Chapter Four

"We've got movement."

"Finally!" I quickly scurry over and mimic Vorstag laying on his stomach on the cliff.

In the distance, a hunting party of six pelted warriors emerge from around the mountainside and head toward the riverbend. I study the route of the restless river which leads to the two Forsworn warriors directly below our position. We left Markarth over a week ago and it did not take long to make contact. After we took out a small Forsworn hunting party, Vorstag picked up their previous trail and backtracked it, which eventually led us to the fishermen who we have been watching for two dull days. But ultimately the trail did not lead us to them. As we got closer, we simply followed our noses.

The entire campsite is littered with dead fish! Every time a warrior takes a step, he is standing in fish guts. The stink of rotting fish is so putrid it is like smelling the armpits of a troll! How a herd of bears-or trolls-have not stormed the camp is an act of Divinity!

"Looks like they're regrouping."

"Praise Azura for small miracles," I mutter through my teeth. The fishermen must have seen their companions because one of them begins to pack up while the other checks the fishing lines and pulls a few out of the water. Vorstag shields his eyes and analyzes the position of the sun.

"They should be here within the hour," he says keeping his voice low. "And by then it'll start to get dark."

"They should burn alive for taking their sweet time," I glare at the trotting warriors clenching my fists. Vorstag clamps one of his big hands on my fists in a patting motion and I realize tiny flames were dancing on my knuckles. Cursing, I close my eyes and rub my gloved hands together taking calm gasps of air through my mouth while Vorstag makes sure the fishermen did not see us.

"I'm still not convinced, Vorstag," I say in a more rational tone and return my attention to the two men. "You're sure this behavior isn't…strange?"

"I didn't say it wasn't strange. I said it's not common. Although the savages prefer red meat, they're not above eating the occasional fish."

"Occasional?! THAT…" I emphasize with a point toward a leaning tower of fish. "Is an excessive amount of fish."

"It's also wartime," he shrugs. "People gotta eat and do what they can to survive. I admit this is the first time I have ever seen Forsworn fish so much so either they're disparate for food or their Hagraven has a weak stomach," he chuckles at his own joke.

Instead of chewing him out I chew my lower lip and tap my restless fingers out of sync as I study the camp again.

Since we have been here the fishermen have been working nonstop almost erratically. Day and night, one of them is working like making meals or cleaning fish, but mostly just continuous fishing. There were five fishing lines spaced out in the river at a time. When one line was pulled from the river another was slung in to replace it. When one net was pulled out a second was hurled in. And although Vorstag and I are too high up a cliff to see much detail we can see their actions clear enough. Each time they caught a fish on a line, they yanked it off the hook with no regard to tearing it and tossed it on the pile as if it were trash. Even now as the warriors scramble to pack up they cram as much fish as they can in a single bundle until it threatens to burst at the seams.

A people who revere nature and occasionally fish as a source of food suddenly fishing for a massive quantity than they could possibly carry. All this effort and urgency yet they do not care about the condition of their catch. …Why?

When the group of warriors finally arrive, we can see they too have been successful on their hunting trip. Two of them carry what looks to be deer or elk while the other four have strapped leather bundles to their backs similar to the ones the fishermen have been packing. It looks like each man is carrying five maybe six bundles? …Eight? I can also see that each man has two bags hanging from their belts. In moments, the two fishermen have bundles strapped on their backs just like their companions along with bags hanging at their sides except they each carry four. I give Vorstag a questioning glance, but he does not notice since he is too busy watching the enemy, so I return to watching them too. The men are irritated and alert. One of them stamps his foot and another clutches his spear ready to jab at the first prey he sees. They stand spread out in a circle looking out across the river and over the rocky mountain and hillsides. Vorstag and I keep motionless with our heads pressed to the cliff. They must be worried about the third hunting party that will not arrive.

After an hour, the Forsworn warriors give up waiting and finally leave. Vorstag pushes himself up with a groan of relief and stretches his back and neck. "About damn time!" he grunts. "I thought they would never leave. Come on," He pulls me up and before he can let go, I grip his wrist.

"You follow them. I'm going to check out the camp."

"What-no-there's no time for that! It's getting dark and now's our chance to find their base!"

"Which is why you're still going," I say impatiently and remove his hand. "Once you confirm their heading, double back and come get me."

"Who cares about the camp-"

"I do!" I cut him off and do my best to keep the edge in my voice down. I check over my shoulder to see the retreating warriors melt into the bluish gray of the wild then turn back to the stubborn Nord. "Get moving!" Vorstag growls through his teeth and runs off after the Forsworn not looking back. I pull up my hood and adjust my cloak then cautiously tread down the cliff beneath the dimming sun making sure I stay out of sight.

