to his full height and placed himself between the beast and his little sister.

Synne peered around her brother and her heart started to hammer when those feral eyes fell on her and she heard the low, menacing growl coming from the wolf. She could practically see its hackles raised and fangs bared.

"Gods-damn it!" screamed the Orsimer.

Synne flinched from the outburst and glanced back to see the womer tearing through her rucksack. The womer didn't see the wolf—none of them saw it as they were more concerned about their mentor. The girl stared back at the shadowed predator. Balfhe stayed where he was but remained utterly calm, as if there wasn't a bloodthirsty, angry wolf on the other side of the bushes.

"Go away," she mouthed to the canine. When it refused to budge, Synne begged, "Please."

The wolf's eyes flicked to the mages for the barest of seconds before settling back on the child. It growled again before disappearing into the woodlands. Balfhe breathed a sigh of relief and placed a hand on Synne's shoulder. Synne felt as though she'd collapse from a mix of fear and relief but she managed to keep her feet beneath her.

"Kishari's magicka reserves are drained from the fight!" the cat-woman hissed, her tail lashed at the ground.

Synne whirled and watched the apprentices bicker between themselves.

Wilhrod shook his head, bits of his ash-black hair falling in his face. "She needs Magister Colette," he declared. "The Magister's injuries are too severe for me to heal—."

"Malacath take me now," grumbled the Orsimer. "You're in Advanced Healing and Theory, Wil! You should have knowledge from working in the infirmary!"

Wilhrod, Synne noted, became defensive. "Yes, I treat the sick and wounded," the Nord growled. "But I've never treated someone with mortal wounds like this! The Magister has injuries that only a Master Healer can tend to! The best I can do is ease her pain long enough for us to get to the nearest city and pray to the Eight that there's a healer that'll be able to treat the Magister's injuries." He jabbed an accusing finger at the womer. "What about you, Shadesh? You came from—!"

"Enough of your arguing, both of you!" snapped Kishari, the silvery-grey Khajiit holding a blood-soaked cloth over the elf's head. "The Nord will have to do what he can for the Magister. We can only pray for the Gods to grant us a miracle—."

Synne interjected, "I can help," she offered, not realizing what came out of her mouth. Everyone faced her and the girl suddenly felt small, well, smaller than she already was and her cheeks reddened. "I-I know a healing spell that'll work." She acknowledged Wilhrod with a nod. "You can help, too." Wilhrod crossed his arms over his chest. "With our combined magic and knowledge about healing, it might be enough to save your teacher."

Wilhrod pursed his lips. "I don't know…"

"For the love of Stendarr," Balfhe grunted behind Synne as he joined them. "My sister knows what she's doing." He showed the mage his arm. "See? Nothing but a line that'll leave a scar."

"All right, all right," Wilhrod mumbled. "We'll try it your way, girl. Come on." He walked over to Kishari, who removed the blood-soaked cloth, and inspected the head wound before looking at Synne. "Are you deaf, lass? Come on."

Synne felt Balfhe gently nudge her towards Wilhrod. "Go on. You can do this," Balfhe encouraged.

She timidly walked over, knelt across from the apprentice, and did her own examinations of the unconscious womer.

"I think we need to channel most of our spells to her head," Synne told the older man when she finished her inspection. "Her ribs are probably bruised or broken but it doesn't appear like they punctured a lung."

Wilhrod nodded curtly. If he was impressed with her observations, he didn't let it show. "Hm," he grunted and moved his hands over his mentor's head. "Do you know the Heal Other spell?"

"No—but I know the Healing Hands spell," Synne quickly revealed when the Nord's brow furrowed.

"Okay, yeah," Wilhrod relented. "Don't just sit there, put your hands next to mine and channel your energy into the incantation."

You don't have to be so bossy about it, Synne muttered. She shook her head to clear it and to focus her adrenaline-fueled mind enough to put the spell together. Drawing on each other's magicka, pale gold light flowed from the Nords' hands and repaired the damage done by the trolls. Once the head wound was sealed, Synne and Wilhrod moved to the Magister's ribs and used whatever bits of magicka they had left to ease the pain. At the end of it, Wilhrod trembled and used Kishari for support as he rose while Synne slumped forward, almost falling onto the elf.

