It was a day just like any other. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing new and raucous. Brynjolf and I stood at our usual spots, him behind his market stall, I sitting upon the stone wall nearby. We staked out the market each day, watching the traffic trickle through Riften, looking for new hits or intelligence to drop on someone's head. Of course, most people knew who we were, with Bryn being the con he was, and Bersi practically shouted from the roof of his shop that I had smashed his urn. I was the town bully after that.

Brynjolf and I were dressed in our finest attire, though his was much more modest than mine. I could have killed the man when he gave it to me. Too low-cut in the front. No sleeves. The hem was quite long, but was tailored in a way that it fell open across my legs, exposing them almost all the way to my hips. And the shoes! Bastard things, they were the most uncomfortable shoes I had yet to wear! Gods, I could have killed that man, and everyone else in the Flagon that laughed when Brynjolf held it up. He knew I hated such ridiculous attire, yet he insisted I would be a…an asset to distract fools while he went about picking their pockets.

But I supposed it was better than wearing our trademark attire. And so I sat there upon the wall, pretty as a bird, waiting for some buffoon to come strolling by.

"You lookin' a little gone o'er there, lass," Brynjolf said to me. I started from my place, my head snapping over toward him. An acute frown adorned my face almost immediately. I swear I saw a corner of that stupid mouth of his turn into a grin.

"I thought I told you," I hissed, "not to call me that." He shook with laughter, but still his attention was not on me. His eyes were on some braggart outside Haelga's; he boasted a bit too loudly about his conquests. The man was clearly drunk. You could smell it from across the canal. Perhaps he'll stumble over here, I thought, and Bryn could sell him a bottle of 'Dwarven Hangover Cure.'

"Ah, you're just sore about the outfit." I raised a brow at him, my eyes burning holes in the back of his head.

"A very astute observation," I drawled. I made a show of batting my eyes and looking demure when he turned his head toward me. He erupted into laughter, for I was most definitely not demure. "You know, if you put Vex in this getup, she would have killed you several times over."

"Aye, but our little Vex has someone's eye. I know better than to step on another member's toes."

I huffed and looked away, toward the black, sprawling mess that was Mistveil Keep. Some butterflies were lazily fluttering around the mountain flowers lining the path around the market. "So it's fine to step on my toes, then?" I groveled. I pulled a knee to my chest, resting my arms upon it, and my chin on my arms. I did not think he would hear me, but Brynjolf always did have a good ear. Damn that man.

"I thought you liked dancin'. You've never cared if I stepped on your toes before." Oh, this man. I could have killed him every time he opened his mouth. I groaned quite loudly, loud enough that Madesi dared a glance, and I covered my face with my hands. "You remember, don't ya?" Unfortunately, I did. "When you came home after Alduin." Oh, but how could I possibly forget? "Came in lookin' like you walked through a wildfire, and—"

I snorted, "Is there something you find attractive about singed-off eyebrows, Bryn? Should I go ask a wyrm to burn them off again?" When I glanced up at him he was watching me with a curious expression, as if he wanted to say yes but knew better. "That was a joke," I hissed.

A smile crossed that stupid, punchable face of his. He dealt with a passerby before regarding me. He abandoned his station and sat at my feet upon the wall. "Ah, but don't ya really remember?" I narrowed my eyes at him, the urge to scream 'I remember' tearing at my throat like an animal. "Everybody was celebratin'. They were all out in the streets." He made a wide gesture with his arms. "Doors to the shops and taverns were open; nobody had a care if the person they drank with was a thief, or poor or wealthy. Everyone was happy; you were happy."

"I was alive." I looked away, across the market. To anything but Brynjolf. "I went to the bowels of Oblivion, fought a god and somehow lived. I was happy that it was over, that I was alive." I was still happy, overwhelmed, that I even held breath. Death had been a constant companion throughout the Dragon Crisis.

He sighed contentedly. I stole a glance at him. He looked so far gone, as if he had not heard a word I just said. "You remember the music?" he muttered, daring a swaying glance at me. "You could hear it all over Riften, even from the Ratway." I blinked, keeping my eyes from him. I swallowed thickly, my gut twisting into knots. "You and I, we danced behind the temple—"

"Stop, you fool man." I jabbed him with my foot and he started, pulling from his thoughts. Still, the stupid look on his face remained. I scowled. "You hang too tightly to something so insignificant."

