Hahnu Do Keizal

by Toasted Panic

Chapter Two

Mu Grind

(We Meet)

"Have you been fighting rocks?"

Erik blushed sheepishly as Willas inspected his nicked iron sword with grave disappointment.

The three of them had ventured out east into the sprawling fields beyond Rorikstead before first light. They were all crouching down behind a cluster of boulders, awaiting game, Jormund with his longbow out while Willas whispered pointedly at Erik.

"This might do for practice, but in a real fight, you wouldn't stand a chance against well-forged steel," Willas muttered, lightly running the pads of his fingertips over the jagged edges of the short sword.

Erik fidgeted, trying to explain himself, "I'm saving up for a real sword ... but we don't make much in the village. I don't have nearly enough coin for anything fancy like steel."

Frowning, Willas handed the short sword to Erik. "It's unfortunate that neither of us could spare you one at the moment. Good steel doesn't fall off trees."

Jormund raised his hand, eyes trained on the distance. They stopped murmuring, watching the swaying of the grass for the movement of any living creature. The sleepy dawn was silent and cool, reminding them that they were alone.

"Much easier to see and be seen out here," Jormund whispered. "Silence and stillness are our allies. Be mindful of that, Erik."

Erik nodded.

They spent a few silent moments waiting and watching.

"So ... when will we practice?"

Willas grunted, readying his bow. "When we catch something."

Erik glanced around at the quiet, empty field. "But there's nothing here."

"Not if you keep yapping."

Jormund took his eyes off the watch to glance skeptically at Erik. "Have you ever hunted anything in your life before?"

"Well ..."

"And you call yourself a Nord, boy?"

"Don't call me boy," growled Erik, jabbing a finger at Willas. "You're not any older than me, you know!"

Groaning, Jormund knocked both of their heads with one swipe of his bow. "Quiet down, pups. We're losing darkness. Willas, keep watch on the west side. You can knock Erik around all you like later. For now—vigilance."

Erik let out an indignant mutter, which earned him another thwack. Willas grinned and did as he was told, crouching low on the grass, watching the western side of the field.

"Well, what does that leave me to do?" Erik asked, sitting against a boulder with his arms crossed.

"If you can manage to be quiet," Willas whispered, "that would be a welcome start. If by some miracle you manage that, then watch and learn."

Rolling his eyes, Erik grudgingly kept his silence. He'd gotten up before the crack of dawn for this? How dull. It wasn't his fault he couldn't shoot an arrow. He'd never even held a bow before, let alone killed a moving target with a clean strike. Swords were infinitely preferable in his opinion. He thought of the many failings of a bow compared to a sharp steel sword to amuse himself, watching Jormund and Willas as they calmly surveyed the sleeping world for prey. A bow was practically useless in combat—only a coward shot at his enemy from a distance. Erik was no coward. He would meet any foe blade for blade. Besides, how could one miss with a sword?

The creaking sound of taut string drew Erik from his thoughts.

He watched as Willas, arrow nocked, drew his arm back in a smooth motion, aiming at the distance. Erik looked ahead, confused when he saw nothing, then widened his eyes, bewildered when he spotted an antlered form bent over the grass. How could Willas have seen it? The sky was still dark and the stag was far away. The distance between them and the animal was easily longer than the wheat fields.

Erik caught Willas glancing at him from the side. His green eyes dared Erik to make a sound.

Quick as lightning, almost soundlessly, Willas let loose.

There was a faint whistle in the air, and before Erik could blink, the stag in the distance had slumped to the ground. Willas bolted, Jormund fast on his heels. Erik scrambled from his seat, racing after them as they ran towards their kill. When Erik reached them, they were standing a few feet away from the animal. It was on the ground, Willas's arrow buried deep in its heart. The stag was dying, eyes darting wildly, filled with fear.

Willas quickly stepped forward with his knife, kneeling beside the stag to slit its thick, long neck. He muttered hushed words that Erik couldn't hear as he drained the last of the animal's life. He wiped his bloody knife on the brown fur. Standing, he sheathed it in his boot again, turning to Erik with a grin. "That was damn quick."

