S W I F T A W A K E N I N G

With a soft swish, the arrow left the string at full force, embedding itself into the side of the grey rat. The rodent squealed in pain, attempting to get away from his intended meal turned assailant. Another arrow joined the first, landing in the neck this time. With a half-hearted squeak, the hopeless rat fell to its side, twitching a bit before it finally stilled. As glittering blood flowed down through matted fur and onto the forest floor, a small figure fell to its knees in front of the dead rat.

Famished and exhausted, Lorren dropped her bow to the leaves beside her and extracted a small iron dagger from her belt. Rat meat wasn't exactly the most satisfactory meal in the world; she'd certainly had better, but it was this or starvation. She decided that the latter was not an option.

A week and a half ago when she'd first decided to set out on her journey, she hadn't expected it to be quite so difficult. Having never ventured outside the boundaries of Soulrest, she had no inkling of the terrain she was about to face while traveling through the Black Marsh. Miles and miles of endless, dank, damp, rodent-infested forests and hot, bubbling swamps with not a settlement in sight had left her completely exhausted. She'd slept against tree trunks for the past ten days with one eye open, hardly daring to fall into a deep slumber even if she could for fear of attack. She'd run out of food only a few days ago, and though she had some amount of gold, she had nowhere to spend it. Truth be told, she wasn't even sure what direction she was headed in and she was quickly losing hope.

The goodbye she'd had to endure from Soulrest was a heart wrenching one. With only a few small belongings so as not to be weighed down, she said goodbye to everyone and everything she'd ever known, including Amurei. It had taken every ounce of will she possessed not to cry as she hugged the old Argonian, taking in his last words of wisdom, luck, and farewell for her. Knowing that there was every chance she might never see him again, she reluctantly extracted herself from him and set off, unable to see the solitary tear that had fallen to his cheek as she left.

Now she was alone, scared, hungry, tired, lost, and irritated. Why the hell had she set off on this journey in the first place? She was perfectly content living life in Soulrest, where it was completely safe. Okay, that was a lie. She wasn't content with it, but as least she knew where she was going everyday when she was there. And she wasn't forced to eat this horrible rat meat.

With a grimace, she used the dagger to saw off a chunk of the meat and cooked it with a low-level flame spell. There was no way she was eating the stuff raw. Daring to take a rest, she leaned back against a tree and gnawed on the tough meat. She would allow herself a few minutes reprieve and then pick up again. If she didn't find a city soon, she would collapse, possibly for good.

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The uncomfortable feeling of a cool point at her throat swiftly brought Lorren back to consciousness, making her aware of two things as her eyes focused. One, that her few minutes of reprieve had obviously turned into a good few hours of rest, because it was now close to dusk. Two, that she was no longer alone. In fact, she was very much in company with the long steel sword that was naught but millimeters away from taking her life. Suddenly feeling brave for the situation, she raised her cerulean eyes to meet the deep dark brown ones of the person standing in front of her.

"You sleep far too soundly for a Bosmer," came the voice, low, wise. Within a few seconds, Lorren's mind had memorized the features of his face: the small, deep eyes, the wide, dark mouth, the slightly shallow cheeks, the thick nose, the cappuccino colored skin, creased by wrinkles around the eyes, more stress lines than laugh lines. She didn't speak for fear of pressing the blade any closer to her throat. "Who are you?" Glancing down at the sword, Lorren still didn't answer. Seeming to understand, the man backed off by about half an inch.

"My name is Lorren," she said, pressing herself back into the tree as far as the laws of physics would allow. This would most certainly be the last time she allowed herself to fall asleep in the open again, if she even lived past this encounter.

"And is there any reason that you're sleeping out in the open all by yourself, where anyone or anything can come along and attack you?" the Redguard asked, raising an eyebrow at her. Lorren swallowed. Either he wasn't going to kill her, or he just wanted to scare her as much as possible before he killed her.

