Days passed there under the shelter of the shrine and the Madgod's watching eyes, in the arms of my new 'family.' How many have I had? The thought came fleeting, immediately dismissed as a hand slid down my smooth, bare back again, leaving me moaning.

"Mmm." I rolled my shoulders against the touch, near purring, hazy-eyed. The Altmer woman was rubbing something into my back, something cool and soothing and wonderful. Her touch was firm against my aching shoulders and muscles, coaxing the stinging welts and little aches from days of sleeping on the ground into silence. "What is that?"

"Different things." Once more the Dunmer – the priest and leader of their little group, I'd come to learn – spoke crisply. "Primarily mud. Very clean mud, mind you, sanctified by the Madgod." Laughter behind me from the other three, busily paying mind to their unique forms of insanity. The Breton tried to catch the humming swarm that came and went, Beewol the Argonian crawled on all fours and howled to try and be the best dog she could be. It was all so stupid and foolish and perfect. They were mad because they understood, as I felt I did, now.

What did it matter if they did these stupid things? Nothing mattered, so why not succumb?

I yawned and stretched lazily to examine the cauldron we had between us all, casting an uncomfortable heat and a thick white smoke, driving bugs away. Sickly sweet and heavy like mould the scent rose from the pot as our offerings burned to nothing. Not days ago, I could have named every hallucinogenic fungi and flower in the pot. Now, I now longer cared.

A blink as it hit me, with vague surprise. "I don't know your names."

As always the Dunmer spoke first, pointing to the less cognizant of our little group. "Our pet dog is Beewol. Don't try to take her for walks, she'll just run away and come back as a lizard. The Breton is Gregory, and Ortis has gone off to find some children, I'm sure." He tilted his head, eyes roving up and down my bare body. I'd long since forgotten about modesty and made no attempt to cover myself, still listening intently. "And I am Ferul."

I giggled, then lost myself in laughter and hiccups. Whatever was in the cauldron, the smoke had me bursting into gleeful cackling at the slightest thing. It felt so good, to laugh, so different from all the tears before. I never wanted to stop, except to put my lips to other uses. I arched up to kiss the jaw of the Altmer holding me, making her purr. "And what shall I call you?"

"You shall call me Feral too, for a beast I wish I was, I do." She purred into my ear, hands moving now from my back to my front, sliding down the planes of my stomach and leaving a trail of muddy handprints. Sliding down my belly, my sides to my hips, sending a warm shudder through me. Muddy handprints, bloody handprints – the first I'd take happily over the other. She laughed in her throat as I shivered, moving to press her lips against my neck and leaving a hot, wet mark there. "I'll call you sweet, for your lips, soft and loving for your hips."

Soft was something new, wasn't it? Something so strong here, the ground, the touch on me, the sounds of croaking frogs and humming bugs. I lost myself to laughter again, then rolled and turned to press her down to the ground, hovering above her.

"Soft." More giggles, and our lips met. I whispered against hers. "I like soft."

"The bugs!" Indignant the Breton marched over, hands on his hips, shrieking. "I need bugs! But there are none! Your smoke scares them away, away from my mouth! I'm going to starve, and then the bugs will eat me, and that will never do! We need bugs. Bugs, covered in honey." He licked his lips.

"My fellow dogs shall bring some!" Beewol circled once more on her hands and knees, fur hat askew on her head. "If I howl loud enough, we shall have honey enough to last us centuries. Do dogs eat honey? I hope so. I like honey."

Ferul scratched his chin, head tilted. "I would prefer some fish. They're thickly swarmed in the river, making love and laying eggs."

I burst into giggles again, shrieking in delight and throwing my feet in the air. "Fish don't make love, silly!" But there was a rumble in my stomach, too. I staggered to my feet, standing tall despite my shaky grasp on where the ground might have been. "I'll go. I can catch a fish."

"In you they'll lay eggs because you are warm, and when you return you shall birth a swarm." The Altmer tickled at my legs when I rose, grinning in a mirror of my own. "We'll have a fish family and raise our brood, if Ortis doesn't make them all his food."

"Maybe. Wish me luck!" I gave a deep bow for no reason at all, then made my slip-footed way to the river. It was overflowing from the storm, rushing and mad with white-frothed waves, beckoning.