His face scrunched up in confusion. "But what about—"

I made an unbecoming sound, stopping him once more. "We do not speak of that." Brynjolf's jaw slacked with another reply. "Or any other time. Think of it as a...business deal," I said glaringly. His eyes were squinted at me, brow knitted. "We do what needs to be done, and we walk away happy. Understand?"

He was silent for a while, giving me the illusion he had dropped the matter. I felt quite smug with myself, relaxed, until he said, "Just business,eh? So, is it like that with everyone else across the Holds that you've crawled into bed with?" He chuckled. "Must be damn good business."

My face reddened, as red as a daedra's heart if I had to guess. I looked at him, bewildered and slack-jawed. It took me too long to form the proper syllables. I was terribly torn between surprise and fury. "How did you…?"

"Got eyes and ears everywhere these days, no thanks to you." His countenance became grim, the lines in his face hardened. I would have thought his jealousy adorable, if not for the fact that I was actively trying to get rid of him. "Gotta hand it to you, lass, didn't know you were a serial lover. Didn't expect it."

"I hardly think that's any of your business, Bryn," I said grimly, my lips pressed into a hard line. Whatever good mood I had left that day was quashed under what may as well been a dragon's carcass.

"O'course not," he admitted. "Sorry. I just worry about you, y'know, when you're out there on your own."

"I can handle myself."

"I know you can."

I tutted, tossing my short hair. "You didn't seem to care when I first came to Riften. 'It will be a week before she ends up in the canal,' you said to Delvin." He started, jerking slightly in his place. I sneered, "Didn't think I heard that, did you?" His silence was my answer. "I liked you better when all you cared about was how much gold I brought in. Now you're just..soft. It's unbecoming of a Guild Master."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. He groaned, "You've been talkin' to Karliah, haven't ya?"

"Yeah?" I barked. "Look at what happened to her and Gallus." I instantly struck a nerve. His throat twitched with a thick swallow. Gallus had always been a touchy subject with him. All the years since his death did nothing to ease the pain. "She lost a good man, all of you did, and now Mercer's dead over petty greed." I grimaced. The words that next left me…they came with great difficulty, for I sincerely meant them. "The Guild can't stand to lose you, too."

For all the annoyance he gave me, he was still a good man. At the time, I would have been devastated should something happen to him, especially if it had to do with me.

That was pitifully short-lived.

Brynjolf half turned toward me, with something akin to hope and sorrow mottled in his eyes. Hope and sorrow; it was something I frequently saw on his face. Hope that I may suddenly drop the air of dominance and come running into his arms and gush over how handsome he is; sorrow that I was leaving for the 'nth time that month, sorrow at the serpentine nature he could not conquer.

Just as Skyrim's dragons had no rulers, I needed no master, be it man, mer or wyrm. I needed not to be tied down with petty heartstrings. That life was not for me.

He rose from his place, waving dismissively at me and harrumphing. He went back to his post. "And I'm the soft one?"

"How much longer will we be out here?" I said crossly, ignoring his gripe. I wanted to crawl back into the Ratway, away from the blistering sun, and hide until darkness before doing Nocturnal's bidding.

"Few more hours."

I groaned loudly once more. I'm sure half of the market had their eyes on me. I fell onto my back upon the wall. I lay there for quite some time, only rising once or twice when Brynjolf had some fool at his stand. We regarded each other dotingly during these short exchanges, only to sink back into silence once our targets stumbled off.

And then Bryn breaks the not-silence with a perplexed huff. "Get a load of these rats, Syrael."

When I sat up he pointed towards the main gates, at two strangely dressed figures. One wore a helmet, the other did not. It was difficult to see from there, but he looked similar in build to an Orsimer. They were clad in dull-colored gambesons of a fashion I had never seen before, and both brandished a strange weapon, one I thought looked like what I could only describe as a hand-bow. They were stopped in the middle of the street with a pair of guards questioning them.

I looked briefly to Brynjolf, who was still eyeing the pair. "What do you think they're here for?"

"Dunno," he replied with a grimace. "But we're gonna find out." He nodded towards the strange pair when they began walking toward the Bee and Barb. "Go do your thing." I was off before he could even finish the sentence, but he caught me by the arm and spun me back around. His lips messily pressed to mine, nearly missing. I was stunned for the better half of the ordeal, staring wide-eyed into a burning glare.