Balfhe crossed over to Synne and helped her up. "You okay?" he asked, letting his sister lean on him for support.

"Aye…" Synne responded as the dull headache started to throb a bit more. "Just a bit dizzy."

Balfhe carefully sat his sister down and knelt next to her. "Are you seeing doubles of anything?"

"No. I think I used too much energy," she explained. "I've never used so much magic before."

He frowned a little but didn't press the matter further—not that he would've been able to because the silver-grey Khajiit came over and stood before them.

"Kishari wish to express her thanks for helping us," the cat began. "We would have surely perished had you, warrior, and your little mage not come to our aid in time." The Khajiit observed Synne. "Are you well, little one?"

"Just dizzy," Synne defended.

"That will pass, Kishari assures you."

It wasn't very long before the Bosmer woke with a gasp and her eyes rolled wildly in their sockets as she struggled to gather her bearings. Eventually the womer calmed and stilled. Wilhrod and Shadesh whispered something to the elf before lifting her up into a sitting position.

"What happened…?" The womer groaned and cradled her chest. "Is…Is everyone okay?"

"Yes, Magister Nivean," answered Shadesh. "We would have lost our lives had the warrior and Nordling not come when they did."

The elf, Nivean, bobbed her head gently and then eyed Synne and Balfhe with bright, copper-brown eyes. She cleared her throat a couple of times. "Thank you for helping us," she croaked. She brought a hand up and rubbed the side of her head. "Wilhrod," she started, "you've improved by leaps and bounds in restoration. Colette will be pleased to hear about this—."

Wilhrod coughed. "I can't take all the credit, Magister. The lass helped."

Nivean raised an eyebrow but directed her gaze at Synne, who blushed. "You helped heal me?" Synne froze, suddenly too shy to speak. "You must have some talent then. How old are you? Ten, eleven years old?"

"T-Twelve," Synne stuttered, almost forgetting what day it was. She swallowed and tried again. "My mom taught me some basic healing spells a couple years ago. Said it was always a good idea to know the basics."

Nivean smiled. "Your mother is a very wise woman." With help from Shadesh and Kishari, the elf stood. "Have you ever considered enrolling at the College?"

Synne blinked. "The College…? You mean the College of Winterhold."

"The very one."

She shook her head. "No, Magister. I don't know much about magic besides healing and this shock spell I learned a while ago." She frowned softly. "Besides, I'm a Nord. Magic's not something I'm supposed to know—."

"Pah," the elf spat and put her hand on her hip. "Even after the Great War there is still fear among you Skyrim Natives." Nivean shook her head, bits of rust-colored hair falling in her face. "Forgive me, child. I should not have said that." The Magister paused as she thought about her next words. "No. You should not fear what others will think of you if you can cast spells. The people that fill your ears with such nonsense are survivors of a war long before your time." Synne bit the inside of her cheek, unsure of where this was going. "You'd be among kindred souls, men and women who wish to further their understanding of the realms outside of this one."

Balfhe crossed his arms. "Didn't you have that incident a decade or so ago? You know, the one that nearly killed Jarl Korir and half of what remained of the city?"

Nivean's expression tightened, as if Balfhe had just slapped her across the face. "That 'incident', as you've called it, was the work of a Thalmor Agent sent by the Dominion to gain a power that was unobtainable and not meant for us mere mortals. I can assure you, warrior, that your sister?" Balfhe nodded. "Your sister," Nivean continued, "will be as safe at the College as she would be at home."

This is a lot of information. Synne bit her lip. But I would be able to learn new things and be able to help people. "I don't know…"

"You don't have to decide now," Nivean assured her. "Think about it."

Synne touched her right hand to her left arm. "If I was interested, how would I get into the College?"

Nivean's eyes lit up. "A test."

"A test?" Synne repeated. "What kind of test?"

Nivean grinned. "A test of skill. Much like how your kin like to test each other's mettle in a duel."

"I think I get it," Synne murmured. "What about the cost of attending?"

"Normally the test is a random spell given to you by our Destruction Magister but I will make an exception. If you'll follow us back to our camp—rather, what remains of it—I can give you a spellbook that will teach you a new spell that you will demonstrate for Magister Faralda should you choose to enroll." Nivean watched the girl for a time. "As for the tuition, that is something that is worked out between the parent's of the future apprentice and our Arch-Mage."

