Aphra flinched as a moan of agony echoed around the cave they lay in. She hated seeing Xoatholin in pain, and it was quite obvious that even the dim light that filtered in from the ceiling pained him.
He was better than he had been when he'd first burst out of the Dwemer ruins, but it was still bad. Then, he had dissolved into nothing more than agony. Luckily for her, his roars had scared away a pair of hunters, and she'd managed to gather up all of their pelts. She'd been able to fashion a blindfold of a tent covering, padded with as many pelts as she could fit into it. She'd taken it off once they'd found the cave, but it was night and he was still in pain.
It would have been cold if Xoatholin hadn't been radiating heat, keeping the cave at a tolerable temperature. They'd emerged into a land made of ice and snow, somewhere she was entirely unfamiliar with. It was not where she had first entered Blackreach with Xoatholin's grey egg-her instructions had been fine as they fled out of Blackreach's depths and into the higher levels of Dwemer ruins, but after they'd entered those higher levels, she'd been entirely lost. Xoatholin had followed a trail of unfamiliar scent and by some miracle they'd made it out. After padding his eyes they had traveled until they'd reached this small cave, something she was grateful for. Xoatholin was used to flying in tight, cramped areas, gliding and jumping from item to item. Not soaring through a massive, empty expanse of sky filled with snow.
It had been stressful, to say the least.
"Aphra…Where are we?" Xoatholin whispered. She looked up from her thoughts and stood, walking over to him.
"I think we're somewhere between the Pale and Winterhold, but I'm not entirely certain. If we were to head north, we'd find the Sea of Ghosts and maybe Dawnstar, depending on where we are." She regretted the words as soon as they came out. Xoatholin knew nothing of Skyrim's locations other than what she'd told him, which wasn't much.
She was relieved when he simply nodded, wincing at the movement.
"Where should we go, then?" A pregnant pause filled the air.
"I don't know. I'm sure there's some ruins we can find somewhere close by but-" A soft sound made her stop and both of them stood quickly. Aphra slowly moved towards the cave's entrance, feeling Xoatholin move carefully behind her. She kept her side pressed tightly against the stone as she poked her head outside.
It felt strange to see another Mer after so many years seeing only Xoatholin and the occasional Falmer, and she regarded the elf in front of her curiously. She was half Altmer, her skin bearing only a subtle trace of the usual golden sheen typical for a High Elf. Fine blonde hair clung to the girl's face, veiling pale green eyes. Her clothing was entirely impractical for the weather-she wore a dress and her feet were bare. She was crying, though, and Aphra carefully dropped into a sitting position, heedless of the snow, and reached a hand out.
The girl flinched away violently.
"Don't-It will hurt you." The girl whispered, drawing herself into a small ball. Xoatholin shifted uneasily.
Aphra had made it clear to him anyone else who saw him would try to hurt him-his kind were not appreciated in the lands of Skyrim. Yet this girl had seen him, and remained entirely unafraid of his presence.
"What will?" Aphra asked softly, using the voice she'd used when Xoatholin had woken screaming from nightmares of unbridled violence and horror as a fledgling.
The girl's jaw tightened and she shook her head, but after a few moments, she spoke.
"You have to promise not to hurt me. For it to go." She whispered. Aphra took it in stride, nodding.
"We won't hurt you. Xoatholin's friendly. The cave is warm-well, warmer than out here. Come in." She urged. The girl hesitated a moment longer, then tentatively took Aphra's offered hand. The Bosmer helped the girl up and smiled at her, pulling her into the cave.
"What's your name?" Aphra asked quietly. Everything she did was quiet, soundless to any save the inhabitants of sunless places. The girl seemed to sense there was a purpose in the silence and kept her voice low.
"Aliyah."
"I am Aphra. This is Xoatholin." The girl studied the dragon for a moment.
"You don't look like other dragons. Are you blind?"
"Yes." Xoatholin responded hesitantly, raising his voice until it was what he considered a shout. The girl barely heard him.
"Do you know where we are, Aliyah?" Aphra asked, settling beside Xoatholin as the dragon curled up again. Aliyah hesitated before shrugging.
"Vaguely. We're somewhere near the Dwemer ruins of Alftand." She said. Xoatholin lifted his head up and spoke.
"Is that where you entered, Aphra?" He asked. She stifled a smile. He'd always bugged her about how she'd managed to get into Blackreach without dying-she'd been a child, defenseless and unarmed with a fragile egg. She credited to luck, but after seeing how easily the Dwemer had retaken Blackreach, she'd begun to think differently.
After all, what better a tool to destroy hordes of Falmer and their like than a dragon? Especially a small blind one with no ability to Shout…One easily taken care of afterwards.
"No. We entered somewhere between the Rift and Eastmarch…But, what are you doing so far away from a city? You're not dressed for travel."
Aliyah shifted uncomfortably for a moment, then looked up at them.
"I'm running. My mother would search the roads first, so I couldn't travel on them." She murmured.
"Why…?" Aphra cut herself off abruptly. She didn't want to press matters with the girl, the stranger. There was something unnatural, almost artificial about her-perhaps in the way that, when her head turned to a certain angle and light caught her eyes just right, they appeared as flat disks of gold. Whatever Aliyah feared, whoever she'd been speaking about earlier, Aphra had a feeling it wouldn't appreciate questions.
As she'd expected, Aliyah didn't respond.
But the golden glint reappeared.