It had been two days since I'd escaped from Cidhna Mine. The last Forsworn had been driven out of Markarth's gates after the first four or five hours and now littered the hills that surrounded the city of stone. I kept my distance after learning the hard way that, while Madanach may have considered me as something akin to an ally, the rest had no idea who I was. They had the scent of blood in their noses and were truly hostile.

I had wanted to leave as soon as possible, but I quickly found that there were no available carriages, and I wouldn't get far without food. So I stuck around the outskirts of the town while the commotion died down, stealing what I needed in the meantime. I even risked hypothermia by taking a dive into the nearby river to scrub the weeks of accumulated dirt out of my skin and hair, and tried to clean the blood stains off my armour.

When I emerged, I still felt dirty, and the stains, while no longer looking as suspicious, were still there. At least I was fed, and, my wounds, with the help of some extra viable potions, had healed almost completely. I removed my bandages with the exception of the one on my burned arm, which I kept as a little protection against the dropping temperatures where the hole in the sleeve wouldn't offer it.

Currently, I was perched on a rock just off the side of the road, munching on an apple.

Falkreath? No… Morthal? No, neither of those. It was a small town. …Helgen? No, that's not it either. It was somewhere closer, and I'm pretty sure it had an R in it.

I tossed the apple core over my shoulder and sighed in frustration.

It's on the tip of my tongue. Uuughh. Why can't I remember?

I pulled my knees up to my chest and pounded my forehead into them.

Think. That priestess – man, I couldn't even remember her name – what did she say the town was called?

Oh.

Oh!

Rorikstead! It was Rorikstead!

…I think?

I groaned, my elation at my would-be revelation cut short by the ensuing doubt. Maybe I should just head back to Riften and just forget about Sam and his drinks and his magical staff.

I shook my head. No. After all the crap I went through, the least I could do was get what was promised to me. And if I didn't, the least I could do was strangle Sam's ornery little neck until he turned a very dark shade of purple. The image was disturbingly satisfying.

And besides. Rorikstead was on the way back to Riften anyways, so I might as well take a stop there. Right?

The pit of anxiety that had been growing in my stomach these past two days made the apple I had just eaten feel rotten. Clear as day, I remembered that dream I'd had before waking in the prison, the feeling of blindness, of slowly bleeding out of my side, of being stuck, and helpless. The feeling of the ground shattering like glass around me and then falling, falling into blackness.

And I remembered that ghostly voice that whispered and laughed in my ear on the howling wind.

I planted my forehead on my knees and took a couple deep breaths, willing the anxiety to fade.

I don't know how long I stayed like that, but I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew, I was waking to the sound of gravel crunching under metal horseshoes and turning wagon wheels.

Immediately alert, I jumped off the rock like a startled rabbit, cursing my inattentiveness and checking to make sure I still had my all my items. Slinging my quiver and bow over my shoulder once more, I fell into step beside the carriage as it trotted past, carrying one other passenger.

"Ho, traveler," the driver said with a smile, maintaining his horse's pace so that I had to walk fairly quickly to keep up. "Can I help you?"

"Where you headed?"

"Whiterun."

I considered that for a moment. "Any chance you'll be passing through Rorikstead?"

"Not my usual route, but I can make a little detour if he doesn't mind." He glanced back at his passenger, an older looking man with clothes that looked like they might have been nice at one point, but had seen too much to remain so. He shook his head. No, he wouldn't mind. "Alright, then. It'll still cost you normal price to Whiterun though."

"That's fine." I tossed him the amount, pushing down the bile that always rose in my throat when I spent money instead of getting it.

"Okay, hop in the back then. Need me to slow dow—?" I had already thrown my sack into the wagon and hopped in. "No? Alright, then. Let's keep on going."

The ride was made shorter by the driver's – whose name was Bjorlam – constant chatter. He talked about anything and everything, but didn't ask any questions, which I suppose came with the job. He must get some sketchy customers every now and then, and it was in his own self-interest to keep questions limited to, "Where are you headed?"

The older man chatted back occasionally, but for the most part, the two of us just let Bjorlam do the prattling. Despite the old man's constant gaze, I felt oddly at peace in their company, and the bubbling tar pit of anxiety in my stomach had since settled now that I was doing instead of thinking once again.

Before midday, Rorikstead was in view. It was much closer than I'd expected, having never been here myself (at least that I remembered), and also a lot smaller. The settlement consisted of an inn, a manor, a couple cottages, and a small farm, but that was about it.

I bid farewell to my travel companions and wandered along the empty street, sighing deeply.

Maybe I should have asked Bjorlam to wait in case this isn't the right place, I thought, but it was too late now.

Absently, I made my way to the inn. The Frostfruit Inn. Quaint. No one was inside as I glided past tables and barrels. Instinctively I looked for something to swipe, but there wasn't anything that caught my eye.

"Hello?" I called out.

I was immediately rewarded with a loud bang and a string of curses. "Just a moment," a gruff voice called out from one of the rooms. After a couple seconds more of shuffling, a lanky, red-headed Nord walked out of the room, grimacing and rubbing the back of his head. "Sorry, I didn't hear you come i—" he caught a glimpse of my face and broke out into a grin. "Kasha!"

