The escape from Helgen was not entirely free of accident. There was fire and angry Imperials and bears and giant spiders. But she and her Nord companion, Ralof, made it out alive - though scratched up. Jo'Jarsi and Ralof had found a cave system in the basement of the keep that eventually led out to safety. They huddled now before a small, pathetic fire, their breaths curling out of their mouths in thick white tendrils. It was a surprisingly cold night for Last Seed. Even the khajiit in her thick, dark coat shivered beneath a tattered hide. Their night was near wordless, but the Nord had suggested that she join up with the Stormcloaks. Fight the Empire. Fight for freedom. It piqued her curiousity for sure.

In fact, that next afternoon, after she reached Riverwood and got some supplies (from gold gifted from Ralof's family), Jo'Jarsi had no clue what to do with her life. Every day after yesterday was a gift. She survived execution. She survived a dragon. She survived swarms of Imperial guardsmen. Her humble life as a shopkeeper in Bravil had not prepared her for such danger. Even if the Stormcloaks did not fit her philosophy, she still needed somewhere to go. Windhelm was on the other side of Skyrim, practically, and was hopefully as far away from that dragon as possible.

Her knowledge of Skyrim was minimal. She knew that it was cold and that Nords liked mead. And, she supposed, dragons were coming back to life. But hopefully, the pathway to Windhelm was filled with inns and guards and had no dangers beyond the occasional wolf. Ralof had given her an old, outdated map from the 3rd Era but it was enough to plan a route. Here she sat, map sprawled out across the table. Hopes dropped. The only official stop between Riverwood and Windhelm was Whiterun. It would still be broad daylight by the time she reached there. Inconvenient. Perhaps she could make camp.

Jo'Jarsi rolled up the decrepit map, stuffed it in her rucksack, and set out for Windhelm. Or whatever other adventure found her.