"I'm leaving the Black Marsh. At least, I think this is the direction I'm supposed to be going to leave," Lorren replied, getting distracted. "I really don't know where I am. I've been traveling for almost two weeks, I'm exhausted and starving, and I've never been away from home before."

"Where is home?" Lorren frowned. Why was he asking her so many questions? If it weren't for the fact that he still had her at sword point, she wouldn't be answering. As it were, she was in no position to be making up rules.

"Soulrest in the south of the province," she answered quickly. It was the Redguard's turn to frown.

"Soulrest? There's nothing but Argonians that far south. No one can survive the marshes long enough to get there," he pondered, as though to himself. Lorren raised an eyebrow. This man seemed to know quite a bit about the Black Marsh. Perhaps he was a citizen?

"I arrived by ocean. From where I don't know. Which is why I'm leaving, to go find out. And if you don't mind, I'd like to get moving again. I'm hoping to find a real bed to sleep in before I die from exhaustion," Lorren told him, almost forgetting about the sword so close to her neck. The Redguard looked down at her in surprise, but finally drew his sword away and sheathed it. He extended a large, lean hand to her, which after a moment of suspicious glaring, she finally took. When she was up on her feet again, she took up her bow, which she kept in hand just in case.

"Actually, you're about an hours walk from the town of Gideon. There's an inn there by the name of the Scaly Scabbard that you can rest in. Sorry about the rude awakening by the way, but you never can be too careful these days. I'm Wyatt. Wyatt Christophe."

Now that her very life wasn't in his hands, this Wyatt didn't seem quite so threatening as before. His short, dark hair was graying in some spots, and his face looked a bit worn, though the rest of his body looked to be fairly fit. She guessed that he was around fifty years of age, give or take a few, which wasn't very old by Argonian standards, but then again he was obviously not Argonian. What he was, she could only guess from what she read in books about other races. She mused that he was a Redguard, by his dark skin. He had a friendly sort of look to him, but a stern, battle-hardened expression. Lorren figured she was fairly lucky to have had this one run across her rather than someone a little less inviting.

"How about I take you to Gideon," Wyatt offered, shaking her from her thoughts. She raised an eyebrow at him. "It's the least I can do for threatening your life." He offered a small smile. Lorren looked at him with some amount of distrust, but realized that if she was ever going to make it to a city, she'd need some help.

"Okay," she agreed finally with a nod.

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Almost exactly an hour later, just as Wyatt predicted, the two of them entered through the gates of Gideon, having made the journey with no trouble other than Lorren's growing fatigue. She'd warmed up to Wyatt a bit, and had begun telling him bits and pieces of her life in Soulrest, something that he seemed fascinated by. She was deliriously happy to be back inside the walls of a city, and even though the air was kind of musty, she breathed it in deeply.

Gideon, it seemed, was a fairly gray place. Its streets (which were not streets really, but more like dirt paths trodden into roads by years of wear) were lined with small, boring buildings made of stone. The people did not seem to be all too interested in hygiene, as far as she could tell. What was more, they weren't all Argonians. Other races walked with them, a strange sight Lorren thought. She even caught sight of what she was almost positive was another Bosmer, just like herself. The thought left her a bit dumbstruck.

"The inn is this way," Wyatt told her gently, leading her through the city. Lorren followed, shamelessly letting her eyes fall on every creature she could, even the Argonians; these were new ones, ones she hadn't known for seventeen years. After stumbling over a stray rock in the middle of the road, Lorren decided to pay a little better attention to where she was going, but still let her gaze drift off to the side whenever someone else passed. The people didn't seem to appreciate her staring very much, but none of them made any remarks to her.

When Wyatt stopped, Lorren almost ran into him. After she recovered, she peered around him to see him reaching out to push open an old wooden door that appeared to be a bit dry rotted and barely hanging on its hinges. The door gave a loud creak in protest of being opened and Wyatt stepped through with Lorren close on his tail.