When finally I came 'round, I shoved him away. We stood there for what seemed like an eternity, the two of us with locked gazes, frozen in time against the ever-moving market. He was challenging me; I could smell it on him, I could see it in the subtle twitch of his lips. Say something, I could hear him say in my head. Say something, I dare you.

Oh, this man. How I hated him!

"Be careful, Syrael," he crooned, his lips spreading into a wolfish grin. I sneered back at him.

All of that, this entire fiasco with the dress and the market, him telling me he knew about my various rendezvous; it had been planned. I was sure of it.

"Yeah," I icily hissed. I abruptly turned and stalked across the market. I knew he was still watching me, while still somehow eyeing the rest of the crowd. When I was across the way, I lifted a hand to my face and pressed the heel of my palm across my lips. His taste, one of smoke and stale and mead, still lingered upon my lips, though I wiped away enough of it to quash the urge to vomit into the canal.

Relief flooded me when I stepped into the Bee and Barb. I allowed myself to slacken my stance, but I could not entirely rid myself of the urgency scorching through my person. It was always so very hard to ease the instincts that burned in my blood.

The inn was busy, but not packed. Several of the tables were filled, their patrons ranging from many of Riften's residents to a few travelers and merchants. Many had their attention toward the second set of doors leading in and out of the place. Some were twisted awkwardly in their seats while others craned their heads. Keerava held her usual spot at the bar. She glared across the room, in the same direction as the patrons. I ventured further into the tavern. The group's attention was fixated on one of the temple priests; Maramal, I think was his name. Talen-Jei, the bar's head waiter, was standing some distance ahead, his back to me.

"This is one of the signs," the priest barked. "The signs that Lady Mara is displeased with your constant inebriation! Put down your flagons filled with your vile liquids, and embrace the teachings of the handmaiden of Kyne!"

I quirked a brow. It wasn't unheard of for Maramal to go around preaching where he was not wanted, but what was this about signs, I wondered. Signs of what, more accurately. Alduin was nearly a year dead. The war was basically over. What bastard had crawled out of its hole this time?

Upon further investigation, I spotted Sapphire leaning upon one of the beams not far from the rambling priest. I pressed my way past the annoyed merry-goers. Sapphire's gaze turned toward me as I approached; her usually rigid features softened with mirth upon recognizing me, but she quickly flattened her expression when I gave her a scowl.

"You look like you could use a drink." She tracked the priest as he stalked from the tavern. He muttered something under his breath, but no mind was given to him. "What brings you in here? You on a job or something?"

"Sort of," I muttered, leaning against the wallspace next to her. "You see anyone funny looking walk through here?" She snorted, a corner of her lips turning. I hissed, "Other than me."

"Take your pick," she grumbled, motioning with her head across the tavern. I briefly followed her gaze, only to huff in exasperation.

"No, no—they were dressed funny, in gambesons with this…this weird," I was pointing to my chest as I said this, earning a strange look from her. I didn't have an idea of how to describe the garments. It was difficult to make out their details from my position in the market.

Sapphire cut me off, much to my relief. "Think I know who you're talking about." She discreetly pointed toward the bar. "They talked to Keerava, left some papers. Then they went upstairs."

"Got any idea what they were doing here?"

She shook her head. "Not a damn clue. I take it that's why you're here?"

"Brynjolf sent me." I scowled. "Wants to know why they're here in Riften. Probably wants to know if we can steal anything from them."

"Good luck. Those two looked like they don't mess around." She waved me off and I pushed away from the wall. I wove my way through tables and patrons. I ducked beneath a barmaid's arm, and kept walking when one of the crowd whistled and made an obscene gesture.

I reached the bar and, after a brief search, found a small stack of papers upon its far end. I snatched one from its place, skimming over but not actually reading the flyer. A large symbol, the only thing that immediately caught my eye, was crested at the top. It prompted me to stop, actually look at the thing. At first glance, the strange symbol looked to me like a very stylized shield. Below this symbol, written in a flowing but firm hand, was the single word 'DAWNGUARD.' It clicked; the symbol wasn't a shield, but a sun…or perhaps it was both, I wondered.

