The following day, Cry mumbled to herself the Word that she had learned from her most recent trip into a barrow, wondering what it was that it did. She knew that it meant 'life', but she did not know what that implied. It could have been anything, really. Life was a very vague word. She hadn't had a reason to try it out, yet, but she was extremely tempted.

Pausing in her trek across the plains of Whiterun, she focused on the fire in her chest that she'd come to recognize as her Thu'um. She let the soul of the most recent dragon she had helped kill fill her with knowledge of the Word. Looking towards the distance, she let the Word build up inside her, and then opened her mouth to release the power behind it.

She was surprised when it came out not as a Shout, but as a whisper, paired with a burst of red energy: "Laas!"

Almost at once, she could sense the presence of every living thing nearby. She saw a pack of wolves where they were sleeping behind a cropping of rocks. There was a fox running across the plain, away from a much bigger shape. Cry frowned, focusing on the larger shape, and blanched when the familiar sound of a dragon's roar echoed around her.

"Damn," she said, quietly, and then she turned tail to run. She did not want to have to fight a dragon on her own.

She paused, however, when she remembered how close she was to Rorikstead. The dragon could attack the village, if she did not take care of it first. She couldn't allow that to happen.

Screwing up her courage, Cry pulled her greatsword out of its scabbard on her back, and headed in the direction that she had seen the dragon's life force.

She crept up behind a rock, and peered around it. The dragon was on the ground, gnawing on what looked like the bones of a cow. Cry winced, hoping that any farm nearby hadn't been destroyed, and that the cow had merely wandered onto the plains.

At least the dragon was distracted. That meant she could get behind it and hit it hard with her sword.

Cry slid out from behind the rock, and walked slowly towards the dragon. Its head thrashed as it tore at the bones. Cry shivered involuntarily; she had never fought a dragon on her own before. But she was the Dragonborn. If anyone could fight a dragon on their own, it had to be her, right?

She raised her greatsword over her head, and brought it down directly on the dragon's wing.

The dragon let out a loud roar, and Cry was knocked backwards as it flapped its wings. She rolled over onto her stomach, and gazed upwards as the dragon took flight, spewing hot flames into the air.

"Damn," she said again, and then she scrambled to her feet and towards the rock. Before she could get to it, the dragon's flames found her, and scorched her shoulder. Cry yelped, and dove behind the rock, hissing from the pain in her shoulder.

She closed her eyes, willing the pain away, and slid her sword away as well. She would need to bring it down with her bow, first. Apparently, hitting its wing did not deter it from flying, as she had hoped it would.

She retrieved her bow instead, and slid an arrow against the string. "All right," she said under her breath. "You've trained with Aela. You can hit this dragon. Go!"

She stepped out from behind the rock, set her aim on the dragon, which was circling overhead, and fired the arrow. It sailed through the air, and met its mark in the dragon's flank.

"Yes!" Cry said, happily, but she winced as more pain shot through her arm, and quickly reached for another arrow before the dragon could shout more fire at her. She fired this second arrow, too, but it did not go where she had aimed for it to. It hit the dragon on the wing, but it only seemed to anger the beast, rather than hurt it.

Cry blanched as the dragon landed in the grass, and turned around to face her. She put her bow away, and pulled out her greatsword again. Her shoulder screamed at her as she yelled and sliced at the dragon's face, and then quickly backed away to avoid its sharp teeth as it chomped at her.

Her sword swung out again, and made contact with the dragon once more. The beast roared out of both anger and pain, and she decided that it was a good time to get out of the way.

Cry ducked behind the rock again just as the dragon spewed fire in her direction, breathing heavily. Her sword suddenly felt like too much weight for her to handle, and she wanted nothing more than to strip off her armor, which felt more like it was choking her than protecting her. She closed her eyes against the heat of flames. She had to kill this dragon; it was too close to Rorikstead to leave alive, because it could go after the townspeople.

It was not looking like she was going to be able to handle it herself, however, which meant that she was either going to have to lead it towards the city, so that the guards could help her out, or just risk her life further rather than endanger the people who could not fight the dragon.