Erik gaped. "That was amazing. How did you do that?"

Producing rope from his pack, Willas shrugged as he began tying the stag's legs together. "When a clean shot is the different between a month's worth of food or a month with an empty belly, your instincts gladly do the choosing for you. Always remember: aim for the heart."

Astonished, Erik was speechless as he watched Willas and Jormund truss up the dead stag by its limp ankles.

"Ah ... we need a long pole to carry it back to the village. Couldn't hoist this thing up on my shoulder if I wanted to," Jormund muttered as he straightened his back, wiping sweat from his brow.

"I can get that for you!" Erik sprinted off toward the village eagerly. He was panting when he arrived, his temples misted with cool salty moisture. Knowing where to find what he needed, he went to the chopping block and procured a long and sturdy piece of wood. He tried bending it this way and that to test its strength. Satisfied that it wouldn't give, Erik carefully hoisted it up on his shoulders and jogged back, retracing his steps.

He met Ennis down the road as the older man stepped out of his house to start another day of work. The Redguard farmer gave him a strange look.

"Might not be my business to ask," he said as Erik hurriedly passed, "but just what do you plan on doing with that pole?"

"Those hunters staying with us caught a deer!" Erik shouted without bothering to turn back.

Ennis simply shook his head in wordless reply, continuing on his way to the fields.

Erik lost no time at all in getting back to Willas and Jormund. Jormund look mildly impressed as Erik tossed the pole on the ground, huffing and panting. As Erik rested his hands on his knees, doubled over with the struggle to catch his breath, he saw Willas grumbling as he handed a very pleased looking Jormund a gold coin.

"What's that about?" Erik asked, wiping his sweaty brow with the back of his shirt sleeve.

Jormund grinned, tossing the coin up in the air, snatching it back to pocket it. "Young Willas here bet that you'd get lost on your way." Patting Erik on the back, Jormund picked up the pole from the ground. "I bet him that you'd make it back before sunrise."

"He barely did," Willas humphed, but nonetheless gave Erik a look of mild approval as the sky started to turn a hazy pink.

"Again, Erik—swing up and to the side when he comes down at you like that."

Erik panted, casting a baleful look at Jormund. The old hunter was sitting on the chopping block, munching on an apple, happy as a cat with cream. For the past three hours, he'd done nothing but sit there, yelling out useless bits of advice as Willas beat, disarmed, and cornered Erik in their mock duels by the cabbage field. They'd fashioned swords out of long pieces of wood and it made Erik feel foolish.

Erik lunged forward with a war cry, swiping at Willas angrily. The fair haired hunter back-stepped swiftly.

"I still can't believe you're only seven-and-ten!" Erik growled, driving Willas back with quick and savage strokes of his wooden sword. The discovery he'd made at breakfast was making his day of defeat more and more humiliating. He was of an age with Willas, but the disparity of skill between them was enough to shame him.

Smirking, Willas sidestepped deftly, causing Erik to trip and stagger forward. He lost his footing and fell face first into the dirt, his sword flying from his hand.

Jormund barked a loud laugh, spewing flecks of apple everywhere.

Willas stood over Erik, grinning down at him. "Had enough yet, Red? Or will you finally let up and let us all have some lunch?"

Grunting into the dirt, Erik dove for his weapon, lunging in an upper slice. Willas squawked, losing his sword to Erik's blow as he staggered back in surprise.

Jormund sounded like he was about to choke with laughter.

Erik stood straight, still panting, sword pointed at Willas. Willas stared with his mouth hanging open, his eyes narrowed in disbelief.

"That can't possibly count."

Erik raised a brow, withdrawing his sword. "What was it you said earlier? I think it was something like: 'All is fair in a real fight when your life is on the line. So we'll duel like it.'" Erik beamed proudly. "A win is a win."

"He's right," Jormund shouted from his seat. "That is precisely what you said earlier."