Keerava was eyeing me when I looked up from the flyer. I think she was glaring at me. It's hard to tell with those argonians. I smiled in the most beseeching way I could manage, and over the clamor of the bar I said, "The people who left these…do you know why they're here?"

"Not here to harass my customers, are you?" she hissed, her voice rough and gravely. "They're here. Rented a room upstairs. Said they were looking for vampire hunters."

I cocked a brow at that. I had heard of farmhands taking flaming pitchforks to vampires when they dared show their gaunt faces, but not of an actual group of hunters dedicated solely to this cause. I was…intrigued and disinterested at the same time. It was no secret that vampires did indeed roam around Skyrim, and while they did attack farms and villages, these instances were rare, almost unheard of. Why then, I wondered, were vampire hunters out recruiting?

"Didn't you hear?" I started. My eyes snapped back to Keerava. She was not looking at me, but to a mug she busied herself with cleaning. "There's been rumors that the Hall of the Vigilant has been destroyed."

My lips parted with a silent sound of understanding. So these vampire hunters were out for revenge? That was something, at least.

But all of this seemed like a waste of time for a thief.

And yet…I couldn't help but think back to the days of the Dragon Crisis, when I traveled about the province with Lydia and J'zargo, killing dragons, being a do-gooder instead of a thief. It was…a pleasant change of scenery.

Perhaps I can see what this is about, I thought to myself, and if there is no fun or loot to be had, I can slip into the shadows.

"Could I rent a room?" I suddenly inquired, and she looked up to me for a brief moment before setting the mug down and grabbing another.

"Got the coin?"

"Sapphire will be picking up my tab today." Keerava's eyes flashed up to me. I turned to where Sapphire was still posted and daintily waved at her. I even dipped one of my legs in a very informal curtsey. Sapphire's face scrunched into an unreadable expression. The argonian gruffed but waved me off.

"Fine. Usual room, upstairs. You know where it is."

Flyer in hand, I weaved my way back through the crowd and ascended the stairs. A bard downstairs began to pick "Tale of the Tongues" upon their lute. I hummed the first bit despite myself. Gods, I was tired of hearing it for the mention of Alduin. The great drake was a smudge on my life I wanted to forget.

Two more voices joined the ruckus as I neared the second floor. I glanced toward the voices as I made my way straight to the shabby one-bed room I rented hundreds of times were seated in an alcove, with papers, the flyers I assumed, strewn before them. Although I could only steal a glance, I had no doubt it was the individuals Bryn and I saw from the market.

"'scuse me, Miss," one of them called as I reached the rented room. I stopped, feigning being startled, and faced them.

"Can I help you?"

One of the men at the table was Orsimer, old, judging by the scars on his mug and pale hair. The other...I couldn't quite tell, a Nord, possibly Imperial. Not that it mattered.

"Yeah, we ordered some drinks. Been a while," the Orc muttered. Curt. Groveling voice. Typical.

I smiled and traipsed my way over, clutching the flyer at my waist. "I just started my shift," I meekly replied. "Bar's pretty busy down there, but I can go check on your order. I just have a question for you gents." The two men glanced at each other. I held the flyer up. "You're recruiting for the Dawnguard, yes?"

"That's right," the Orc answered.

"I was wondering about-"

The Orc's companion spoke up. "Not to be rude, miss, but we don't exactly need barmaids to join the cause."

I internally bristled but kept my cheery demeanor. "My husband just returned from the war, lots of combat experience. I'm sure you lads could make excellent use of him. He's dreadfully bored." I slammed the flyer on the table in front of the groveling little man. He flinched. "I'd like to know where to send him off to."

The Orc spoke, probably because his companion could not. "We're holed up in the old fort southeast of here, in the canyon. Tell 'im to look for Isran."

"Thank you," I said with a smile. "What's your name? I'd like to tell my husband how helpful you were." The Orc's companion shriveled in his chair, his eyes turning from me. I restrained the urge to smirk.

"It's Durak, ma'am."

I dipped my leg in a short curtsey. "I'm gonna go check on that order. I'll be right back. Don't you move a muscle." I quickly spun from them, trotting back to the stairs. I sped down them. Sapphire caught my gaze as I came to the landing and I motioned with my head for her to follow. She pushed away from the wall and made her way across the sea of patrons, following me back to the market.

"So what did you find out?" Sapphire asked. I took a moment to answer. My eyes darted across the canal. Brynjolf was no longer at his stall. I would have sighed with relief, if Sapphire was not with me.