There were some things that could be considered less than impressive; a mage that could produce no magic, a Fighters Guild member that was too afraid to fight. This was not one of those things. In fact, save this very sentence, impressive and the Scaly Scabbard could not be used in the same vicinity. There was enough space for a small bar and a table to seat maybe three people, if they were small. Lorren guessed by the size of the place that the narrow staircase could lead to a maximum of two cramped rooms. The place was deserted save an old red Argonian male dressed in a sack cloth shirt.

"Good evening!" he exclaimed, far too cheery in Lorren's opinion. He moved out from behind the counter and grasped Wyatt's hand. "Come in, sit down, make yourselves comfortable. What can I get you?"

"A room for the night and whatever food you've got for the lady," Wyatt replied, shaking the reptile's hand.

"Excellent!" the Argonian beamed. "Sit, sit!"

Lorren looked at Wyatt questioningly while the Argonian hustled off to fulfill the order. The Redguard smirked at her and the two moved over to the table. Lorren removed her light blue traveling cloak, stained brown and green from dirt and grass, and some other odd colors, the source of which was unknown. With a slight sigh she placed it over the back of the rickety wooden chair and pulled her hair from its tie, letting it fall around her shoulders.

Wyatt watched her carefully, seeing her exactly for what she was. She was a young girl, skilled in some things, but naïve about most things; a girl on her way to see the world, but unprepared for all of it. She had the sort of face that made her look five years younger than she was, delicate pale skin, deep blue eyes the color of ocean water with a bright spark of youth in them, a small nose by Bosmer standards, rounded at the tip, and a little mouth with a bright smile, though Wyatt hadn't seen it yet. Her hair was black as charcoal, thick and a few inches past her shoulders in length. Her ears were quite long, poking up through her hair. All in all, she was a pretty girl, striking in a way, despite the suspicious look she was giving him at the moment.

"Why did you help me?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at him. Wyatt sat back and laced his fingers together, placing his hands atop the worn and nicked table.

"Look, despite the impression you may have gotten, I'm not a bad guy," he told her. Lorren's eyebrows shot up into her brow line.

"Impressions? I'm sorry, was I wrong to think badly of you when I woke up to your sword about to make soufflé out of my esophagus?" The Bosmer questioned, looking a bit offended. Wyatt sighed.

"I said I was sorry," he muttered.

"Oh, well in that case, let's forget about it. We'll break some bread, have some mead, be the best of friends, eh!" Lorren exclaimed sarcastically.

"Why are you being so childish?" Wyatt questioned, glaring at her the way an older brother might.

"Excuse me for getting offended that you tried to kill me!" Lorren yelled, her cheeks reddening a bit with her anger, eyes growing darker.

"I wasn't going to kill you," the Redguard said, growing frustrated with the girl. In reality, he'd probably saved her life, but could she see past her own inflated ego to see that? No.

"So it's custom for you to greet everyone at blade point then?" Lorren shot back.

"Look, let's just drop it," Wyatt growled, unwilling to go on with this argument. "Anyway, what kind of Bosmer allows themselves to be sneaked up on? None that I've met. Your senses are seriously lacking." Lorren shot him an angry glare, but gave no reply as the Argonian innkeeper returned from the cellar with a large plate of fruit, meat, vegetables, and bread. He placed it in the center of the table (it took up the majority of the surface area), followed by two mugs of mead.

"Enjoy," he hissed at them with a toothy grin before ambling off to the bar again.

A vine of grapes, an apple, and a loaf of bread were immediately snatched off of the plate by pale, slender hands. Wyatt gave Lorren a few moments reprieve to inhale the food, which she did at record speed, before continuing their conversation on a different topic.

"What's your plan?" he asked, his voice gentler than it had been before. He didn't know the girl's entire story, but what he did know made him realize that he needed to be a little easier on her. She'd grown up in a land full of creatures that could teach her nothing of her people's ways; no parents, no siblings, no one to look for her. She didn't belong in the Black Marsh, but she didn't have anywhere else to belong either, and she knew nothing of the world. Sheltered and directionless, she was practically defenseless.

