Riverwood. A small town on the outskirts of Whiterun. What it lacks in business, is made up for with a loving community willing to help any that pass through. An example seen through Faendal. A wood elf who recently helped two strangers being attacked by hungry wolves. He escorted them from the standing stone to Riverwood and took them to the Sleeping Giant Inn. Braxen sat patiently as Faendal and Skoref chatted. A bandage applied to the small cut on her head.

"Windhelm is an interesting destination." Said Faendal. "Although I hope your friend knows they frown upon our kind."

"I wouldn't know. Been living in Falkreath my entire life. My friend however has some business she needs to take care of. I'm just helping her see it through."

"Well best of luck to you both then. I should be getting back to work. Thanks for the gold by the way."

Skoref held up his mug in appreciation. "You deserve it." Faendal exited the inn and Skoref went to check on their food. He cooked up a couple of those bear steaks from earlier. The leftovers he sold to the inn. He returned with two hefty steaks. Oozing a tremendous smell. It reminded Braxen of Midan's home cooking. It was a hollow thought, considering she couldn't remember what it tasted like. Skoref wasted no time digging in. Braxen sliced off a small piece and took a bite. A flavor like she hasn't tasted before, erupted on her tongue.

"Mmm, nuhh." Braxen let out a small moan, turning everyone's attention towards her. Realizing what happened, Braxen cleared her throat. "What are you all looking at?"

"Are you alright?" Asked Skoref.

"Of course! I just..this body. The way it reacts to certain things is...very uncomfortable for me. I'm trying to ignore it. Compliments on the food boy. It's very delicious."

"Thank you. A used a roasted garlic blend with herbs grown in my garden."

"A garden? What kind of man are you?"

"Excuse me?"

"Where I come from, men are tough. Soldiers who fight to the death. We bleed proudly to defend our homeland. Trivial things like cooking and cleaning are left to the women and servants."

Skoref slammed his fork. "Where I come from. I get raised by a wonderful woman who taught me plenty of useful skills to help me in my future. In fact, ever since I was a child, I wanted to be a world class chef. That sounds a lot of better than a brain-dead warrior whose biggest asset is being an ass!"

Braxen cackled. The tone almost made it sound evil. "Ah yes, when a parade of bandits descends upon your homestead, make sure to offer them an apple pie first!"

"HEY!" Shouted Delphine, the innkeeper. "Turn it down or take it outside."

Skoref quietly went back to eating. Braxen did the same. She was soon approached by a young man strumming a lute. He sang a tune, which Braxen ignored until he got closer.

"Greetings fair lass, may I interest you in a song, free of charge?"

Braxen continued to eat, not acknowledging the bard.

"Brax, I think he's talking to you."

"Yes, I am.," said the bard. "Sven is the name. Pleasing women is my game. Charmed."

Braxen still paid him no mind. Sven began playing his lute again, starting his obnoxious singing.

"A stunning elf lass, so beautiful and brash."

Before he spoke another word, Braxen snatched the lute, tossing it halfway across the room. Smashing to bits upon impact. Skoref panicked.

"Oh man, I am so sorry about Brax. She's been really stressed lately. How much was the lute. I'll pay for it."

"No, you will not." Demanded Braxen. "I detest bards and had no desire for his attention."

Sven rubbed his lips. "Feisty one we got here. I do love a woman with fire."

Braxen leaned back in pure disgust. "Have you gone mad? What kind of man do you take me for?"

Skoref circled the table, gripping on Braxen's shoulders. "What she meant to say is, what kind of man would you take 'me' for, if I didn't defend my woman."

"Defend your wha-" Skoref covered her mouth and led her outside, going to the bridge just outside of Whiterun. Braxen angrily pulled away. "Don't push me around like some wench!"

"Please, listen to me. I get you have a bravado but you're not a Stormcloak soldier anymore. You have no rank, no power. You're a short, elf woman."

Braxen stepped up face to face with Skoref. "I know who I am. Regardless of this body. I shall bow to no ones commands or they can taste my blade."

"Are you insane? Is there any self awareness in that head?" He shouted, poking her forehead. Braxen snatched his finger and bent it backwards, bringing Skoref to his knees. Skoref blindly threw a haymaker, right into Braxen's stomach. She collapsed, whimpering in pain.

"You're a lunatic. I don't know why I agreed to this." His rash started acting up, burning his palm. "I'm willing to forget what just happened. We can work it out tomorrow morning. It's getting dark and I'm very tired."

Skoref reached out to help but Braxen spit at him. "Don't touch me." She stood up, stomach rumbling. Tensions were high as they stared each other down. Braxen walked off in the direction towards Whiterun.

"Where are you going?"

"I'll find my own way to Windhelm."

"Get back here. There's all kinds of scary stuff out there waiting to kill you."

"I AM NO COWARD!" She yelled. "This is only a MINOR SETBACK. Leave me be boy."

Throwing his hands up, Skoref was stuck in between chasing after Braxen or giving up and going home. The latter sounded very tempting. Except going home to tell granny Edna he failed is another terrible option. By time a decision had been made, Braxen disappeared into the night.

Following a snake like path, Braxen ended up at a crossroads, right next to Honningbrew Meadery. She checked all three directions, trying to pull a memory of where to go. Braxen and his solider's have walked the paths of Skyrim many times, except now his mind was half of what it was. A Whiterun guard was posted nearby. Never being one to ask for assistance, she had no choice.

"Guard. I am in need of directions to Windhelm."

"You talking to me elf?"

She angrily sighed. "There's no one else out here!"

"No need to get ferocious. Cross that bridge and go straight ahead. As long as you stay on the main road, you'll get there." Braxen nodded and moved forward. "Be careful elf. Wouldn't want something to happen to an lovely woman such as yourself."

Braxen paused, getting tired of hearing repeated warnings . She feared no one and will not be intimidated. Continuing on, there was a skeever glaring from afar. It didn't attack. Just ran away. The moon was high. Air foul with the stench of animal feces. A smell too familiar on the battlefield. Multiple footsteps cracked the silence opposite of Braxen. Three armed men in fur armor walked in her direction. Two nords. A bald nord one. One with slick back hair and a hooded redguard. Braxen minded her business, walking with no acknowledgement as they crossed paths.

Then something strange happened. Her heartbeat picked up. A feeling kicked in. This feeling is one Braxen hadn't felt since being a young lad, rushing into battle. Fear. The men's footsteps could no longer be heard. Unarmed, Braxen prepared a clenched fist. Swallowing a mouthful of spit, she turned around to see no one.

"BOO!" Braxen jumped like an alley cat as one the bald one frightened her. Staring him down, she backed into the two others, finding herself surrounded. The redguard reached for her face. She smacked his hand away.

"Good evening." Said the slick haired one. "You seem a bit lost madam. Perhaps you require a few personal escorts."

"Any of you come near me I'll slit all of your throats." Braxen's typical threats came out weaker than usual. A lot more timid. She trembled as the three men circled in. Someone pinched her butt and she swung, hitting nothing. "I mean it. Ba-back off!"

The bald one tackled Braxen, pinning her to the ground. The redguard held her arms as she hurled insults. "YOU BASTARDS! I'LL CASTRATE YOU! EVERY DREMORA FROM OBILIVION-". The bald one squeezed her lips, unsheathing a steel dagger.

"Keep it up and that tongue is being cut out." He tore through her top while the redguard hassled him.

"Don't take all night. We got places to be."

"And so do we!" Everyone looked over as Skoref stood battle ready with Braxen's sword and shield. "We're going to Windhelm, so I suggest you set the girl free."