In the next day, the snow had started to disappear from the land, and instead was replaced by patches of dirt and grass. Snow still remained, but it was less intense than further north. The winds had completely gone now, and the weather had started to improve. Instead of the cold, harsh winds and freezing temperate, there was a pleasant and refreshing breeze, and the sun felt good on Ezekiel's back as he walked. It was midday when he got to the top of the ridge and saw the mill down the road.

There was three wooden buildings; the mill, which sat next to a river and a small waterfall, and two houses, one a bit larger than the other, but both single-story. Two men looked at be at work, one chopping wood and the other carrying the wood. They were unarmed, and looked like honest workers, so Ezekiel set off down the road towards the mill.

Ezekiel heard the crashing of the water from the small waterfall to the right of the mill into the river. Birds chirped and flew between trees, and the chopping thud of the axe splitting the wood all gave off a natural and serene atmosphere. A quiet life, here, but a peaceful one. I suppose there are those that like that. Me, I prefer a sword in my hand and the life of fighting.

As Ezekiel descended the ridge and walked along the dirt road to the mill, both men stopped their work and turned to look at him approaching. The one carrying wood logs was pale with long black hair, and the one chopping the wood was gaunt with messy blonde hair. They looked around the same age, and both were nords.

"State your name and business, traveller," shouted the blond one, descending the wooden steps of the mill and standing square in front of Ezekiel a dozen feet away.

"I am Ezekiel, and I'm merely passing through. What is this place?"

"Anga's Mill, next to the Yorgrim river."

"Is this your own mill?"

"No, this place belongs to Aeri."

"And where is she?"

"Inside her house, not that it's any concern of yours."

Ezekiel couldn't help but notice he still held his wood-chopping axe firmly in one hand at his side.

"So be on your way, then, traveller," he said gruffly.

"I was wondering if I could trouble you for a map. I'm travelling someplace, you see, and I know it's south of here, but not the precise location."

"And where would that be?"

"Long Knife Hideout."

Suspicion was cast on the axeman's face, and he narrows his eyes. "And what business do you have there?"

"Work."

"Work? And what this work happen to be of the legal, law-abiding sort?"

"Of course. Why do you ask?"

"It's well-known Long Knife has been the residence of an outlaw gang for quite some time now. None that enter that isn't one of them ever leaves."

"Aye," Ezekiel said, patting the pommel of his longsword, "and I'm going to change that."

"You were sent by the jarl?"

"No, but I mean to clear the cave out of all bandits all the same."

"And you're simply doing this out of good-will?"

Gold, more like, but I'm not sure how he would react to that.

"They're a blight upon our land, and I mean to fix that," he said as convincingly as possible.

He seemed to weigh this up for a moment before sighing. "It was a map you wanted?"

"It was."

He nodded and turned to the other man, "go and fetch the map in the Common House, we have no need of it."

The black-haired pale nord went to the larger house and went inside. He came back out a few moments later holding a crinkled and folded map in his hand. He approached Ezekiel and handed it to him. Ezekiel nodded in thanks to them. "I appreciate it, my good men."

"Just see that you kill all them bastards holed up in there. They've caused much harm over the past few months, to good, decent people."

Spare me your stories, I don't care about the people, it's the gold I want.

"I will."

"Long Knife's another twenty miles that way," he said, turning and pointing behind him. "Be careful, the roads are more dangerous than they used to be, what with the war and such."

"I understand."

At that, Ezekiel slid the map into his pocket and walked past then two men and left the mill behind. He felt their stares on his back as he walked away.

He heard the horses before he saw them.

They came up the small hill on the road, trotting as a leisurely pace, two of them following another. Ezekiel instinctively put his hand to his sword hilt.

The dark blue robes flapped in the breeze behind them. Underneath this they wore padded brown tunics, and chainmail under this. All three of them wore open-faced iron helms. Ezekiel saw one of them was a woman. Swords were at their hips, and the woman riding at the back had a bow slung over her back. They slowed their horses to a stop when they saw Ezekiel.

"Who are you?" the lead horseman said.

Ezekiel eyed him suspiciously. "Tell me who you are and I'll tell you who I am."

The horseman's eyes narrowed at Ezekiel, and he clearly didn't look pleased at being talked to this way, be he answered nonetheless. "We are soldiers serving Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak."

Ezekiel had heard of this Ulfric Stormcloak on his travels. Apparently he was the jarl of Windhelm and the leader of some kind of rebellion against the Imperial Legion. "I see."