She cursed under her breath, and she dropped her sword, giving in to its heavy weight. She couldn't hold it anymore, not with how badly her shoulder was hurting from the burn it had sustained. She sank down the length of the rock until she was squatting, and inhaled a deep breath, trying to steady her breathing rather than continue to pant. She needed to think clearly, and she couldn't when most of her attention was focused on how hard it was to breathe.

She closed her eyes, inhaling and exhaling in a rhythm. The only things she could focus on were the smell of fire and smoke, as well as the burning of the grass around her, and the skin on her shoulder, which would probably be pretty tasty to any sabrecats or wolves that found her body out here.

There was something underlying it, however, something that she could faintly recognize, because of her heightened werewolf senses.

Farkas. And Vilkas.

She opened her eyes and peered around the rock. They went wide when she caught sight of the twins, who'd appeared out of nowhere and were currently attacking the dragon, and doing a good job, from the looks of things. The dragon had not taken flight again, and it was snapping first at one and then the other as the one dodged backwards while the other took a swing at the beast's opposite side.

Cry had never been happier to see Vilkas in her entire life.

"Farkas," she called, and she saw his attention flicker in her direction as the dragon's turned towards Vilkas. She waved to him, and he waved back, then had to turn back to the fight when the dragon's head swung around to look at him instead.

Cry inhaled one final time, and forced herself to pick up her sword. She then clambered over the rock and rejoined the fight, swinging her sword into one of the dragon's legs with a yell of pain as her shoulder burned in protest to the movement.

The dragon roared angrily in response, and started to look at her. Cry steadied herself, ready to finish it off by stabbing her blade into one of its eyes, but before she could, there was a heavy weight tackling her to the ground, and she heard Vilkas shouting for the dragon's attention instead.

"Farkas, what are you -?"

"You need to get out of here," Farkas muttered before she could finish her question. "The beast is about to die; do you want Vilkas knowing that you're the Dragonborn?"

"Oh!" Cry pushed him off of her with her good arm, and scrambled to her feet. "Thank you!" she said, and then she raced away, just as the dragon gave a final roar and collapsed heavily to the ground. Cry felt the vibrations of its fall beneath her feet as she scampered away from the scene of the battle, huffing and puffing as she went, her sword's blade dragging along in the grass behind her. She no longer had the strength in her arm to raise it.

As soon as she was far enough away that she wouldn't be able to consume the dragon's soul, she dropped her sword to the ground and pulled off her pack. She dug around inside of it for a health potion, cursing when she couldn't find one. "Damn!"

"Here."

She jumped at the voice, and at the cold item that was suddenly pressing against her uninjured shoulder, but then she recognized Vilkas's scent, and she relaxed, slightly. She accepted the health potion from him, and quickly swallowed it all.

"Thanks," she said, more gruffly than she intended, and she tossed the empty bottle into her pack. Her shoulder had already stopped aching, and she rotated her arm before sliding her pack back on and retrieving her sword from where she'd dropped it. "Uh… I appreciate the help," she added, looking more at Farkas than at his brother.

"You're welcome," Farkas said, rather cheerfully, but Vilkas frowned at her.

"What are you doing out here, fighting a dragon on your own?" he asked, and Cry sighed to herself, but refrained from rolling her eyes.

"Farkas's job he gave me yesterday," she explained, with more patience than she thought she had. "I was coming back from it, and I ran into the dragon. I didn't want it to reach Rorikstead, so I decided to fight it." She frowned at him. "And I was doing an all right job, too."

"You were cowering behind a rock," Vilkas responded coldly.

"I was not cowering," Cry retorted. "I was taking a moment to catch my breath." She slid her sword away into its scabbard on her back and crossed her arms, glaring at him. "I could've handled it on my own."

"No, you couldn't have," Vilkas said, and then he turned and started to walk away.

