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"Please…Please tell me that's not what I think it is," Ruccia choked. Her face was green and her unbound hand clasped itself over her mouth once again. Vilkas stared into the eyes of the head with a sickened grimace. The firelight flickering behind it gave the dismembered skull a sinister look, something he'd expect to see in the fire-lakes of Oblivion.

"Well, if you still think it's a skeever then you're dumber than I thought," He looked over the face of the once-Breton. His mouth was agape in a silent, agonized scream, eyes rolled up into the back of his head and his beard was matted with blood. "It's Krag," Vilkas said at length.

"What?"

"See the scar on his cheek?" He asked.

"I'm not exactly staring at it…him," She took a deep breath, trying to quell the churning in her stomach. Vilkas shook his head with a frown. He could hear noises deeper within the ruin, chittering, growling, hisses and footsteps. Things were degenerating from bad to worse while they were standing there, their chances of escaping unscathed lessening by the moment. He heard a sound approaching.

"We need to get out of here, fast," He murmured. Ruccia forced herself to look at Krag's head as Vilkas tossed it into the flames of the brazier. The way the skin began to blacken gave the Breton a daedric look that sent a chill down her spine.

"Do you think…" She trailed off. The answer was obvious: if the Falmer had done that to one Breton, they had surely done the same to the others. She knew if she finished her thought Vilkas was sure to call her an idiot again.
He seemed to know what was on her mind regardless.

"We can't assume the worst. If they're here somewhere we need to find them. But, we can't take the Falmer on unequipped," He pulled her away from the charred head, continuing down the twisting hallway. His steps were long and quick, seemingly paying no mind to the small girl struggling to match his stride.

As they traveled deeper into the underground city, Vilkas felt ice in the pit of his stomach. If—No; when!—they escaped, he was going to have a long, angry chat with a certain Harbinger.

"W-wait," Ruccia gasped, tugging on Vilkas's arm to catch his attention. He made an annoyed noise deep in his throat and stopped but didn't turn to face her.

"What is it?"

"Can we just…rest for a few minutes?" She'd practically had to run to keep up with the large Nord. Not wanting to seem weak, she had forced herself onward but she could only take so much. Sweat trickled down her temple, her hair stuck to the back of her neck, and her heart thundered against her ribs. Her throat was dry and she felt as though her legs would give out at any given moment.

"The longer we sit around, the more danger we'll be in," He said simply, giving her a sharp pull forward. Ruccia dug her tired feet into the floor and yanked back with a growl.

"Just for a little," she said, "believe it or not, Imperials aren't made the same way you are, I can't just run after you for hours."

Vilkas shook his head with a scowl and turned around—keeping his eyes pointedly focused on her face. They glared at each other for a few moments, no sound except for the dripping of water and the wooden crackling of torches burning along the walls.

Without warning, Vilkas hooked his arm around Ruccia's waist, hefting her up and over his shoulder. Her right hand was bent awkwardly behind her to where it connected with his left, resting on the small of her back.

"What are you doing?" She snapped angrily. Vilkas began walking again, Ruccia's legs thumping against his chest as she bounced with each step.

"You're tired and we need to keep moving," He grumbled, "I'm compromising."

"Oh, is thatwhat you call it?"

Vilkas growled and Ruccia could feel his chest rumble beneath her thighs.

"Anjya sent us here to work together," He began through gritted teeth, "I don't like it—didn't like it from the start. And, believe it or not, it's not completely because I'm stuck working with you. This isn't a usual Companion job, but she owed the Jarl of Markarth a favor so she decided to kill two birds with one stone. We are warriors not mercenaries, and it was a mistake to send us out here to begin with—not to mention beneathus." They came to a fork in the path and Vilkas paused while he decided which way to go. After looking back and forth between them a few times, he turned right and continued speaking, "but, I suppose we haven't been behaving the way warriors of our status are expected and that's why Anjya sent us here like common thugs."

"Your point?" Ruccia propped herself up, pushing her left hand against Vilkas's muscular back.

"My point," Vilkas repeated, "is that if we don't want to end up like those researchers, we need to be able to count on each other and cooperate to get out of here. Like Companions are supposed to do."

"I thought you said we couldn't assume the worst?"

"We can't. But, that doesn't mean it's not the most realistic possibility."

Ruccia suddenly felt cold, despite the warmth of Vilkas's skin against her legs and stomach. He was right, of course. Stromm, Erj and Staubin (he was always so quiet, she would usually forget he was with them) were likely already dead—and without their arms and armor, so were she and Vilkas. She swallowed thickly and bit her lip.

"Do you think Anjya knew?"

"What? Knew that we'd get stranded in a maze of tunnels lurking with homicidal elves? She isn't that cruel. If there were any real danger that she knew of she would have warned us."

Ruccia nodded once, feeling only slightly better about the situation. With Vilkas having nothing more to say, silence stretched between them.

Ruccia wrinkled her nose and sighed, glancing over her shoulder to look at the back of Vilkas's head.

"I will if you will," she grumbled.

"Will what?" Vilkas asked, brushing a cobweb to the side. Ruccia scowled and blew a strand of hair out of her face.

Fine, make me say it. As if being slung over your shoulder isn't embarrassment enough.

"I'll cooperate if you do."

"Well, I'll cooperate if you do," Vilkas replied.

"Then, I guess it's settled."

"I guess so."

"Fine," Ruccia huffed.

"Fine. Now, hurry and rest up. I feel like I'm carrying a dead horker."