Pyrophobia

When I woke up next, I was in a stone tunnel, the faint sounds of the dragon attack trembling the ground but doing no further damage. Who had brought me here? Why had they taken an injured half-breed that couldn't even stand on his own two feet?

"You awake, Half-breed?"

I opened my right eye and looked up. Ralof stood over me, leaning to inspect my face. He grinned when he saw me looking at him, but I found that I couldn't return the gesture without extreme pain.

"Your burns look…Better," Ralof said, scratching the back of his neck.

"Liar," I replied. Ralof just smiled again and offered a hand to help me up. I accepted it, standing shakily and leaning against his shoulder when I found I couldn't quite stand on my own.

"Do you have a name, Half-breed?" Ralof asked, steadying me and holding out his hands as if I might fall at any moment.

"No," I said sarcastically. "Where I come from we don't have names. We just growl at each other and hope it's the right person."

"Funny," Ralof said. "What growl would you be called by?"

I rolled my good eye, but smiled on the inside, "Godrael."

Ralof raised an eyebrow, looking slightly amused, "That's a Nord name."

"My mother was a Nord. My father was a Khajiit."

Ralof nodded, leading me deeper into the tunnel and asking me about my life.

"Where are your parents now?" He asked, stopping near an oil lamp and handing me a Stormcloak uniform with a heavy blood stain over the heart.

"My father was taken away by Imperial soldiers," I said solemnly, undressing from the rags I'd been wearing and putting on the armor. It didn't fit perfectly—I had a Khajiit build, and Nords were much thicker—but it wasn't falling off at the moment. "And my mother died from starvation when we escaped Skyrim and crossed the border into Cryodiil. There was a village there of refugees and they took me in just before my mother died. I became a hunter to try and support the village. Mostly just my neighbor, Jasha."

"Why did the Imperials take your father?" Ralof asked, turned away from me so as to give me privacy (though, I'd grown up either on the run or in a village where someone had the right to walk into your home without permission and stay as long as they wished, so privacy wasn't something I needed), but moving his head as if to peer over his shoulder.

"Because he was a Khajiit, and he was apparently trespassing in Skyrim by being there. They almost killed me until my father claimed that his wife had been unfaithful and that I was full Nord. It's better to be labeled as a bastard then be dead—at least to my father."

"I'm…Sorry."

I looked up, "Aren't you fighting for the same thing? The racial purity of Skyrim?"

Ralof looked down, "I just want to be able to worship who I want to worship. It's mainly Mers that we have a problem with. I have nothing against the Khajiit, myself. And your father was married to a Nord woman, anyway. He had a right to stay in Skyrim with his wife and child."

I looked away, pretending to mess with the armor, "Thank you."

"We should get moving if we want to get out of this tunnel before it collapses."

I followed Ralof through the tunnel and then through a large cave. I shot a bear and killed a few Frostbite Spiders, which was nothing to years of taking down Sabre Cats and the rare Mammoth (which came with the dangers of Giants, which I killed with the help of another hunter). It was all numbed by the impending threat of a dragon that stuck to my burned body and reminded me why we were in the cave. Finally, the exit was in sight.

"You know," Ralof said as we emerged, stopping and looking up as the dragon disappeared into the distant mountains. "I have a sister in Riverwood. I don't think she'd mind if we stayed with her until we knew what to do. That is, if you want to take me up on that offer."

I shrugged, "Since I have no other option, it isn't as if I could refuse. If I tried to go back to the refugee village, I would be killed."

"Can I take that as a yes?"

Ralof's smile was infectious. I grinned back to my best ability, even though it was incredibly painful. Ralof patted me on the back, careful of the burned flesh, and started walking down the path that would lead to his childhood home.

And mine.