Taken aback by how bluntly he'd said that, Cry merely blinked at his back for a moment before stalking towards him and grabbing him by the shoulder. "I could've!" she said, hotly, forcing him to turn and face her again. "It was already almost dead when the two of you showed up! A few more swings, and I would've had it!"

Vilkas snorted. "Yeah, sure," he agreed sarcastically, and he pulled away from her. "Let's go, Farkas."

Farkas glanced between him and Cry for a moment, before clearing his throat. "Brother?" Vilkas paused, and looked over his shoulder at him. "Shouldn't we just travel together? We are all going back to Jorrvaskr, after all."

"I'd rather die than travel with him."

"She'll only slow us down."

Farkas rolled his eyes upwards. "We're traveling together," he said, and then he started to walk down the hill they were standing on, in the direction of Whiterun.

Cry and Vilkas gaped after him for a moment, before exchanging a heated look and going after him. As they went, they continued to mutter insults at one another, eventually running out of things to say aside from single words.

"Shrew."

"Ass."

"Hag."

"Oaf."

"Uncalled for!" Vilkas exclaimed, and Cry gaped at him.

"Uncalled for? Are you kidding me?"

"Would you both shut up?" Farkas called over his shoulder. "I can barely hear myself think."

"You don't think anyway," Cry and Vilkas said at the same time, and they glared at one another again.

"That's it." Farkas stopped walking, and the two of them ran into him. He turned around, holding up his hands. "You too are going to travel back together, without me."

"Wait, what?"

"Do you want me to kill him?"

"Why is everything about killing for you?" Vilkas demanded.

"It's not! It's a figure of speech!" Cry retorted. "Gods, you really don't understand people, do you?"

"I don't understand - you've got to be kidding me!"

"I am not," Cry told him, crossing her arms. "You are completely obtuse about everything normal! The only things you seem to get are fighting and books!"

"What's wrong with my books?" Vilkas asked, scowling, and Cry exhaled.

"There's nothing wrong with the books, it's the fact that you base all of your knowledge off of what you read in them!" Cry said. "There's more to the world than history and battle, Vilkas!"

"I know that," Vilkas said, and Cry lifted an eyebrow.

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really!"

"Then why don't you ask Farkas what's actually going on?" Cry suggested.

Vilkas frowned. "What do you mean?"

"He's not upset at us just because we're angry with each other," Cry told him. "Right, Farkas?"

She turned to look at the younger twin, but he wasn't standing where he had been. She blinked, and spun around, but Farkas was nowhere to be seen. "Farkas?"

Vilkas was also looking for his brother. His head was tilted. "He left," he said, huffing, and then he looked at her. "You made him leave!"

"I did not!" Cry shouted. "You're the one who started this!"

"I did not!"

"Yes, you did!"

"All right, that's enough!" Vilkas said, hotly, and then he looked down at the ground, exhaling sharply. "We're wasting daylight, standing here arguing like this. We should get moving."

Cry let out a breath of her own. "Finally, something I can agree with you on," she told him, and then she turned and started in the direction of Whiterun without looking back at him.

"Cry." She ignored him, keeping her gaze straight ahead. "Cry!" He caught up to her, but she still did not look at him. "Cry, come on."

"I think this will be easier if we don't talk to one another," she said, still focused on the horizon.

"I'm sorry, all right?" Vilkas sighed, and Cry tilted her head, more out of surprise than anything.

"You're apologizing? Really? I never thought I'd see the day!"

Vilkas released an audible breath, and Cry smirked to herself. "If we have to travel together, we may as well do it as two companions, rather than two people who hate one another," he said, slowly.

"You're the one who's insisting on talking," Cry told him. "I'd be very happy to walk along in silence."

"You hate silence," Vilkas said.

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do," Vilkas replied, and she saw him roll his eyes. "You play the lute every night after everyone has gone to bed." He paused. "Well, after you think everyone's gone to bed."

Cry looked at him, a look of mock disgust on her face. "You stay awake and listen to me play? Don't do that."

"I don't!" Vilkas said hotly, defensively. "You play loudly; it keeps me awake." He huffed again. "You should stop doing it."