I know I am right. This kind of behavior is not normal of the Forsworn. They may be murderous fiends, but they are not wasteful.

At the bottom, I wait a moment in the cliffs' shadow observing the camp further then walk toward it while holding my nose. I thought I got used to the stench, but of course up close it is worse. I take a few deep breathes and let go of my nose and walk into the middle of camp careful not to step on any fish.

The scattered fish are all bare white and the only obvious eyesore that someone was here; yet the fishermen went out of their way to destroy evidence of a firepit. I lean over and study the fish as I walk by. Some are fully intact with heads and tails while others are missing a head or a tail. Or both. As expected, many with heads still attached have a jagged rip at the mouth from the hurried removal of the fishing hooks. Others are nearly headless. I crouch down in front of the flat stone top that was used as a chopping block. Stretching my fingers, I rub my hand all over the stone's surface and up and down along the sides then examine my hand. Specks of fresh silver scales twinkle like stars against my black gloved hand while the older dried-up scales appear as dandruff. I repeat my previous motion of feeling around the stone and look at my hand again, but it seems I found all the scales. Standing up, I move around the camp looking over all the fish crouching down at every other one to glide two fingers across the white naked flesh and to check beneath and the area around them. No scales in the entire camp. Except in one spot and only enough to fit in my palm.

It is dark when Vorstag finally returns. The moon glows like a dimmed sun along with streaks of green and blue northern lights painted across the sky. I sit by the river studying hints of silver shimmering just beneath the surface that I almost do not hear him materialize from the wild.

"They're heading east by northeast."

"Any place of interest?"

I hear his body shift. He must be crossing his arms. "Several, but I believe they're going to Red Eagle Redoubt. It's closer and one of their larger holds. Did you find what you were looking for?"

"Probably. Is this the dominant species?"

"What?"

"I've been studying this river since you've been gone. Amazing how it is so full of life. I mean, I've seen turtles, mud crabs, possibly an eel and-ah-that one!" I point to a large ripple in the water. "That's a trout. I've seen a bit of those too. …Or is that a salmon?"

"Don't tell me you are still going on about the damn fish."

"And these long silver ones," ignoring Vorstag, I casually wave my hand at the river. "Even in the dark and after all that fishing, I can still see so many."

"Well, obviously! These are abecean longfin," he says irritably. "They are extremely prominent; in fact, this river is famous for them. Second would be trout, and then salmon and-"

"Abe-ce-an longfin," I interrupt sounding out the word with a thick elvish accent. "Yes, that's right. I've seen these before. They aren't as common in the rivers and lakes back in Morrowind. At least where I lived." Vorstag is silent as I try to process my thoughts. "This is very interesting."

"What is?"

"Despite the massive abecean population, this is a river ripe with variety. A fisherman's paradise. Yet, the hunters made no effort to hunt anything else, but the abecean." I kneel and wash my hands in the river and as I do, I can hear the Nord growling.

"It doesn't matter! For two days you complained about the stink now you're sitting in it and rambling on about fish. I don't care what they eat it's a complete waste of time!"

I stand and saunter over to him rubbing my hands together with all the arrogance of an archmage. I lean my face up toward him my voice low as if I were reprimanding a servant. "I am surprised, Vorstag, and more than a little disappointed. Because you live here. You watch them. You hunt and fight them and-dare I say-have suffered and lost by them. You know them. But apparently…not as well as you think." I caught the Nord off guard. I can see the wheels in his mind turning. "Allow me to educate you. First, if you were to go fishing to feed your family what would you fish? Something big, something with good meat on it like trout, salmon, or a mud crab-one mud crab could potentially feed between four to ten people. Even a small salmon is more filling than these skinny little things. Secondly," I step back spreading my arms out. "Look at this place! It's absolutely ridiculous! No one fishes like this! I do not judge nor blame you for your hatred of the Forsworn, but right now, your prejudice blinds you of your common sense, therefore, stop wasting my time and questioning my decision and get moving."

For a moment the Nord stares at me then turns and marches into the woods. I follow him in silence.

Vorstag was still sore at me when we stopped two hours later. He never looked back to be sure I wasn't falling behind, yet I could tell he knew where I was. He picked a cramped isolated spot near Red Eagle Redoubt, but not in sight of it. A large tree with thick long branches next to a massive boulder stretches over the top and masks any who take shelter in shadow. I wake for the third time rearranging myself against the mesh of rock and tree as another root jabs my lower back.

