Martin was so quiet during the first leg of their trip that Carolara kept looking over her shoulder to make sure he was still there. His demeanor was still downcast and she wanted to cheer him up but knew better than to irritate him by trying right now; after an incident like Kvatch, he was going to need a little time first.

When the sun began to rise it became apparent what shoddy states they were both in, so at the first pond Carolara sighted she led them off the road and they took turns keeping a look out while the other washed up. The Breton wasn't able to get as clean as she wished, but her mind very much disliked the prospect of leaving the heir alone for any amount of time, no matter how alone they appeared to be out there. As soon as the state of 'good enough' was reached she was putting her leathers back on in a hurry.

Getting it all back on, however, showed her that it wasn't just her cleanliness that was a problem. The plain brown leathers were practically shredded in places. On top of that, she took inventory of her ammunition and counted only a dozen or so arrows remaining. Taking Martin to a city was an idea she didn't like much, but she couldn't do her duty to protect him very efficiently like this. Just to the East was Skingrad; they could make a supply stop there. That is, if they had any coin between them. Carolara's purse was empty.

It seemed Martin needed the stop too; she came out of the bushes where she had dressed to find him sitting on a rock, inspecting a burn-hole in his shoe. The Breton suggested they go to Skingrad but admitted to being broke and in response he produced a small sack of coins, handing it to her. "It's not much, but it should be enough to get what we need."

"Are you sure?" Carolara was wide-eyed, taking the purse humbly and looking within. "I swear I'll pay it all back to you as soon as I can."

A dismissive gesture, the Imperial putting his shoe back on and getting to a stand. "Don't be absurd, my friend. You saved the survivors of Kvatch and you're defending me with your own life. It's the least I can do." For the first time that day, Martin managed a brief smile.

She counted out the coin silently; as he had said, it wasn't very much, only about twenty septims, but it would probably be good enough to cover repairs to her leathers, replace his shoes, and buy a fistful of arrows. If there was any left over it would be used to get them some nicer food, Carolara resolved mentally, not too concerned with their meal situation as the forest was abundant with edible things. She even still had most of the mushroom left. So they set out eastward on the road, and now they walked side by side, making it easier for her to keep an eye on him. They proceeded in silence, Carolara appreciating the green landscape and avoiding dwelling in her thoughts as Martin was.

They could tell they were approaching Skingrad by the sweet tinge to the air. The city was known for its rolling vineyards, and it produced almost all of Cyrodiil's wines. Soon they were passing field after field of grapevines, and it served to remind them that neither of them had eaten for several long hours, but they agreed to wait until they had run their errands. Neither were very keen to linger in the city.

Skingrad was abuzz with talk of what had just happened to Kvatch, much to Carolara's dismay. It did neither of their spirits good to keep being reminded of what they'd just been lucky enough to live through, particularly when most of the city hadn't been quite so fortunate. They picked up the pace, heading to the trader's shop first and dropping five of their coins on a plain pair of shoes for the priest and a blue and green linen dress for the Breton to don so her armor could be handed over for repairs. The local tanner claimed ten more of the coins, eight for the repair work and two for some crude iron arrows, leaving them with just enough to get something to eat while they waited for the leathers to be fixed up.

Carolara had just settled into a chair around one of the inn's few empty tables; it was lunchtime and the place was bustling with people. Martin stood some yards away, having intercepted the cook for a moment to inquire after soup, the agreed-upon dish, when the Breton noticed she wasn't the only person watching him. Across the room, a raven-haired Nord woman with a positively sour expression leaned on the wall, arms crossed, not taking her eyes off the Imperial. The longer she stared, the more uncomfortable Carolara became, and she took her bow from its place leaning against the table, laying it on her lap and nocking an arrow out of sight. If nothing else, the very motions made her feel better.

After several very tense minutes, the Nord woman looked this way and that, not spotting the Breton, and began to approach Martin from behind. Carolara's heart pounded and her hands tensed on her bow; she feared the worst, but dared not act without proof she was up to no good. The Nord reached out and took something from a table she passed, whose diners had just left minutes before. It was hard to tell what it was at first, but it glinted in the lamp-light, and when she was within arm's length of the Septim heir she brought her hand up high, revealing a meat-cutting knife.

She would never bring the knife down; an arrow zipping through the crowded tavern with expert aim and piercing right through her neck, dead before she hit the ground from the force. The cook dropped the tray of food she had been carrying and Martin spun around, looking at the body in shock. The room went silent. Carolara lowered her bow, shaking slightly. She had almost seen two Septims stabbed in the back, and now she was facing the stunned stares of the entire tavern. She slumped back into her chair in combined embarrassment and relief.

Most of the diners seemed to lose their appetites, leaving in a hurry and abandoning their meals, a couple calling for the guards. The cook fled back into the kitchen. A couple of more world-wary patrons and the innkeeper herself stayed, claiming they had seen the entire thing and it had been an act of defense. As they talked, Carolara learned the woman's name had been Else, and she was altogether unpleasant to everyone, but this still came as quite a surprise. Though dislikable, she had never been violent.

The guards came around and Carolara worried they wouldn't believe her, and she might have been right. Fortunately for her, they believed a priest of Akatosh, as well as the locals that backed up their story. Yet, it was hard to be comforted... by all appearances, the cultists not only had agents all over the place, living as civilians, but they now knew Martin's face. She refused to believe coincidence was involved.

The minute everything was cleared up, they were back out of the city. No more roads or cities, they agreed. It was far too dangerous. The tavern in Skingrad was far too close of a call for comfort so into the wilderness they went. Luckily, as expected, food was plenty. Barely an hour in the Breton found not only a large blackberry bush but a whole mess of strawberries just beside it and they ate until their fingers were stained, leading to the first genuine laugh of the day.

It might not have lasted long, but in the middle of all this gloom and death, Carolara needed moments like this to keep her sane.