Sorry for not updating for a while. I got a new computer and it was awhile before I got an actual writing program that worked. Sorry this is kinda short.

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Kharjo ripped a massive bite out of the raw piece of mutton he was eating as casually as if it were an apple. He moved with a grace that only Khajiit can truly master and that all other races must be envious of. His dark orange fur and jet black spots showed he was healthy and strong. His gleaming elven cuirass was freshly polished and the glass claymore strapped to his back reflected the light in arching blazes of sparkling light.

Kharjo was moving down the paved stones of the Yellow Road as he headed toward his bridge. It was called "his" bridge because he was a high-way man and like all high-way men he had staked his claim and took great pride in sitting in the hot sun, sweating as he waited for a rich merchant to pass by. Sure the money was good on good days but on bad days it rained and stormed while no one ever came.

Yesterday had been a good day though. He had headed home before the worst of sun high with a small fortune in his money pouch. Unfortunately he had spent it all the night before on rounds for the gentlemen at the bar. He himself, who normally had a high tolerance for alcohol, had a splitting headache and the space behind his eyes burned. But he was determined to make back all the money he had lost the night before. Such was the curse of the highwayman.

When he rounded the curve of a hill, his bridge came into view. A tall willow tree temporarily shaded it from the morning sun. Dew was sparkling on the grass around the edge of the pool as the sun rose over the crest of the mountains.

But the first thing he noticed was the sand on the opposite bank. It was tossed and had lots of footprints all over it. Kharjo felt the fur on his back standing up in hostility at the thought of someone trespassing on his turf when he had his back turned. He stormed over the bridge and slid down through the sand to the water's edge. He followed the tracks with his eyes until he spotted what he was looking for.

A foot was sticking out from under the bridge. Kharjo snarled angrily and grabbed the ankle and pulled the person out from under the bridge.

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Silver, who had heard the footsteps on the bridge above her had tried to get under the bridge completely but had been unsuccessful.

As the rough hand grabbed her foot, she snatched her little dagger and waited.

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Kharjo pulled her out with one hand and reached for his claymore with the other. He had just drawn his sword when his victim rolled. A dagger flashed through the air as Silver stabbed him in the leg. Kharjo roared and let go of her leg to grip his sword with both hands.

Silver rolled out of the way as his claymore came crashing down onto the sand, sending the grains flying and sparkling in the sunlight. Silver drew her short sword and reeled to face her attacker.