"Hey!"
Ma'khari and I wiggled deep into the undergrowth, our eyes round with fear. The way we had been brought up, we had quickly realised that someone who spoke to us without coin for wares was likely racist or dangerous. This was no greeting, either, but a call for attention, and more likely than anything, a warning.
A Dunmer clad in mismatching pieces of fur and leather armour trudged towards Tsavashka, a mace in hand. To her credit, she was standing tall with her ears flattened, armed only with a dagger. I had never really taken her to be the "brave" type – that had been reserved more for Fazala's quick temper and my father's strength in combat.
While my eyes were glued to the stranger, my acute sense of hearing began to digest the setting. There were wolves… growling and panting, but stationary. I chanced a quick look towards the sound when one howled, and was surprised to see the bars and cages. A camp fire helped illuminate the rusty steel, but I thanked the gods more than anything for Khajiit's ability to see in the dark.
"Varon!" Tsavashka hissed, and I looked at her with the utmost surprise. She knew this Dunmer? This shaggy haired, mace-wielding Mer who… lived in a cave with pet wolves..?
"Aah, Cat!" he sighed, lowering his weapon, a grin creeping onto his ashy features. "Haven't seen your tail around here in a while." After a moment of strained eye contact, he reached to sheathe his weapon, until noticing the dagger at her hip.
"Cat… you don't plan on making a fool of yourself here, do you?" he warned, though he sounded more amused than anything else.
"No," Tsavashka bit back, ears flattening further against her skull. "This one did not come because she was busy with work, Varon. I am not stupid. I need help."
At this, the Dunmer finally relaxed, putting away his mace and crossing his arms.
"Help?" he echoed, his interest piqued. "We're not exactly mercs, Cat. We're running a dog fight down here, y'know… can't exactly… go places."
If I had not been utterly wrought with fear and exhaustion, I might have found his animated gestures almost entertaining.
I didn't like the way he spoke to her, though, as if she was some uneducated imbecile, but then, I had no idea what she was trying to achieve here, either. I was just stunned that she knew this elf, and that he knew her. What business did Tsavashka have in illegal dog fights? Was the sweetest, kindest, most motherly Khajiit I knew a gambler?
"You do not have to go anywhere," she mumbled, averting her green gaze. For a moment, from my hiding spot, I could swear I detected the faintest hint of concern in the Dark Elf's eyes as Tsavashka looked away, crestfallen.
"Varon, my friends are dead… Riften guard…" she grabbed and squeezed her biceps, as if hugging herself for comfort, "they… did not take kindly to us. My friends are dead."
Varon, seemingly, did not know what to do with this information. His posture had stiffened and his arms hung awkwardly by his side. He was a bandit, after all, and bandits were known for their unscrupulous ways. But to my surprise, a part of him truly looked like he cared. He must have, with the actions that followed.
"Come along, then. You know, Cyrdus likes you, he might let you take one of our bed rolls tonight," the Dunmer suggested, beckoning towards the cave entrance.
The Mer only took a few steps before realising Tsavashka wasn't following.
"What is it, then? The wolves aren't going to eat you, and I said Cydrus will probably let you stay. Now, considering we're not an Inn, that's damn generous of me."
"Two others survived," the Khajiit confessed, staring the elf straight in the eyes.
Varon returned the look, his nose crinkling slightly. "Well, that presents more of a problem." He crossed his arms, looking around the rest of the campsite. "Well, where are they? If they're off with broken legs somewhere, you know damn well I can't leave my post."
"That won't be necessary," Tsavashka held out her palms, trying to calm him, though he didn't seem particularly flustered. If anything, it was the fact he had to act so damn tough that was driving him mad.
She turned to the bushes Ma'khari and I had nestled beneath and waved a hand at us. Ma'khari gave me a look and crawled out of the bushes. I quickly followed suit.
"Baby cats?" Varon's jaw practically fell off.
It occurred to me in that moment that Ma'khari and I were truly a spectacle in Skyrim. There were not many Khajiiti in Skyrim, and the few that I had seen outside the caravan had all been adults. The only cubs I had seen in the last ten years had been Ma'khari, and myself in puddles.
"Yes, and we need somewhere to sleep tonight, Varon," Tsavashka pressed as we joined her side, immediately clinging to her waist. "You know how dangerous the wilds of Skyrim are at night. I am a merchant; I was not trained to protect. Their parents trusted me with them. We will be out of your hair by tomorrow, Elf."
Varon frowned, his brows falling into heavy lines against the tops of his eyes. "Cydrus won't like this," he cautioned, clearly unsure of what to do. Some sense of morality was clinging to the back of conscience, while the rest of him battled with just how much he cared to be yelled at and quite possibly beaten by his boss.
"I… I brought something, just in case."
The Dunmer perked, immediately knowing what she was referring to. I, meanwhile, was absolutely in the dark. Was it those bottles…?
"Yes, yes, that may work in your favor," Varon agreed, nodding his head vehemently. "Let's give this a try then. Better than just standing out here and tempting the dogs." He snickered, rapping his knuckles against one of the cages as he passed.
Tsavashka tried to offer us both a comforting look, but her deep green eyes were almost drowning in concern. Her fingers curled firmly around our shoulders as she tentatively followed the Elf with the two of us in tow.