I knew better. I knew better, somewhere inside me, that the current would take me and I'd be dashed against the rocks, drown. But what did it matter? I might as well have fun, if I was to die anyway.

I'd catch a fish.

I'd managed to wade in to my knees, fighting the waves before I lost my grip on the stones beneath my feet and fell. Splashing, laughing into the river, up and down and inside out, it felt like, dragged along in the roaring water. The swells came up and over my head, again and again, leaving me choking and sputtering. I laughed between gasps of air. Yes, I'd catch a fish, then I'd roast it with my new family over the little fire. Inhaling whatever wonderful things in the smoke made me feel so careless, so free before reality could grab hold of me once more and drag me back. I was so sure of it, even as the river dragged me down deeper with each wave, as I inhaled water instead of air.

I was drowning, but as long as I was free I would have happily let the water take me. Anything but a return to memory, to thinking beyond this very moment.

I awoke hours later on the riverbed to kisses. Frantic kisses on my cold face, whimpers and warmth. Wet kisses, making me wrinkle my nose and sputter, turning my head away. They stopped but the whimpering continued, a heavy paw sitting on my chest.

A paw?

I forced my eyes open, coughing up mouthfuls of water, my vision blurred. Above me – a long, dark face, red eyes. A split moment of terror as I thought of wraiths, of mother. Then, no – of Shadowmere, the same strange eyes, but as my vision cleared I understood even less.

A dog?

He snuffled my face, then sat patiently as I roused myself, spitting out still more filthy water and inhaling lungfuls of humid air. Whatever strange feelings the smoke had filled me with had vanished while I was unconscious. I felt cold, empty, all too ready to receive the memories I'd been trying so hard to push away.

I couldn't run from it, hide from it, drown myself to avoid it. Mother was dead. A wraith, a death she'd chosen happily.

She would have chosen death for me, too.

My gaze rose to the mutt, staring at me impassively. Yes – little wonder I'd mistaken him for Shadowmere. The same void-black fur, the same red eyes. A questioning sound and he tilted his head, one pointed ear raised. He was soaked, fur beaded with water. He'd saved me. This creature of the Night Mother, of the – bitch that took my mother away, it had saved me.

I snarled and threw a fistful of mud.

"Get away from me." He didn't move, eyes inquisitive. Smarter than any dog I'd seen. "I don't want you here. I don't need you." The second fistful landed splat against the ground near his paws, but he didn't flinch. I was more beastial than him, getting to my feet, growling.

"I didn't ask for this – any of this. I didn't ask for her to be one of them, I didn't ask to be a part of them, I didn't ask to be saved. I wanted to drown. You hear me, mutt!?" I kicked the mud towards him and still he watched, head tilted, nub of a tail wagging. "I wanted to die. I won't go back to them – you can't make me. I won't."

At last he moved to stand. Massive, larger than a grown wolf to my side. He rubbed against me, whining, affectionate. The hound followed me no matter how I railed against him, leaving massive pawprints beside my footprints in the mud. I stopped short, glaring at him even as he stared happily back. He wasn't ominous, like Shadowmere, but sweet.

I wanted to trust him.

I had wanted a dog as a girl – what child didn't? But maman said I made enough of a mess of things on my own.

I whispered. "Did she send you?"

He crooned and rubbed up against my side again, almost knocking me over with his weight, begging for attention. At last I relented, sliding my hand along his smooth, muscular flank. I didn't know what that meant, if that confirmed it or not, but it didn't seem to matter, anyway.

Little made sense, even less now than things had these past few days. I searched for words.

"… I was supposed to catch a fish."

An affirmative bark and he ran, bounding off past the puddles and mud, into the shadowed canopy beyond. "Hey!" I scowled and ran after him, slipping and sliding with each step. "You – mutt! Get back here!" I was utterly turned around now, the towering trees and rain-soaked landscape ensuring I couldn't find my way anywhere without him. As much as I hated it, I needed him. "Get – "

He returned moments later, happy barking muffled, trotting along to greet me. A huge, silvery fish wriggled in his maw.

What could I do but laugh?