"They're vampire hunters out recruiting," I answered, quickly walking over one walkway, headed towards the cemetary at the side of the temple. Sapphire scoffed.

"You think Bryn will want anything to do with vampires?"

"Maybe not," I said. "But I've been itching to get out of Riften for a couple weeks now. I figure I can get in, grab some stuff and get out. And if not, nothing gained, nothing lost."

"You sure you wanna fuck around with that, Syr? Those things don't play games, and we really don't need vampirism running in the guild."

"I can handle it." I looked around to make sure we were not being watched before pushing the hidden button on the front of the sarcophagus before me, and it gave way to a secret passage. I quickly descended the ladder leading into the cistern, with Sapphire close behind me. She filed off to my right at the behest of one of the newer recruits. I forget his name.

Brynjolf and Delvin were situated across where I entered, at a desk surrounded by our, my exploits over the past two years. Delvin was the first to look up in my direction, and he nudged Bryn until he, too, followed his gaze. I scowled as he strode to meet me, arms extended outward, a haughty laugh spilling from his lips.

"Syrael," he said, crushing me into an embrace. I shoved him a bit until he relented. "You remember that merchant you staked out a couple weeks ago?"

I vaguely recalled it. "Yeah. Why?"

"The lad was a bloody looter out of Elsweyr. The whole damn cart was loaded with treasure from Darloc Brae's time." It took me a moment to process his words, partially because his exuberance made him near incomprehensible and partially because I could not be bothered. "We're gonna be swimmin' in gold, lass!" He took me by the arms and shook me gently.

"Glad that panned out," I said flatly, and his demeanor softened. I hazarded a glance toward Delvin. He was already looking away. "I have info," I said to Brynjolf. "You want it or not?"

He cleared his throat. "O'Course. What did you learn from our new friends?"

"They're vampire hunters," I said, and one of his brows shot up. He repeated the word vampires, and I nodded. "They're out recruiting for something called the Dawnguard. Ever heard of it?" He shook his head. "They're holed up not far from here. Might be worth looking into."

A sneer crossed Brynjolf's face and he waved dismissively. "Gotta be a fairly new thing," Brynjolf said, turning and walking back towards Delvin. I followed hotly at his heels. "Chances are they ain't got anything we want." He laughed. "And vampires? Now that would be bad for business."

"That's why we get in early, infiltrate, and have a supply line out," I said as he landed heavily in the chair behind the desk. He planted an elbow on one arm and rested a cheek against his knuckles. His brow was creased at me.

"No," Brynjolf said plainly. I glared at him, then looked to Delvin for help, but he just shrugged at me. "I don't want anyone getting involved directly with vampires. It's too big of a risk."

"Then don't send anyone," I said, and a brow rose sharply. "I'll go myself." He straightened in his chair.

"Now hold on a second there, lass," Brynjolf started, but I gave him a stern stare and he let the thought go.

"You have kept me local for weeks now," I groveled. "I can do more for the guild out in the rest of Skyrim than I can holed up here teaching people the ropes and ripping the same people off every day. Both of you know that."

"She's got a point, Bryn," Delvin finally said in my defense. Brynjolf shot him a glare. "One o'the most talented sets of fingers we got in our little organization, and you want to keep her here? That ain't right."

"We're talking about vampires," Brynjolf repeated. There was an edge in his tone, a harshness in his eyes that made me bristle and I had to bite down a growl. "Not some low-tier brigand or merchant lord trash."

"And I'm not some low-tier pickpocketing trash," I retorted. That really pissed him off, if the clench in his jaw and the white of his knuckles was any indication. "I'm a Nightingale. I serve more than just the guild. And I know how to take care of myself. I would expect a fellow 'gale to know that."

I could have used the excuse that I was Dragonborn, that I was called to a higher duty. In hindsight, maybe I should have, but the Dragon Crisis was over. Alduin was dead, as were many of the hostile dragons. There was nothing left now I could offer Nirn that a city guard or mercenary company could not accomplish.

Brynjolf's jaw was pressed into a hard line, his eyes were dark. He abruptly rose from the chair, the legs screeching against the floor, and threw his hands up. "Alright," he groveled, pacing around. He didn't let his eyes stray towards me, instead fixated on Barenziah's Crown and various other baubles I retrieved on his behalf. "You leave tomorrow. I expect you to send us details as soon as you learn anything."