"Uh, hi," I said, caught off guard.

"Dang, you look rough."

"Yeah, um. A lot's happened these past few weeks?"

"Sounds like an adventure."

"I guess you could call it that."

"Speaking of which, I just wanted to thank you and Sam again for convincing my father for letting me leave the village. I can't wait to start my new life as an adventurer." He paused. "Where is Sam, anyways? You two were stuck together like glue when you swept through our tiny settlement. A mini tornado the two of you were."

"That's actually kind of what I'm here about," I said, grateful for the segue. I felt bad, but I honestly couldn't care less about this boy and his obvious daddy issues. "I'm actually looking for him. We got separated."

The redhead frowned. He didn't seem to notice that I didn't remember who he was, and I wasn't going to tell him. That line of conversation would just take us somewhere I was sure I didn't want to go.

"Well, I haven't seen Sam around, but if there's anyone who's been keeping his eyes peeled for the two of you, it's Ennis. He's got a bone to pick. Something about a goat."

Now that he mentioned it, I could vaguely recall the priestess of Dibella mentioning a goat too.

"Oh," was all I said.

The door to the inn opened, and we both turned to see a Redguard farmer step inside.

"Speaking of…" Erik whispered.

"Hey, Erik, if you've got a minute can you help me with—" the Redguard stopped mid-sentence when his eyes landed on me. They went comically wide before narrowing venomously. "You!" he snarled. "You've got a lot of nerve showing yourself in this town again. What do you have to say for yourself?"

I blinked.

"I'm… sorry?" I said, more confused than apologetic.

"Sorry's not good enough," he said, storming up to me so that he was right in my face. He was a small man, around my height, but with strong arms from tending fields for days on end. "My Gleda is still out there, alone and afraid. You kidnapped her and sold her to that giant!

"I did what?" I couldn't help blurting out. Even inebriated I couldn't picture myself doing something like that. I rounded on Erik. "I thought you said something about a goat!"

"Gleda is my goat!" the Redguard all but screamed. "And she's the most perfect specimen you'll ever see. I'll never breed another prize-winning goat like her."

"…Oh." That made more sense. I could see drunk me playing a prank like that. Especially if I was egged on by onlookers. I was nothing if not a crowd pleaser.

I shared a look with Erik.

"Listen, this is probably a bad time, but can you tell me—"

"No, I have nothing to say to you until you bring me back my Gleda."

"If you would just—"

"No."

"I'll get her after—"

"No!"

I bit my tongue before my irritation would make me say something I'd regret.

Okay, Kashyra. You're a good actress. Turn on the charm…

Forty-five frustrating minutes later found me sneaking around a large boulder in the middle of a field, trying to lure Gleda the Goat with a handful of grass. After a riveting (read: incredibly unriveting) argument, Ennis was still firmly entrenched on his side of the line. He would give me no answers if I gave him no goat.

So here I was. Using my unparalleled thieving and tracking skills to find a goat. And avoid the attention of giant.

I hate goats.

I never had a problem with them before. It had always been a one sided kind of hatred on the goat's part, but now I was seething. After chasing the damn thing around for a solid twenty minutes, the feeling was most definitely mutual now.

"Gleeeda… Gleda, no. Gleda, come here. Gleda… Gleda. Gleda, get your furry little haunches over here or so help me, I'm going to bring you back to Ennis skewered with arrows."

As expected, the goat just ran farther away. I screamed mentally.

I hate goats. I hate them, I hate them, I hate them.

I only took a step when a shadow fell over me, and I slowly turned, still crouching. A giant, one of his arms easily longer than I was, leered down angrily at me, club in hand. I tried to back away, only to remember that my back was already to the nearby boulder, dwarfed by the giant's proximity.

"Oh," I said, trying to crack a smile. "Uh, you must be the giant."

The giant said nothing as giants were wont to do. I heard a loud baa from Gleda somewhere.

This is all your fault you beady-eyed beast, I thought, licking my lips nervously. And by extension this is somehow Sam's fault. May you be cursed by all the daedra in the furthest depths of Oblivion, Sam.

The giant readjusted his grip on his club and I tensed, ready to roll away, but before either of us could make a move, a deafening roar boomed across the field. It was thunder rumbling across an expanse of murderous grey clouds, and the shriek of a blade on a grindstone. It was an avalanche tearing down trees as it raced to the bottom of the mountain and the explosion of flame atronach. It was a thousand bears charging at once, and I felt just as terrified by the sound of it. I quaked in my boots, and if the giant had any, he would be shaking in them too.

The shadow of two leathery wings, each the size of a small mammoth, enveloped us, casting us into a darkness I had never experienced in the middle of the day. I froze like a tongue to cold metal.

My hair whipped around my face and dust flew into my open mouth as the wings flapped once, stirring the air around us in wild circles. My heart pounded in my ears, and my lungs emptied in a gasp that the swirling air quickly swept away.

Gleda baaed.

The dragon descended.

I screamed.