"Don't tell me what I can and can't do," she retorted. "I'm a Companion, just like you, and I'm part of the Circle, just like you!" She glared at him. "You just can't stand the fact that there's more to the Companions than what you thought you knew."

"What makes you think that nonsense?" Vilkas asked, an eyebrow raised.

"I know about you and Farkas, how long you've been at Jorrvaskr. You think you know everything because you were raised as a Companion," Cry said, haughtily. "I must have risen through the ranks faster than any other whelp in Companions history." She raised an eyebrow. "I bet you're just jealous, and that's why you're so awful to me."

"Why would I be jealous of you?" Vilkas queried. "I'm already part of the Circle. I've been in the Circle for two years. I've been an official Companion since I was sixteen years old. I have no reason to be jealous of you, whelp. Without me, you wouldn't even have been allowed into the Circle!"

Cry was silent for a moment, searching for something to retort with. What she said was, "I bet I could beat you in a fair fight."

Vilkas stopped walking, and Cry did as well, turning to face him. Vilkas gazed at her, his eyes narrowed, and he slowly reached behind him to grab his sword's grip. "You do not want to challenge me," he said, slowly, and Cry reached up to retrieve her own sword. She went further than he had, and actually pulled it from her scabbard.

"I think I do," she informed him, feeling miraculously calm. There was a dangerous glint in Vilkas's eyes, one that she should have been afraid of, but instead it was merely fanning a fire that was burning deep inside her, one that wanted to prove to him that she was just as good, if not better, than he was. She was tired of him, of his dry comments and his refusal to admit that she deserved her position within the Companions, that she had worked hard enough to get to where she was.

It was about time that he actually said something nice to her, because she knew for a fact that he was only acting the way he was because he refused to admit that she was good enough.

She twirled her sword, something she was annoyed to say she'd picked up from him while watching him train, and placed both hands on its handle, settling into a fighting stance. "I'm tired of you acting like I have no right to be in the Companions," she said. "Let's go, right now."

Vilkas gazed at her for a moment, and then he shook his head, and lowered his hand to his side. "I'm not going to fight you," he said.

"Why not?" Cry demanded. She took a step closer to him. "Are you afraid of me? No, I know - you're afraid of hurting me. Let me assure you, you won't."

"Cry -"

"If you won't accept all the other proof I've offered up as a sign that I'm good enough, then I'll have to give you some that you won't ignore," Cry said, speaking over him. "Draw your sword."

"Cry, I'm not going to fight you," Vilkas said. "I don't have to."

"I think you do," Cry said.

"Well, I'm not going to," Vilkas returned, and then he walked around her. "I'm going back to Whiterun."

Cry turned around to follow his movements, lowering her sword. "Vilkas!" she called. "Get back here! I want to settle this!"

"There's nothing to settle!" Vilkas responded over his shoulder.

"There clearly is!" Cry informed him. "You don't believe I belong, and I need to prove to you that I do!"

"You have nothing to prove!" Vilkas said, and Cry frowned at his back as he paused. He turned around to face her. "My opinion doesn't matter. You shouldn't care what I think of you. All that matters is what the others think of you."

"It matters what you think, too," Cry said, and Vilkas sighed.

"Why?"

"Because… because you're a member of the Circle!" Cry said. She slid her sword away, and marched over to where he had stopped. "Your opinion matters because you are one of the highest ranking members of the Companions. Clearly, you must know a thing or two."

Vilkas shook his head. "No," he said. "You were right. The only things I know about are fighting and history. I know nothing about people, about what makes one person better than another. Sure, a Companion needs to be a good fighter, and that's where my opinion matters, but when it comes to everything else, to their heart, I'm a useless judge."

Cry blinked at him, and then she glanced down at the ground. "Well, maybe," she said, quietly, and Vilkas snorted out something that might have been a laugh. "You aren't completely useless."

"No?"