Ugh, maybe I should have used my bedroll.

I had it specially customed designed in Whiterun by the owner of the Drunken Huntsman. He was openly critical about how I prioritized comfort over practicality right up to when I paid him and walked out the door. But he was right. The extra cushioning makes the bedroll bulkier and harder to pack and carry. That is unless you are a mage with a magical pouch that can store any non-magical item of any size. A nice little trick that makes travel more bearable. However, I have not used it since I started traveling with Vorstag to save time, and because we are too close to Red Eagle. And as a matter of pride.

"Stop moving," says a low grumbling voice from the darkness.

"I thought you were asleep," I grumble back.

"I was until you woke me. Again. Keep it up and the enemy could be upon us."

"Well, excuse me for trying to be comfortable," I tuck my arm under my head as he chuckles, and it almost tempts me to kick him. Vorstag lays against the boulder partially sitting up with his legs at my feet.

"You surprise me, Dragonborn. I would have guessed you'd be used to hard travels."

"I'm not the outdoor type."

"So I've noticed," he yawns. "And yet you constantly travel."

"The irony isn't lost on me."

He laughs, but it comes out as a garble. "What is your type then? Locked in a room with books?"

"Nooo," I pull my hood over my face and cross my arms trying to use a root as a pillow. "I like being outside. Just not sleeping on the ground."

"You get used it."

"I don't want to get used to it," my cheeks warm at how spoiled I sound. I pretend to clear my throat. "I don't need to." I mostly slept in a raggedy bedroll as a child. Sometimes I just slept on the bare cavern floor, but that was a long time ago. When I was ordered to live with Darias and his family on their farm I was given my own room and my own bed. Even when I was eventually sent to prison, I was allowed to have one. And although prison beds aren't anything fancy it is still a bed and superior to the ground.

Vorstag does not respond. I must have dozed off not long after that exchange because the next moment I open my eyes they feel heavy like lead, and I am shivering. My cloak had slipped off and there is a growing crick in my neck. I groggily attempt to roll over.

"Damn it, woman."

In the middle of rolling over, Vorstag grabs my arm and pulls me to a sitting position. "Hey-what are y-"

"Sshh, keep your voice down."

"What are you doing?"

"Just come here."

He pulls me over next to him then wraps his other arm around my shoulders then presses me against him. I am tucked under his muscular arm and my face against his hard chest.

"V-V-Vorstag-!" I try to push away, but he just holds me in place.

"Go to sleep."

"This is highly inappropriate."

"So is waking up every ungodly hour. Go to sleep."

I whisper another protest, but his only response is a soft snore. As awkward as this is, laying against him is notably warmer. The heat radiating from his body is a small barrier against the chill. Feeling sheepish, I peek up and can make out in the darkness the parting of his full lips with each inhale of breath.

Dear Azura, I am such a youngling!

I turn away, but then look at him again and force myself to keep looking. I can see the outline of his square jaw and arch of his nose. Hesitant, my fingers slide up his chest and trace his collarbone.

Moon and stars, he's real…

Vorstag grunts and I quickly pull my hand away. Thankfully, he doesn't wake, and I just watch him. The shame building up inside me threatens to burst, but I bite my lip and force it back down. Kalara, you idiot! Of course, he is real! What a stupid thing to even think! You've been around men your whole life! It's not a big deal! Worse, you are a grown woman. You are the Dragonborn. Grown women and Dragonborns do not shy away from the opposite sex. Vorstag is right. He is being smart. I am risking too much noise. He needs to sleep and so do I. He is just another man.

A burly man with arms like a bear.

Settled against him, my eyes can barely stay open. I wrap my arm across his chest and let myself drift away in his embrace.

It is still dark. I am not sure what aroused me first, the tingling sensation of magic or the blood curdling scream. Vorstag stirs beneath me his body tensing on high alert. I move my hand across him to indicate I am awake. "What's happening?"

"Forsworn," he says and helps me up. He squeezes my shoulder to signal me to stay back then steps out from our cover and scans the area. A sudden shout morphs into an agonized cry. "It's not far," he grabs his shield and axe.

"It doesn't sound like a battle."

"No, but it don't sound pretty neither. I'm gonna take a look. You stay here."

"I'm going with you."

"Out of the question."

"Since when? There's a mage out there. I can feel it. It's possible there's more than one."

"For what I'm planning I hope so," Vorstag steps out, but as soon as I attempt to follow, he turns and grabs my shoulder. "I said stay here."