"Of course," I drawled, malice in my tone. "You'll be the first to know anything." I turned and began marching back the way I came before anything else could spill from my lips. I could feel my blood burning. There was a gnawing in my bones and the rage was near to boiling over.

So I left the den quickly and hurried across Riften to Honeyside. I leaned heavily against the door as it closed behind me and a shuddering exhale left me. My nails dug into the wood behind me and a snarl curved my lips. I let out a roar as my bones began to ache, both from the pain and to relieve the rage that burned in my chest. It seemed to work, and as I took a few steadying breaths the feeling ebbed away until my heart slowed.

I looked up when I could focus again. The house was dark, so I set about lighting it and, after pouring myself a drink to ease my nerves, began packing a rucksack for my journey to the Dawnguard fortress.

I drew the process out, pouring myself several drinks over the course of the evening. It was past dark when I was finished, and I collapsed into a chair and closed my eyes, relishing in the quiet.

Then the front door opened.

I didn't move, but I tracked the noise from the other room. It was quiet; the person who opened the door was skilled. Very skilled. Probably thought they didn't make a noise.

But nothing ever escaped my hearing.

Each step across the floor was measured and patient. Their breaths were even. Heart rate was normal.

"Brynjolf," I boomed before the steps crossed the threshold to the room I sat in. The footsteps stopped in their tracks, the pulse rose a degree."What are you doing in here?"

There was a further moment of quiet before my intruder let out a haggard sigh and stepped through the threshold. I glared at him when I opened my eyes.

"I wanted to talk," he said, defeated.

"So you break into my home," I say flatly.

"You're a great woman," he said, and I laughed. "And you didn't deserve to be talked to like fresh meat."

"Did Delvin send you here?" He shook his head.

"Vex did."

"Appreciated," I said, pushing myself out of the chair. It is much more difficult than I thought it would be. I glare at him. "Now get out."

He looked stunned, which wasn't surprising. "You don't want to talk? That's it?"

"I talked." I pointed towards the door. "Go, before I do something I regret." I turned and started to walk past him, but he caught me by the arms and stopped me. I struggled in his hold, cursing at him, beating upon his chest with my fists. He was saying something, I can't remember what it was. The rage was back again, burning in my chest. It was rising quickly, and I knew I wouldn't be able to quash it before I could get Bryn out of my home.

There was one thing Brynjolf hated more than anything, terrified of. He was extremely emetophobic, and went to great lengths to avoid anyone who was ill or had too much to drink. It was hilarious, considering we operated out of what was effectively a massive mead business. I watched people be ill into the canal or behind the temple on a daily basis.

"I'm going to be sick," I told him, mumbling the words. He stopped cold, holding me firm.

"What?"

"Let me go!" I shouted, coughing and retching. He released me immediately and I stumbled away. I heard his footsteps, heavy against the floor, head towards my front door. It opened and slammed shut just as I made my way to the back exit of the house. The cool night air hit me like nothing else and was nearly a relief, but it did nothing to help me. I had to get away. I stumbled down the stairs and broke into a half run, keeping away from where I knew guards were posted.

I didn't have much time. Heat was rising into my chest, my bones ached and my skin felt like it was aflame.

I made it just into the woods before I collapsed. A roar tore from my throat as the change overcame me. My body contorted, my bones snapped and reformed, fur bristled from my skin and that damn getup ripped from my body. When the transformation finished, I stood and threw my head back and howled.

"Well met, hunter," came Nocturnal's voice in a mocking tone. It cut through the air, clear in my mind like nothing else.

I growled. "Lord Hircine would not be pleased that you mock him." I dug my claws into the dirt and inhaled the scent of fresh earth.

My mistress did not reply. Just as well, really.

My lycanthropy was a well-guarded secret. No one except my closest circle knew. No one in the guild knew. I wanted to keep it that way. I would likely have been cast from the thieves guild had they known. I would have lost friends, close relationships, alliances. It was better for everyone that way.

My body was tired. It ached, and I wanted nothing more than to rest and prepare for the journey ahead. But for now I ran the wilds around Riften, hunting and running as fast as my feet could possibly carry me.

I would find my way back, once this was done. The world would begin anew again.