She shook her head. "You must be able to get some sense of a person, even if that sense is wrong, sometimes." She glanced up, and tilted her head at him. "I mean, you trust Kodlak's judgement, right? You believe he's a good man, a smart one, one that you'd willingly follow?"

"Of course. He's the Harbinger," Vilkas said.

"Well then, that's one that you didn't get wrong," Cry told him. "Kodlak must be a good man, worthy of being followed, if he became the Harbinger." She shrugged one shoulder. "You know that."

"That's just common sense," Vilkas replied after a moment, and Cry rolled her eyes.

"You're just as down on yourself as you are on nearly everyone," she said, and Vilkas glanced up to meet her eyes. "Maybe that's something that needs to change, before your attitude towards everything else does."

"What do you mean?"

"Why are you hard on yourself?" Cry asked him, and Vilkas was silent for a moment.

"Because I know that I'm never going to be a great man," he finally said, quietly, "or even a good one. It makes sense to… treat myself the way I do, because I'm just… here."

"You are definitely not 'just here'," Cry said. "Obviously, you must have some redeeming qualities, if you were put on the Circle and made Master at Arms."

"I can fight," Vilkas said, and he let out a breath. "That's about it."

Cry gazed at him. "You know," she said after a moment, "I think Kodlak must have put you on the Circle so that you might be able to realize the better qualities about yourself. You just haven't really done it yet."

Vilkas held out his arms. "Have you been able to discover any of them?"

"No, but that's because you're so nasty to me all the time," Cry said. "Kodlak must have seen something in you, and it's probably because you treat him with respect." She squared her shoulders. "If you treated everyone with some semblance of respect, you'd be much happier with yourself, I bet."

Vilkas frowned. "When did this go from you trying to fight me to you giving me advice on how to be a better man?" he asked, and Cry lifted her shoulders.

"When I realized that was what you really needed, rather than an ass-kicking. And when I got over my resistance to actually talking to you, rather than yelling," she said, and then she started walking again, towards Whiterun. "Come on, it's going to be dark soon."

Vilkas caught up to her after a moment, and they walked along in silence. After some time, she felt him looking at her, and she let out a breath.

"Yes?"

"You're pretty wise," he said, and she let out a snort.

"Thanks."

"I'm being serious," Vilkas said, and from his tone, she could tell that he was. "How do you know so much about people?"

"I pay attention," Cry said. She glanced at him, smiling slightly. "I like to read, too, Vilkas, but that doesn't mean that I keep my nose shoved in a book at all times. It's smart to learn to read people, too."

Vilkas gazed at her for another moment, and then he looked at the ground again. Cry returned her attention to the path ahead of them.

"How do you learn to do that?" She glanced at him once more, and Vilkas gestured vaguely. "Learn to read people?"

"I don't know," Cry admitted after a moment of thought. "I guess it's just something that you grow to be able to do over time." She tilted her head. "I mean, I think everyone knows how to do it on some level, at first, and it just depends on whether or not you decide to get better at it." She smiled. "You, clearly, decided not too."

Vilkas snorted, and her smile grew. "I never really saw a reason," he admitted. "I mean, I grew up with the Companions, who are known for how honorable they are, how brave and passionate they are. I had no reason to try and learn more about them, because what else matters? As long as you're known for being honorable and brave, why would anyone need to know anything else about you?"

"There's more to a person than how honorable or brave they are," Cry said. "I mean, you wouldn't want to talk to someone who you know would only talk down at you because of how they think of themselves, right?"

"No, of course not." Cry offered him a pointed look, and Vilkas smiled. "All right, I get it," he said, and then he looked at the ground. "I am sorry, Cry."

Cry sighed. "It's all right," she said, and then she nudged him with her elbow. "We are going to fight, someday, though. That's something about me; I like to prove myself right."

"All right," Vilkas said, chuckling. "Someday, we'll have an authentic fight. Just you and me, greatswords and nothing else."

"Good," Cry concluded, and then she patted him on the shoulder. "Let's get back to Jorrvaskr."

She continued on her way, and Vilkas walked along at her side, and, for once, neither of them had anything to argue about with the other.