"And I'm ignoring you."

"Funny, you took notice earlier."

"Careful, Nord," I say with an edge. "You overstep your boundaries." Another scream breaks through the darkness.

"As much as I love our banter, Kalara, this time it's my turn to educate," he pushes me back under the shadows of the foliage and against the boulder. Before I can object, he leans in close. "It's because you are a mage that you need to stay here. It's still too dark. The instant you cast a spell you'll give away our position. I have a better chance at taking them by surprise. One by one. Now stop wasting my time and questioning my decision and just stay here." He squeezes my shoulder again to emphasize his point then rushes out.

That bastard.

Yet, I don't move because unfortunately he is right. It is too dark. I can't even cast protective armor. It would light me up like a candlestick. Cursing under my breath, I look up through the branches at the fading stars. Soon it will be twilight. It is a good strategy. Let the overconfident mage give away his position and take him out with a silent blade then vanish in the night. Vorstag has clearly done this before. For now, all I can do is follow his lead. A few more stars begin to fade and there has been no sounds since Vorstag took off. I hope this means he is successful.

A branch snaps.

I lean back against the rock keeping to the shadows. Someone is stumbling around in the dark. Whoever it is isn't making any effort at stealth. I hear a curse-a man's voice-then a fall. It sounds like he tripped over something. He is breathing hard. It is now light enough that I see a struggling large figure on the ground-

"AAAAH-YEYEYEYEYEYE-AAH!"

Holy Tribunal!

I clutch my heart as the animalistic war cry makes me jump out of my skin. A lean figure springs out of the bushes like a sabre cat and pounces on the larger man. The man reacts fast and uses his legs to hurl the Forsworn over his body. He falls hard but recovers and the Forsworn pulls out a knife and charges. The large man makes it to his knees before he grabs his attacker's wrist and both men fall to the ground thrashing around in a life and death struggle. Before I can decide a course of action, the man takes the knife from the mad warrior and plunges it into his throat.

"RRRAAAAHHH!"

A second pelted warrior wielding two axes rushes the man. The man rolls taking the dagger with him just as his new attacker slashes down and rips into the stomach of his dead tribesman. The man tries to get up, but the second warrior is already upon him swinging his axes and all the man can do is keep rolling. Taking a fighting stance, I curl a fist of fire and punch hard toward the rabid warrior striking him in the head. He drops his axes and darts around like a headless chicken as my fire consumes his entire skull. I throw a second fiery punch and hit his torso and the two separate fires merge into one. The warrior screams bloody murder until his charcoaled corpse falls to the ground. I step out of my hiding spot and the man crawls back a pace still clutching the bloody knife. He's a Nord and looks just as crazed as the wild men. His long brown reddish hair is matted, and his beard unkempt. His bottom lip is split with a mixture of fresh and dried blood, and a large purple bruise covers half the left side of his face. And his clothes… The iconic blue tunic worn over the brown leather and chainmail is badly torn, and his fur gloves are missing, but there is no mistake.

He's a Stormcloak.

Three more warriors rush out from the bushes and rocks, but halt when they see me. Two are armed with spiny swords, a type of sword made up of animal teeth and bones, while the third Forsworn in the middle is unarmed.

A mage.

One of the armed men mutters something to the mage.

"Kill the Nord," the mage flicks his hand and from the center of his body glows a teal hue, and clothes him from head to foot. "Leave the woman for questioning."

The two swordsmen spread out and cautiously approach one attempting to get at the Nord the other trying for me. The mage does not move but raises a warning hand with icy fingers. Keeping my eyes on the mage, I wait for the swordsmen to get closer. Just as the first reaches for my arm I cast a massive ward spell. Lasting only seconds, I cast my ward as a protective dome around my body and rapidly push outward. I will the ward to be solid like steel and shove the fools off their feet including the mage who falls back about ten feet. As they fall, my ward vanishes, and I throw off my cloak and cast my own armor spell the teal-colored magic flickering from my center and clothing my entire body. Palms burning, I rush the mage swinging my arms forming a tidal wave of fire and send it raining down over his body. Spinning around, I hurl fireballs at the nearest warrior who is already charging with his blade raised above his head. He is sturdy, but the power of my fire pushes him back and he falls again. The second swordsman lingers back, but charges thinking I am too distracted with his comrade and jabs his blade toward my stomach. In an instant, before I release my last fireball, I misdirect my intended target and pivot away from the second attacker and slam my fireball into the side of his head. He is not as sturdy as his friend. His head lights up like a beacon and he drops, and rolls screaming is head off trying to put out the flames. I raise my arms summoning my regular magical ward and as anticipated multiple spikes of ice shatter like glass as the attacks crash against my barrier. The mage has blotches of frost on his shoulders and legs from temporarily encasing himself in ice as self-preservation from my flames.

