The flames from the hearth danced and licked dangerously at her feet. The heat rolled off of it in waves and the skin of any other human would have been singed at the closeness she sat. But she was no human, and she could still feel the chill of the ice running through her bones. No matter how many times she warmed herself, be it with her own blood or the flames of a fire, the rush of the freezing cold water always returned to her at night. The man had become strangely wary of her since she woke him with her nightmares and he moved around the small house carefully and quietly, as if the slightest noise would shatter her into a million pieces.

There were no windows but through the cracks in the wood and, underneath the door, the tell-tale grey blue light of morning slithered through. Beside her, the puddle of blackness that had been expelled from her body had dried into the wood and now in the cold light of day the black had faded away into a deep dark red and the air was tinged with the copper scent of blood. A pair of black boots stopped inches from where she sat.

'Your nightmare-,' he paused when she shook her head and as he towered above her crouching form, he could see just how exhausted she looked. Looking at her frail, shivering body, for a split second, he felt sorry for her. She wouldn't even look him in the eyes and instead her gaze darted about every inch of the room, frightened and wild.

All of a sudden, the space between them felt so vast and empty that Ollric found himself bustling around her awkwardly. He wordlessly lit the hearth in the centre of the room and placed a black cauldron of water over the top of it. It swung back and forth from the movement, its shadows meekly shading her startled face as she watched him move around the house. A small plate of bread and cheese was thrust under her nose so violently that she flinched back, only for the plate to follow her like it was attached by a rope.

'You should eat.' The Nord muttered. For just a moment, he felt an overwhelming urge to take care of the creature.

She scoffed and pushed his hand away, wrinkling her nose. 'Hi laan zu'u naak daar?' ['You expect me to eat this?']

'If you don't eat you'll become even weaker, you won't be able to keep up, and then you'll die.' He discarded the plate of food on the floor beside her and moved away. He worked fast, filling various packs with dusty bottles and dumping them at the door to the house. Making the journey to High Hrothgar wasn't something he had anticipated doing so quickly after returning from a particularly difficult Dwarven ruin and he wasn't looking forward to making the perilous climb with the sullen faced dragon in tow.

'You care if I die, Dovahkiin?' She sidled up to where he stood at the door, her lips quirked up into a small smirk.

'I'm not wasting my time dragging you up that bastard hill for you to die at the top, dragon.' His reply was gruff as he pushed her out of the door and into the streets of Whiterun, pulling her hood up over her head as he did. He pulled his own hood up and slung a curved, black bow over his back. 'Come on.'

Outside of the city walls the sun hung in the sky surrounded by a sickly yellow light barely touching the corners of the plains that rolled into one before them. It was early in the morning and only a few people were wandering the streets of the city. She noticed most of them turned their faces away as Ollric passed or they moved quickly out of his way, darting down side streets or back into their houses. He didn't seem to pay any mind to them as he strode through the gates, ignoring the wary looks he received from the guards at the entrance.

'They fear you.' She said as they came to a stop outside the stables. 'Why is this?'

He didn't answer as he attached the packs onto the horses' saddle, and then, 'they fear what they do not know. What they don't understand.' He turned to face her and her cobalt eyes searched his face but she couldn't see anything underneath the cowl he wore. 'This is their way.'

'You speak as if you are not one of them.'

The Nord didn't reply. He turned and disappeared into the house attached to the side of the stables, leaving her alone with the horse.

At first, she tried to converse with the animal. Her kind had the ability to speak to many of the beasts that roamed Skyrim's lands, however the horse had just snorted indifferently at her words and stared at her with his large brown eyes. It seemed he didn't know anything beyond his own four hooves. He was used to her strange scent, though, and didn't mind her standing so close to him. She could feel Ollric's gaze on her as she ran her fingers lightly across the horse's neck. She shot them both a glare and moved away quickly, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

'His name is Swiftfoot.' He said as he lifted her roughly up and onto the saddle.

She almost laughed. 'A cruel trick.' The stocky horse could run for miles without tiring and never seemed to get cold even in the thickest of snow, but speed was one thing she had yet to see.

Ollric swung himself up in front of her and patted the horses' neck reassuringly.

The gentle sway of Swiftfoot's gait combined with the constant exhaustion her new body brought had sent the dragon into a deep sleep and when she awoke the sun was just starting to dip over the distant mountains. They were surrounded by dense forest, a few elk scattered before them as they passed, disturbed from picking at the thick foliage that bordered the cobbled path.

'We should be there just after dark.' Ollric said gruffly, sensing his companion was now awake.

'Tell me, Dovahkiin,' she yawned, 'how is it a dovahkriid [dragonslayer] finds himself at peace with a dovah?' [dragon]

'Paarthurnax and I have an understanding.'

'You think he will not gruth hi [betray you] as he did his master?'

'Do I have to tell you again about the attention that language brings to us?' Ollric growled. 'Paarthurnax can see beyond his own selfishness. You think Alduin would spare you, his adoring follower, even if it meant not fulfilling his prophecy?'

Ollric waited for the scathing reply but instead a silence fell between them. Until finally, 'sometimes I see him,' the poison that usually licked at every word had evaporated, 'in my dreams. I feel him in my head, in my bones, and he is so angry. His anger burns inside my mind but it is not my name he shouts.'

The Nord opened his mouth to reply but all of a sudden, a flash of black between the trees caught his eye and his attention slipped behind them. A glint of silver armour, the sound of hoof beats flattening the ground, the sweat on the man's brow and his breath in the air. He could almost feel the rider's heartbeat beating against his rib cage and the heavy scent of fear was rolling off of him.

'We're being followed.' He murmured. 'Don't turn around.'

She shifted in the saddle in front of them and he knew she was dying to go against his orders. 'I sense him too.'

Ollric squeezed Swiftfoot's sides and urged the horse into a canter. 'He'll follow us until dark. He'd be a fool to wait until we're in Ivarstead to attack. Too much attention.' Flashbacks of the Inn at Winterhold crossed his mind in scenes of flame and ash.

As they rounded a corner she managed to get a glimpse of the heavily armoured man following half a mile or so behind them. His horse was a skinny, gangly thing, all legs. And it struggled with the rough terrain that Swiftfoot took so easily in his stride.

'A Blade?' She hissed.

'Perhaps.'