"What do you mean?" Lorren countered through a mouthful of bread, a few of the crumbs spilling onto the table.

"You're leaving the Black Marsh to learn something about yourself. How do you plan on going about that?" Wyatt clarified, attempting to keep his patience. She was a tiring girl and he'd only known her for two hours.

Lorren looked at him as though he'd just dropped an anvil on her head, eyes staring up in realization, mouth still opened in anticipation of the bread that never made it there, but was instead placed upon the table. A plan. Now she understood.

"You don't have a plan," Wyatt said, rather than asked. He could already tell. "Look kid, you can't just go wandering across Tamriel with no rhyme or reason. That's how you get killed. Do you have any starting point, any clues?"

"Well, I've read all kinds of books. Bosmer are from Valenwood. If figured I'd start there," Lorren recovered, though she still had a deep sinking feeling in the bottom of her stomach as though someone had suddenly pressed the zoom out button on the map of her life and she was just now realizing the fact that she was but a tiny speck in relation to the rest of the world. The answers to her questions could be anywhere. Or they could be nowhere at all.

"Originally Bosmer hail from Valenwood, yes. But it's been a long time since each race confined itself to its respective homeland. You can find a Bosmer virtually anywhere in Tamriel at this point," Wyatt was explaining.

"The sea!" Lorren exclaimed suddenly, looking up at him. "I washed up on shore when Amurei found me." She watched as the Redguard's brows furrowed in thought, taking a sip of her mead.

"Hm… that's something," he mused quietly. "If you came in from sea, the most likely explanation is that you were sent off from the shores of either Elsweyr, Valenwood, or the Summerset Isles. Since there are only Khajiit that far south in Elsweyr, and most non-Altmer like to steer clear of the Summerset Isles, there's a pretty safe bet that you did come from Valenwood." Lorren beamed at his conclusion. "However, that doesn't narrow it down any. There are thousands of Bosmer in those woods. You could be family to any one of them."

"That is something that I can worry about when I get to Valenwood," Lorren told him, dismissing the subject. She settled back in her chair and allowed herself to enjoy another cluster of grapes, feeling significantly more at ease now that she knew for sure where she was headed.

"Regardless," Wyatt continued, unsatisfied with her carefree attitude about the situation, "you still need to plan a route. You can't just cut across through Elsweyr; the deserts will kill you. If you think your little week and a half trek from Soulrest to Gideon was bad, you've got another thing coming with that. Your best bet is to head up and around the southern boarder of Cyrodiil, make a stop in the city of Skingrad, and then head directly south from there. It'll take you straight into Valenwood."

"Well if that's what sounds good to you, then I suppose that's what I'll do," Lorren replied carelessly. Wyatt shook his head, but said nothing. It was useless to keep going on the subject. He would let Lorren have her peace.

"I'm going to get myself a room for the night. Don't worry about the bill, I'll pay for everything. It's likely that we won't meet in the morning, so it was a pleasure to threaten you, young Lorren," he said, standing up. Lorren looked up and nodded, swallowing a piece of carrot.

"Yeah. Thank you for escorting me here, and for your advice. Maybe I'll see you around," she replied.

"It's possible," Wyatt nodded. "Goodnight."

Lorren watched him ascend the steps, each one creaking as his weight pushed on it. Though the entire ordeal was odd, she would not deny that she was fortunate to have been discovered by one Wyatt Christophe. Now though she needed to focus on the journey ahead. Wyatt was right. If these past few days were a challenge for her, there were much worse things to come. The trek to Valenwood would not likely be easy on her.

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Yes, these cities are real according to the current Tamriel map. Swear I'm not making it up.

I like this version of the story a lot better.

Review if it pleases you.

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TheTex