A clever old trick.

The ice mage keeps shooting spikes from his palms while the sturdy one tries for me again raising his sword. Keeping one hand to maintain the ward, I clutch my free hand in a fist and throw down a fire rune right as the swordsman steps on it. The rune explodes and engulfs the man as the nearness of the blast causes me to almost lose my balance. As the mage continues to rapidly shoot ice, I move closer to the fallen swordsman while keeping the ward up. Growling, he pushes himself up to tackle me. I spin away with my protective ward out of his reach and a rain of ice spikes impale him. Realizing his mistake, the mage ceases his attack. Fists clutched at his sides he stares me down.

I understand.

I drop my ward mirroring his body position and return his challenging stare. The chill of the night has morphed into a cool morning breeze gliding through the trees. The pink light of dawn reveals my opponent in leather and a hooded deer fur cloak. I'm starting to hate the sight of deer fur.

A branch snaps.

"Aarrgh!" we cry out together.

Fire engulfs my arms past my elbows as I throw a continuous wave of fire at the Forsworn mage. My wave clashes with his wave of ice between us. Pushing! Each of us fighting to dominate the other. Nearby trees freeze, and the ones closest to the center melt while others burn and turn to ash. My feet dig into the dirt and start to slide back. Gritting my teeth, I push three steps forward and summon more fire from my core but then forced two steps back. My fire climbs higher up my arms past my shoulders as I push harder. I reclaim my two steps but feel as if the ice mage hasn't budged at all. Again, I feel the force of the ice pushing harder and my arms tremble like I'm pressing against a mountain. I know I can hold on! I know I can take him! It's possible we both will hold out and be tired, too tired for magic, but nonetheless he will still have the advantage. This must end!

Crying out, I summon Ancestors' Wrath and the protective red flames encase my body. I decrease the flow of power from my hands and redirect the flames to merge with the red flames covering me. As I do this, the raging storm of ice overtakes me and attempts to freeze my body. If not for my fire it would. I produce enough fire from my hands as a barrier to the ice attack and take a few steps forward pushing through the ice.

Any moment now!

His ice wave keeps coming in full force. The power of the red flame will not last long.

Come on you bastard!

I decrease the fire from my hands and let the ice harden. It quickly starts to encase me in a block of ice, but the red fire combined with my power prevents it from fully solidifying. At last, the ice wave weakens! It's difficult to see through the roaring flames and ice, but there must be enough ice built up to appear I am defeated.

Not a chance, fool!

My arms and fingers spread out, I blast out of the ice with a large fire ball, and it slams head-on into the startled mage. He hits the ground so hard I can hear him gasp for breath. I draw closer to him-but not too close-as he struggles to stand. I need to be a little closer for the last laugh. I can feel the red flame about to give out and take what is left and combine it once more with my own fire for one final spell. Snapping my fingers, I throw down a fire rune spell directly in front of him.

"Bitch!" he screams. His deer fur burnt to ash and his face marred he holds out his hands forming spheres of ice. "You'll pay for that! You-!"

The fire rune explodes tossing his raggedy body ten feet in the air in a cloud of rocks and dust and crashes on his neck with a crunch. It was hard to tell, but I suspect he was already dead in the air.

Oh well.

I stroll over to the corpse and see the top of the skull is crushed in and broken neck bones protrude through the skin. I roll him over on his back and search his body for anything useful. All he has is an herb pouch. Inside is some hanging moss and petals of a red flower. I check for a hidden pocket, and I find two. The first reveals three nirnroots, a small vial of spriggan sap, and dried fish scales. I pull out a couple of scales and cradle it in my palm.

Abecean fish scales.

Finding valuable herbs like nirnroots or spriggan sap in a hidden pocket makes sense, but fish scales? It's such a common item, so easy to find, for potions and spells. Why hide it?

And why so desperate?

Slipping the scales back into the pouch I check the second hidden pocket.

What the…?

It's a rock.

No, it's…a soul gem?

It looks more like a fancy paperweight.