Willas rolled his eyes and picked up his wooden sword. "That's still only one to twenty. Now, come on, I've entertained you enough. I'm hungry." Without waiting for either Erik or Jormund, he strode up the hill toward the inn, muttering darkly underneath his breath.

Erik frowned down at his wooden sword, deflated. Willas was right. He hadn't done well at all, and if that taught him anything, it was that he hadn't been as strong and capable as he thought. What a joke. Lemkil might have been right about Erik not being so bright. But Erik always told himself that things of that nature wouldn't matter if he was a strong and fearsome warrior. He'd been so confident and sure—now he felt weak and stupid. His dreams of being a legendary mercenary felt like they'd been dashed upon rocks.

"Ah, cheer up, lad," Jormund said, putting an arm around Erik's shoulders, steering him up towards the inn. "To tell you the truth, Willas himself wasn't too skilled of a swordsman when I first started teaching him. You improved much faster in a day's time, I can tell you that."

Erik looked up at him with surprise. "But he moves so much faster than anyone I've ever seen before ..."

Jormund gave Erik a vaguely fond look. "T'be fair, I don't think you've seen a great deal of battles."

Erik scowled but Jormund waved off his petulant grunt and continued, "Don't take that the wrong way. I'm trying to make a point. Between you and Willas, he's had more close scrapes with death trying to survive out in the world than you have. You see, Erik, young Willas lost his parents in the Great War—back when he was much younger than I'm comfortable thinking about. He's had to steal, sneak, and sell his way into a decent living. A lot of orphaned boys unlucky enough have done the same. That was all before I came along and taught him the hunt. You know it took him more than three years to kill anything larger than a hare with a bow? Three years, lad! So don't be too hard on yourself. Skill like that doesn't sprout overnight like some magic bean."

Gaping, Erik murmured quietly, "Willas did all that? Well, that's ..."

"Thrice damned luck? I'll tell you," Jormund sighed, shaking his head. "But as you see, he's done better for himself. He's a good lad, that Willas. He might be sharp with you, but that's because he doesn't believe in mollycoddling. You might be surprised, Erik, but I think he's actually quite fond of you."

"Now why is that so hard to believe," Erik muttered as they approached the door to the inn.

Jormund laughed. "I never said he wasn't the prickly sort. Now mind you, you heard none of this from me."

Nodding with a conspiratorial grin, Erik pushed open the inn door and stepped inside, greeted by the warmth of a roaring fire.

"What took you two so long?" Willas called out from a table, peering at them suspiciously.

Shrugging, Jormund sat down with Erik, reaching for a mug of ale and a plate of cheese and bread. "Erik just needed to nurse his wounded pride, is all. Now I take it you paid for all this?"

Willas looked mildly offended. "Of course I did, you old coot."

"As long as it's not my money," Jormund laughed.

"How long are you two planning to stay in Rorikstead?"

Erik's voice carried through the quiet inn. He, Willas, and Jormund were gathered around the hearth, resting after their meal. After Erik asked his question, Willas and Jormund exchanged a look, then shrugged simultaneously.

"Who knows," said Willas, his voice airy with content as he leaned back in his seat.

Jormund caught the wistful look in Erik's blue eyes and took a moment longer to respond after some thought. "Hmm. With all sorts of unseemly things brewing all over Skyrim these days," he began, gazing intently at the roaring fire, "a life of hunting near the larger cities doesn't seem as peaceful as it used to."

Erik caught Willas frowning to himself, his thin brows furrowed.

Jormund continued with a heavy sigh. "Everywhere you turn these days, it's all talk of usurpers, rebellion, war, and Daedra-damned dragons. By the Nine, it would leave you with ulcers. What I would give for the regular old gossip—like who's husband bedded which wife and why he stole the other man's goat—that sort of merry thing. Has no one anything cheerful to gossip about anymore?"

"That's not true," Willas said incredulously. "There's talk of the Dragonborn."

Erik suddenly straightened in his chair. "You mean the legend?"