"And if I don't want to join?" Synne countered.

Nivean smirked. "Then at least I will help you further your understanding of the arcane arts."

Synne spun and looked to her brother. "What do you think, Balfhe? Should we take them back to their camp?"

Balfhe shrugged. "Couldn't hurt. Maybe I'll be able to find my war axe along the way."

Nivean laughed softly. "Then it's settled."

- XXX -

The sun was high above the Velothi Mountains when Synne and Balfhe stepped into the house, the warmth welcome after a long morning of hunting and troll-fighting. Their ma was pleased with what they brought home: two rabbits, and set to work skinning and cooking them. After a warm breakfast, Balfhe changed into his daily work clothes and left for the mill, his eyes alight with his victory over the trolls. Synne vanished into her room, swapped her heavy clothes for a beige underdress and a blue linen tunic and her shoes, then freed her hair of the ponytail and sat on her bed as she studied the spell tome.

"Oakflesh," she mumbled to herself.

She ran the pad of her finger along the edge of the handbook and then she opened it to the first page. Like the tome that she learned the shock spell from, this one had detailed instructions on how to properly cast the spell along with a brief introduction to Alteration Magic and its many uses. Synne flipped through a few more pages, finding the spell and mouthed the incantation. The chant was a little more complex than the other spells she learned, but Synne was sure she could figure it out given time.

"Synne? Synne where are—oh, there you are." Synne lifted her eyes from the pages to her ma, who was standing in the doorway.

"I'll start my chores in a minute, Ma," Synne said.

Hreir stepped into the room and sat next to Synne and removed a leaf that had become stuck in her child's fair hair.

"What do you have there?" she asked, her azure eyes set on the book.

Synne knew better than to lie and it wasn't as if the tome was one of those cursed books found on Solstheim. "It's a spell book. A wizard gave it to me when Balfhe and I crossed their path on our hunt this morning."

Hreir pursed her lips. "I have a feeling there is more to this story than you're letting on."

How does she always know? Synne wondered.

With a soft sigh, Synne explained the events of her early-morning hunt with Balfhe, the fight with the trolls and flight from the clearing when the wolf appeared, and the subsequent reward for healing one of the Magisters that mentored at the College of Winterhold. At the end of it, though, Synne's ma was silent and her face was an unreadable mask.

"…You attacked a troll?" her voice was a whisper and then she added, "That explains why Balfhe's clothes were stained..."

The girl bit her lip. "I-I was trying to help Balfhe. The troll was going to hurt him." It was going to kill him but ma doesn't need to hear that part, Synne reminded herself. "A-And the mill was too far away."

Hreir lifted a hand to rub her temple and muttered something too low for Synne to hear. "Synne, you were very lucky that troll didn't hurt you." The girl nodded sheepishly. "You said this Magister offered you a place at the College?"

"If I wanted," Synne murmured. "And she said that the Arch-Mage would work out a...uh..." What did Nivean call it? Synne thought for a moment, struggling to remember. Right! I remember now! "The wizard called it a 'payment plan' or something so I could attend."

"Do you want to go to the College?" Hreir inquired.

Synne shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe."

Hreir patted Synne's shoulder gently. "Well, you don't have to decide right now. You can think about it while you weed the gardens for me." Synne opened her mouth to protest but her ma beat her to it. "No whining. Just because it's your birthday today doesn't mean that you're exempt from your chores." Her ma handed Synne a folded piece of parchment. "I need you to harvest some plants for me from my alchemical garden. And don't think I won't tell your mother about your early-morning birthday adventure."

With a huff Synne put her new (if slightly worn) textbook on her bedside table, took the note, gathered her cloak and gloves and started for the door. She stopped halfway and glanced at her ma. "Speaking of her, has Mom come by yet?"

"Not yet, Synne," was the answer. "I'm sure she will arrive soon."

Synne smiled. "Okay."

Before she exited the home Synne snagged an apple from the bowl on the table, retrieved the wicker basket by the door, and hurried outside before her ma chastised her for lollygagging.