Unlike traditional soul gems that look like a mix of teal and violet glass shards or even clear diamonds, this one appears misshapen. It's part soul gem and part rock like it never finished the crystallized formation process. The soul gem is heavy like a small rock and the part that is crystal is a dull purple and the rock portion is rough and the color of sand. Shoving the stone in the pouch, I hurry back to the hiding spot. From the shadow a crude jagged sword presses against my chest.

"Don't move, elf."

The Nord.

I forgot about him.

While I was fighting, the injured Nord grabbed one of the Forsworns' swords and crawled into the shelter as indicated by the bloody body impression in the dirt.

"Show me your hands. Slowly."

He is badly hurt yet still manages to steadily grip the sword. As he holds the weapon he clutches his left side, and I notice his left thigh is wrapped in bloody bandages. He is putting all his weight on his right. He growls and presses the point of the blade harder against my chest at my hesitation.

The blade is right against my heart. I do what he says.

"Alright, elf," he grunts. "Who are you and what is your purpose here?"

I say nothing. I can't.

He's hurt, but he can still fight.

But I'm healthy so I should be faster.

He's got fast hands-no, only one.

One hand is deadly! One is all takes!

I could shout! He might cut me down before I finish a syllable-!

"Speak, witch!"

"Get away from her!"

Vorstag charges in waving his bloodied axe and shield, and in the same instant the warrior Nord raises the sword to my throat.

"Stay back! Come no closer!"

"I said, get away!"

"I don't take orders from whoresons!" the Nord roared back. "Now, get back!"

"I don't know who you are, friend, but we are not your enemy."

"No true Nord aligns himself to witches!"

"Well then, it's good she isn't one," Vorstag sounds casual, but then shifts his tone back to deadly. "Last chance, friend. Let her go."

While the man was distracted by Vorstag, I carefully took one step backward from the blade. Purple sparks shoot from my hands like fireworks and flash in the man's face. He cries out and blindly swings his sword at me. I jump away, but trip over the body of a Forsworn and fall hard on my elbow. Vorstag rushes over and blocks the sword with his axe then slams his shield on the madman's injured thigh.

"Nuugh-aah!" the Nord falls clutching his leg.

"Kalara!" Vorstag kneels and helps me sit up. "Are you alright-what happened?"

"I'm fine," I say while rubbing my sore elbow. "The Forsworn showed up so I took care of them. They were chasing him." I nod toward the stranger. After Vorstag helps me up, he glares down at the stranger.

"So, friend," he uses the term mockingly. "The Forsworn hunt you down like a damn dog, my colleague," pointing at me with his thumb. "Blasts them into oblivion, and then you threaten her. Or did I miss something?"

"Witches! Mages! Schemers-the lot of them!"

"Schemers or not, threatening someone after they save your life is a disgrace! How dare you call yourself a true Nord? I'd call you swine, but that'd be an insult to swine."

"You-! Son of a bitch-how dare yo-uuugh-!" the stranger slumps back in agonizing pain gripping his side. Vorstag kneels next to him and waves me over.

"Easy now, man," Vorstag soothes. "We got off to a rough start, but we'll help you anyway. Won't we, milady?" he says winking at me.

"Whatever you say," I reply flatly.

A soft warm golden glow radiates from my hands as I spread them out across the Nord's torso. Vorstag pulls the stranger's hand away from his side and I quickly press my hand against his wound and the other hand on his forehead. His blood spills between my fingers as I will his skin to close.

"The stab wound is deep," I pause and sit up straighter. I feel the man stiffen as I move my glowing hand down his face to his neck for a better life assessment. When my hand passes over his dark bruise it lightens a shade or two. "We can assume the leg is just as bad and he likely has other serious injuries. I can heal him, but not here."

"There's a cave we can go to," says Vorstag finishing off tying a tourniquet on the man's leg. "But it'll take us further from Red Eagle. Hey, you still with us?" twice he slaps the Nord's face.

Disorient from blood loss, the Nord grabs Vorstag's wrist and glares. "I heard you! I won't die so easily! I-I-!" he falls back gasping in pain. When he opens his eyes his glare changes to confusion. "You! D-do I…know you?

Vorstag and I share a questioning look.

"You, sir, your name. What-" he gasps. "What is your name?"

"Vorstag. My name is Vorstag. Vorstag of the Reach."

"Vorstag," he ponders, but then his face lights up in relief. "By the Gods…Vorstag! It's really you?"

"Who are you?"

"It's me," he reaches out and grasps Vorstag's shoulder. "It's Rand."

"Rand?" Vorstag's brow crinkles in confusion, but then suddenly his eyes widen. "Rand!"

"Praaaise…Talos…" the Nord passes out.

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