Willas nodded. "That's right. Some say that the fall of the empire and the beginning of the civil war—and now dragons—are all signs of an ancient prophecy. It foretells the coming of a powerful warrior that will save the world from destruction."

"The Dragonborn ..." Erik whispered, the syllables dancing slow reverence on the tip of his tongue. "Do you really think he's coming? Here, in Skyrim?" he asked Jormund and Willas, eyes bright with excitement.

"No one knows," Willas shrugged. "It sounds farfetched, if you ask me."

"So do dragons," Erik protested.

Nodding hesitantly, Willas muttered, "Aye. So do dragons ..."

All three of them let the silence settle for a moment, their spoken words hanging expectantly in the air. They exchanged looks with one another, waiting for someone to talk, to elaborate on the enigma.

"So ..." Erik began with a hesitant whisper. "What do you think he'd look like?"

"If he was as real as you and me?" Jormund asked. "I'd bet a hundred septims and a horse that he'd be a Nord."

Willas grinned. "And I'd bet another hundred that he'd be a veteran of the Great War."

"Why a veteran?" Erik asked.

"Well, he could be anybody—that's what I hear, at least. But don't you think it makes sense for a hero like that to have been in the Great War? The Dragonborn has probably seen the greatest battles of this age."

"So, if he could be anyone," Erik wondered aloud, "do you think I could be the Dragonborn?"

To his chagrin, Jormund let loose bellowing laughter that practically shook the rafters. Willas gave Erik a mildly pitying look as he said, "You have as much chance of being the Dragonborn as an Argonian bar maid."

Erik scowled at the two of them. "It's not that ridiculous! If anyone could be the Dragonborn, then I stand as much of a chance as anyone else."

"Well, lad," Jormund coughed after his bout of mirth. "I'll tell you what. Willas and I will each put down a hundred septims—"

"I don't consent."

"—if you do indeed turn out to be the Dragonborn."

Erik's eyes widened.

"Or ..." Jormund lowered his voice, his eyes twinkling with a hint of madness. "Or ... if you find the great hero yourself."

Two hundred septims.

Two hundred septims, Erik's mind whispered at him. His throat felt dry as he croaked, "You're not serious, are you?" He'd never seen anything close to a pile of two hundred gold coins in his life.

Jormund's grin was manic. "On my honour as a Nord, I swear, lad. We'll give you two hundred septims if you do this thing."

"If I do this ..." Erik stuttered.

Willas grunted, shooting a sideways glare at Jormund. "The odds are—how did that one drunk scholar say it? 'Astronomical.' You stand as much of a chance being the Dragonborn as you do finding him." Patting Erik on the back, he stood from his seat. "We don't even know if the bastard's real. Count me in."

Erik tossed and turned in his bed that night.

Two hundred septims.

Be the Dragonborn. Or find him.

Two hundred septims.

"What in the Nine would I do with two hundred septims?" Erik wondered aloud in disbelief. It was an absurd amount of coin. Could he even manage to spend it in one lifetime? And how could Jormund and Willas even think of betting that much money? It was madness to him.

"Well, they didn't sound confident in me ..." he whispered in dismay. "I mean, what better things could they do with two hundred septims? How many horses could that buy? What about food and fine clothing? I suppose Jouane or Rorik would know ... perhaps I could ask them."

Erik stared up at the beams of the inn ceiling, letting his mind race in the darkness.

"If I was the Dragonborn ..."

He entertained the thought. His father used to tell him all sorts of tales when he was a child, of great heroes and warriors of old. The legend of the Dragonborn had been his favourite. He remembered an old song that his father used to sing. Mralki didn't have much of a melodic voice, but the words were legendary to Erik nonetheless when his father sang it.

Humming the tune, Erik murmured quietly, "Our hero, our hero claims our warriors' hearts ..."

He ended with prolonged silence, listening for the winds out in the fields.