"I told you who we are, now you tell us who you are."

"I am Ezekiel."

"And your allegiance, Ezekiel?"

He wants to know if I'm with them or against them. Does he honestly think I'd tell him I supported the Imperials even if I actually did?

"I support Jarl Ulfric, as all honest men do."

The lead Stormcloak mulled on this before finally nodding, "very well. Be on your way, Ezekiel, and by wary. The roads are not very safe anymore, thanks to Tullius and his lapdogs."

So everyone's telling me.

"I will be, thank you."

The leader of the small band gave a gesture to the other two riders, and they set off again on a trot past Ezekiel and down the road. Ezekiel turned and watched them go. When they were beyond his sight he faced south and continued along the road.

When the light of dusk began to fade, Ezekiel decided to make an end of the day. He went off the road and climbed a small hill next to it. He found a large oak tree and unhooked his scabbard before slumping against the trunk, placing his sword next to him, should he have need of it. He took out his newly acquired map and unfolded it. The dark pink glow of dusk gave him sufficient light to read it.

It was a fairly detailed map, showing the main cities, towns and villages of Skyrim, as well as the borders of the lands. It also showed the various bridges, rivers, towers, caves and mines, and a small scale was scrawled at the bottom right of the map. Every inch on the map covered ten miles. Ezekiel saw that he was fairly close to Windhelm, seat of Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak. If he guessed right, he was about ten miles west of the city. The Yorgrim river, which Ezekiel could faintly hear, ran all the way from the mountains south-west of Winterhold to the eastern sea. The only bridge across the river was five miles from Windhelm. That's where I must cross. Once he had crossed, it was another thirty miles south to the next bridge, and another ten miles south of that was where Lost Knife lay. Forty-five miles. Quite a journey. I won't be able to make it on foot, I'll need a horse.

By the time Ezekiel had finished studying the map, the sun had completely set, and darkness washed over the land. He folded the map back up, put it in his pocket and shifted around until he found a relatively comfortable spot, and soon fell asleep.

It was late morning when he reached the bridge.

It wasn't a very large bridge. It was stone, and looked to have been quite old, judging by the loose stones and deep cracks. It stretched over a river, which while small wasn't small enough to wade through. The water looked clean and fresh. The bridge was wide enough to have five men walking abreast on it, and stretched on for fifty feet over the river. It had begun to snow again, so the stones were covered in white, which would make the going tough on a horse.

As Ezekiel followed the road and descended the hill down towards the bridge, he could vaguely see the stone towers of Windhelm rising up in the east, over frozen rivers and snow-capped mountains.

Ezekiel wrapped his cloak tighter around him for warmth as he began walking across the bridge. His boots crunched on the snow as he walked. Soon he could hear what sounded like hoof beats on stone. A horse. This is my chance.

Ezekiel dropped down and slumped against the raised stone of the edge of the bridge. He rested his head against it and started groaning in pain. In a few seconds he saw the horse with its rider come into view. He looked to be only wearing leather and furs, and didn't bear a sword at his hip but only a small dagger. He looked to be well past forty.

When the man saw Ezekiel slumped against the wall of the bridge in pain he brought his horse to a stop.

"Are you alright my good man?" he called out from ten feet away.

Ezekiel groaned, "I...I was robbed. They... they stabbed me in the side."

The man immediately got down from his horse and approached Ezekiel. "Let me take a look at that-"

Before he could finish his sentence Ezekiel quickly drew his longsword and shoved it into the man's stomach. He let out a pained gasp as Ezekiel pushed the blade in further. He had a look of confusion.

"But... but..."

"Sorry old man," Ezekiel said mildly as he stood up, the blade still in the man. He pulled the man around and ripped the sword out of him. The old man desperately tried to cover his wound, the blood now seeping out, but it was to no avail. He stumbled backwards, and with a helping kick from Ezekiel, he fell backwards over the stone and splashed down into the freezing water of the river below.

Casting a glance over the edge to see the corpse of the man float away, Ezekiel cleaned the blood off his sword with some snow and sheathed it once again. He turned to the horse and studied it. It looked like a hardy and good beast. It'll do just fine.

Ezekiel approached the horse, and, when it didn't do anything to stop him, he grabbed a hold of the saddle and swung himself onto it. He turned it around back to the direction it had just come from and gave it a spur. He set off across the bridge towards the other side of the river, and one step closer to his task.