Author's note: Finally able to sit and think enough to write. Sorry for the length, but I had to get something down tonight. Next chapter will be longer, promise, and won't take two years for me to get posted.

Rorikstead at high noon was as much a bustling center of commerce as Winterhold at two in the morning. A handful of farmers paused over their potato beds, leaning over rakes to watch the wagon shake and roll into town, clattering over what few misaligned cobblestones passed as road around these parts.

Mhairead, accustomed to having her own horse, was exceedingly grateful when the driver pulled up to the town's only inn and began tying his nag to a hitching post. "This'll be it," he sighed, thumbing towards the door. "Gettin' a drink right quick, then on to Whiterun."

"Thanks," she called, grimacing slightly as she rose to her feet within the wagon bed. "We'll be here." Mhairead turned to offer Gwen a hand. "May as well stretch our legs while we can."

"Ooh," the plump ex-Dibellan Sister grunted, happy to use Mhairead's weight as a counterbalance to haul herself up, almost knocking them both over in the process. "Bloody hell, that was a lot longer than I figured it'd be," she remarked loudly, rubbing her lower back as though newly discovered.

Mhairead was not ignorant of the glances her companions' swearing had drawn, but said nothing as Gwen continued climbing off the wagon. It was habitual for her; counting bodies, marking facial features and noting styles of dress. Though the men working their little plots had glowered pointedly at the two of them, they hardly had the makings of brawlers. Save, possibly, a tall younger man with a reddish tinge to his blonde hair, speaking in an animated fashion to an older version of himself.

His father? She caught herself wondering, backing out of the wagon to join Gwen. It didn't matter, though, did it? Their business was not hers, their village their own. Whatever had father and son arguing openly midday, as long as neither drew weapons, she could-and should-shrug off. Inconsequential.

"'S a matter?" Gwen chirped.

Mhairead was slow to take her eyes off the farmers. The son had stormed past his father, slamming the door to what might be their home. "It's nothing," she replied, focusing again on the Sister. Ex-sister. "Feel up to walking a bit?"

"If I can hit the ground with my feet, sure," Gwen laughed. "I don't think I'll see straight for a week."

Mhairead snorted, then nodded ahead. "Right. Just down this road. But we can't be too long, otherwise the driver will probably leave us behind."

Gwen ambled alongside, nose wrinkling as she stretched her arms upwards."Pfft, after the money we gave him?" Mhairead's glance was enough to make Gwen rethink those odds, eliciting a slow, "Oh yeeeeeeaaaaaah," from the Sister as it dawned on her that they'd paid for the whole trip up front. It was the only way he'd agree to ferry them all the way to Whiterun.

"Precisely," the Stormcloak sighed, avoiding a pothole as they rounded a curve in the road. To their left lay an open field of wheat, delineated by a simple branch and wicker fence-the last few feet of which was currently being repaired by a ruddy man sporting a hat with an oversized brim. "Afternoon," Mhairead offered him as they strolled past.

The farmer stopped winding his reinforcement and slowly stood up straight, face draining of color. "It's you!" he cried, accusatory finger levelled right at Mhairead. "I'll be damned if you aren't returning to the scene of the crime!"

Mhairead halted, clearly at a loss. "I'm...sorry?"

"You'd better be more than sorry!" the farmer shot back, hopping his fence to stand toe to toe with her. "Sorry won't bring my Gledda home!"

Mhairead side-glanced Gwen, who merely shrugged. "I think there's been a misunderstanding, sir. I'm not sure who this Gledda is."

He clasped his hat to his head, puffing his cheeks. "Don't know who...? Are you kidding me? Gledda, prize winner at the fair? Prettiest creature this side of Skyrim? You should-you stole her!"

Mhairead's eyes went wide, then. "I don't know a Gledda, really. This is my first time to Rorikstead, actually, so I-"

"Don't try to talk circles around me, I know what I saw! You and some other bloke, you came along just after midnight and took her right out of her pen!"

Mhairead blinked. "Pen?"

"Right here!" the man gestured to his ongoing construction. "Broke the fence trying to get away from me, you did! Oh, Gledda...sweet Gledda." He took a deep breath, overtaken by emotion, speaking in a half-sob. "I'll never find another goat like you. Ever."

"Ah." A goat went missing, and of course the strangers were to blame. Mhairead rubbed her temples. "Assuming I did actually take your prize winning goat under cover of night," she finally asked, "what did I do once I had her?"

The farmer was momentarily stunned. "You don't remember?" he asked, disgust swirling just beneath his expression. "Why, you...y-you took her, and then...then you came back later and gave her away."

Mhairead blinked, again. "So she's here?"

He turned and pointed to a rocky outcropping beyond the village. "She's up there," he responded, still stunned, "with the giant."

"Giant," Mhairead repeated softly, chewing her lip.

"You're going to get my goat back, right?" the farmer asked, quiet tone suggesting it wasn't actually a request.

She looked back at Gwen, who was hiding a toothy smile behind her hand and doing the worst job possible of it before straightening up and drawing her face blank. Mhairead rolled her eyes. The farmer seemed genuine, if a bit addled and goat obsessed.

"Right?" he repeated.

Mhairead sighed. "Gwen, stay with the wagon. I'm going for another walk."