"What if I do meet him ..." The whispered words sent a chill down his spine. "He's practically a god... like Talos. What would he ever have to say to a boy as green as me?" Erik frowned at the thought. "I'm no boy ... I'm a man grown. I'll spar and hunt with Willas and Jormund for as long as they let me ... I'll be stronger. I'll find the Dragonborn." He recalled Willas's words with a scowl. "If the legends are true."

Erik hardly slept a wink, preoccupied as he was with a sudden fantasy of a tall warrior in dragon scale armour, riding in from the east on a stallion white as snow. He fell asleep dreaming of flight, soaring above the mountains, perched on opalescent scales as hard and cold as stone.

"If I can't leave Rorikstead," Erik grunted, pulling on the root of a ripe cabbage, "how am I supposed to find the Dragonborn?"

Willas and Jormund shrugged from where they were comfortably seated on a fence, watching him labour underneath the mid afternoon sun. After spending most of his time hunting and sparring with the two, Erik had been reprimanded thoroughly by his father. His regular tasks of tending the farm and cleaning the inn had been shamelessly neglected over the past two weeks and Mralki had finally lost patience. Erik was left with no choice but to do his father's bidding and finally attended to his duties.

"Are you two just going to stand there? I don't see why neither of you are helping," Erik called out to the hunters.

Jormund smiled, "We've already done our hunting for the day! Don't you think we've performed our village duties already?"

"Unlike some people," Willas muttered underneath his breath.

Erik scowled. "I heard that." Hoisting a basket of cabbages into his arms, he moved on to the next row.

"Ah, cheer up," Ennis spoke as he too pulled cabbages out of the soil. "We'll be done in no time and the harvest is already here. A few more days of this and our farming will be done until the spring. Truth be told, I'm glad for those hunters. Them staying here means that we'll have some coin flowing even in the winter."

"I'm surprised they stayed this long ..." Erik muttered, almost to himself. "I keep asking them if and when they'll head off, but it's always 'Perhaps tomorrow,' or 'We still have our bet to win!' and even, 'But you still have to beat me at the sword.' It's never a straight answer ..."

"You two hens gossiping about us over there?" Jormund shouted from the fence.

Ennis shouted back, "Erik here says you whupped his arse seven ways to Sundas!"

"He did not."

"No, but I did," Willas grinned.

Ennis joined Jormund and Willas in their laughter. Erik huffed, tempted to chuck a head of cabbage at each of them.

"Just you wait, Willas!" Erik turned his head up to the sky and hollered at the top of his lungs, "I WILL BE THE BEST WARRIOR THIS ERA HAS EVER SEEN AND I WILL BEAT WILLAS WITH HIS OWN WOODEN SWORD."

Jormund nearly toppled over the fence as his chest heaved with laughter and even Willas was smiling. "I should be honoured," the young hunter said. "I'm quite high on your list of priorities."

Erik's grin was bright. "A warrior is nothing without a worthy opponent."

"As amusing as you all are," Ennis said as he squatted down to the earth, "we still have to get this done before nightfall."

There was a loud clap of what sounded like thunder, rolling in from the east. Everyone except Jormund jumped in their skins, eyes darting wildly to the clear skies.

DOVAHKIIN.

The earth seemed to shake as the roar echoed from above. And as abruptly as it came, it dissolved into silence, giving way once more to the song of birds and the whisper of the breeze.

"What in Oblivion?" Willas hissed. He had his knife out, his knuckles white as he gripped the handle.

Erik's heart threatened to tear itself out of his chest with its frantic beating. He willed his blood to slow so that the ringing in his ears would cease. Glancing around, he saw the same panic-stricken look on Willas and Ennis. Jormund looked strangely calm and solemn, his eyes lingering on the sky.

Erik felt his voice crack. "Could it be ..."

"Gods, no." Ennis's broken whisper could have shaken the spirit of any man.

All of them watched the skies, terrified of what would come from beyond the eastern horizon. Erik felt naked—he had no sword, not even so much as an iron breastplate or a helmet. His heart felt like it might burst with fear. He felt like a coward, the way his courage seemed to melt like frost touched by flame. His ears listened for the sound of wings churning the winds into hot smoke.

The inn door burst open with an ear-splitting bang. All eyes turned to Mralki, who ran out into the road with his steel war hammer, his face drained of colour, eyes trained on the sky.

"Quickly everyone!" he barked. "Inside the inn. Hurry."

Without a second thought, everyone abandoned the field in a mad sprint. Erik could see his basket of cabbages tumbling over, green heads rolling in the dirt beneath his feet. The thundering of his blood didn't cease even as the the last of the villagers were crammed into the inn, the door barred with booming finality.

Everyone was deathly silent as they listened to the world beyond the walls. Erik felt like they waited for hours, hunched close to the burning fire, everyone too frightened to make a sound. For a long time, they heard nothing.

Jormund's voice was like a whip when he finally dared to speak.

"So it's true."

All of the villagers' heads snapped to look at him. Erik saw their eyes, how they were glazed with numbing fear. But Jormund's brown irises were hard as steel, unbending in the cloying silence.

"He really has come ..." Jormund glanced at all of them, his lips breaking out in the slowest of hopeful smiles. "Our saviour has come."

Erik swallowed past the lump in his throat. "You mean, the Dragonborn? How ... how do you know that, Jormund?"

The older man was silent as he looked at Erik, then faced east. His brown eyes were bright with recognition. "The roaring we heard—that was no dragon." Jormund smiled at Erik, at all the village people. "It was the call of the Greybeards atop High Hrothgar. They have summoned the Dragonborn at long last. Which means the legend is true. The prophecy is fulfilled."

Over the next few days, whenever he was outside either hunting or working the soil, Erik caught his gaze lingering towards the east. He greeted each sunshine with wide blue eyes, watching the world awaken with a renewed sense of hope.

The Dragonborn has come. He's in High Hrothgar, learning the way of the Voice.

Jormund told him that. The old hunter knew so much of the legend, but when Erik asked how he came by his knowledge, Jormund merely smiled and chuckled, "Every old Nord knows the tale, lad." Unsatisfied with his explanation, Erik relentlessly pestered Jormund for story after tale after legend about the mysterious hero. The old man was indulgent, sharing his knowledge with Erik, but was still stubbornly tight-lipped about why he himself knew so much. On one of their predawn hunts out in the eastern fields, Erik finally decided to ask Willas instead.

"Say, Willas ..." Erik whispered to his fair companion. "Has Jormund always been so mysterious? I mean, have you ever wondered why he has superior skill at the sword for a hunter? And just the other day I spied him by the latrines with a book. Who's ever heard of a literate hunter? And if you think about it, all his expertise on old legends and the like—that must mean he's well-read. It's strange, Willas, I'm telling you. Haven't you ever wondered?"

Willas raised his brows, momentarily abandoning his watch of the western side of the field to glance at Erik. Jormund was further east, hidden behind shrubbery a few yards away from them. Willas and Erik on the other hand were crouched down in the tall grass.

"I don't make it my business to pry into his past," Willas muttered.

"But you must be curious."

"Of course I am," Willas snapped. "But that doesn't mean I'll be poking my nose where it doesn't belong. All I know is that he's mentored me, and for the past half decade we've stood as equals. That's all the explanation I need."

Erik felt an argument rising in his throat but the sudden tension in Willas's shoulders silenced him. Eyes swivelling to the distance, he could see the grass quivering in the darkness. Then he heard the growls.

Quick as lightning, Willas let loose an arrow. Erik heard it burying deep into flesh as he pulled out a borrowed knife.

The wolves leaped at them, their snarling maws frothing with spittle.

Willas lost no time sinking more arrows into the dark beasts.

Erik lunged forward, his mind a blank, colliding with a tangle of strong limbs. He grabbed onto the wolf's thick neck. Thrusting his knife into fur, he felt warm wetness pouring onto his palms. He stabbed at the wolf again, aiming for its throat. The animal slumped to the ground with a whine.

More were jumping out from from the tall grass.

Erik could hear Willas and Jormund letting their arrows fly. Wolves began dropping left and right.

The wind was knocked out of him as large paws hit his chest. His back hit the ground. Gasping for air Erik scrambled to stab upward with his knife. He could feel the hot, moist breathe in front of his face, the bared fangs, the vile slaver dripping on his cheeks.

Everything seemed to slow as the world became muted. Erik gazed up at the gold eyes boring into him. He felt the wolf lunge.

There was a sharp whistle.

Erik's eyes widened as hot blood sprayed across his face. He barely caught sight of the shaft lodged through the back of the wolf's skull, a dark arrowhead jutting out of where its right eye had been. It fell motionlessly on top of him.

Scrambling out from underneath it, Erik felt his body shaking. Rough hands hoisted him up to stand on his ungainly legs. He stared down at the dead wolf. The arrow that killed it had fletchings black as raven wings. Willas and Jormund's arrows were fletched with brown hawk feathers.

He felt the thundering of hooves. Erik looked up as Willas's hands tightened around his arms.

A rider was approaching fast from the east atop a black destrier. A thick cloak of pale wolf fur hung down from the rider's shoulder, draped over the muscled rump of the horse. Gloved hands grasped the leather reigns of the giant steed, in the other a great bow of ebony.

Erik stared transfixed as the large horse drew up to a steady halt in front of them.

A hooded face cast a sweeping glance at him and his company. The rider fixed the ebony bow to a strap, bringing up long fingers to pull down the fur hood.

Erik once again met a pair of golden amber eyes.

The young woman had a face framed by long braided hair, black as the darkest night. Her smooth pale gold skin, high cheekbones, and pointed nose told Erik she was a Nord. Her pressing stare felt as unwavering as mountaintops.

"Are you hurt?"

Her voice was deep. Erik thought she sounded worried.

Willas and Jormund were eerily silent behind him. Erik tried to muster up the will to speak. But before he could stutter out a word, the thundering of hooves sounded in the distance.

A column of riders emerged from beyond the eastern hill, following the young woman's path before them. At the head of the formation was a female Nord warrior with short brown hair, dressed in steel plate armour. Behind her were two soldiers holding tall poles with bolts of silvery white cloth bearing the symbol of a golden stallion—the banners of Whiterun.

Erik stood breathless, watching as the Nord warrior called the formation to a halt before them. She rode up next to the young woman in the fur coat, dipping her chin in a low nod.

"With all due respect, my lady, it isn't wise to race ahead of the scouts." Her tone was chiding and stern.

There was a flicker of shame in those amber eyes. "My apologies, Lydia. I heard a commotion and rushed off. These men were attacked by a pack of wolves—it looks like they finished off the beasts before we rode into the field. We've been blessed by a stroke of luck today."

The warrior named Lydia looked over at Erik and the hunters. "You have the thanks of her ladyship, Lanre Solveig, Thane of Whiterun."

Erik gazed up at the one called Lanre Solveig. She was the thane? Should he bow? Willas and Jormund had yet to speak or move. It made Erik more nervous. He settled for a stiff nod.

The Thane of Whiterun addressed them with a warm smile. "You spared us an awful surprise. For that, truly, you have my sincerest gratitude. If there is anything within my power to grant you, I would be happy to oblige."

"My lady, we should continue onward to Rorikstead."

Lanre Solveig nodded, pulling on the reins of her destrier. With a bow to Erik and his company, she rode off, heading west. Lydia followed swiftly, the column of soldiers—Erik counted twenty—leaving a trail of dust behind them.

Erik watched as the procession grew smaller in the distance. When the banners were out of sight, he felt his foot step forward. Feeling breathless, he took another step. Before he knew it, he was sprinting west towards home, running from the sunrise, leaving Willas and Jormund surrounded by wolf carcasses.

Writer's Note: I absolutely love Erik. He pretty much writes himself :) I hope the story is finally picking up.

If you're still reading up until this point, thank you very much! Until next time.