"How goes the rebuilding?" Soran asked as he and the tall Nord Vigilant walked slowly towards the stables, the Sun finally high enough to clear the rooftops of Dawnstar.

"It progresses, but not as quickly as I would like," Jurgan replied, his hood still concealing his face, "Carcette is still missing. Her body was not in the Hall, or anywhere nearby."

"So it is possible that she survived."

"Yes, but it has been three weeks since the attack. She would have come here if she needed assistance, would she not?"

"Unless she was injured, and the path north was blocked, and she was forced to flee further south," Soran said to the tall Priest, "she may yet appear."

"It is as Stendarr wills it to be," Jurgan said fatalistically.

"Perhaps, friend," Soran answered, "perhaps."

It had been grief that had brought them together after an extended absence. Initially it had been Soran's grief, Jurgan offering his condolences as Soran mourned the loss of men and women in Dustman's Cairn, but barely three weeks later their roles had reversed, and it was Soran offering support to his friend after the Hall of the Vigilants just south of Dawnstar was attacked and partially destroyed, and everyone present at the time killed.

Jurgan was not the de facto leader of this group of the Vigilants of Stendarr, that role was currently filled by Clesa, but Soran and Jurgan had known each other their entire lives, and Clesa maintained the reserve that was a feature of many Redguard women who chose to reside in Skyrim. Soran did not understand it, though in his defense he did not have ample opportunity to study it; none of his closest associates in the Silver Hand were Redguard, neither men nor women. Those women who he did know well were Nord, or Imperial, or Orsimer, or Reachman; and none of them could be described as reserved in any sense.

So it was a blessing for Soran to have Jurgan as his guest while Clesa and Cruith, her Dunmer sister in Stendarr, searched the nearby towns and villages for their missing commander.

"He seems a happy sort," Hellina had said after their first meeting, "too happy to be a Vigilant. I thought they were all required to be glum and serious, that those were the markings of their dedication to Stendarr."

"I know you only jest, or I would remind you that most magistrates in training revere Stendarr."

"But not all. You are not a follower of Stendarr, nor were you while you trained as a magistrate."

Soran smiled as his mind went back to simpler times.

"That is because I believed then, and still believe, that righteous rule is the responsibility of men, not Gods."

"Does your friend feel likewise?"

"Jurgan is no fanatic. It seems that Carcette preferred Viligants that were more compassionate, that adhered more to the true teachings of Stendarr."

"Like you prefer followers who are true to the teachings of Ysgramor."

Soran looked at the woman who walked next to him. The day had turned warm, and each of them took the opportunity to go without armor, both clothed only in tunic and breeches.

Gods, how can she be so beautiful and yet so deadly? he thought to himself.

Why do I not just marry him and be done with it? she thought as she looked at him, why do my legs grow weak at the mere thought?

It was a day of rest for the two of them, the day before having been filled with turmoil and quite strenuous. The Vigilants of Stendarr and The Silver Hand had much in common as each group sought to eradicate werebeasts or any other unnatural creatures that preyed on mortals. It was partly for that reason that Jurgan, Hellina and Soran found themselves acting in concert as the sun was setting, and for many hours afterwards, the sweat pouring from them as they fought unnatural beasts, the two legged as well as the four legged variety, across much of the Pale.

It had been totally by accident that the three of them had walked unsuspectingly into a witches den as they searched for Jurgan's missing commander. It was what poets in Tamriel referred to as the golden hour, and none of the three could fault the term as warm, diffuse sunlight bathed their faces, accompanied by a late afternoon breeze that provided welcome relief from the heat of the day. But it was both of those things that worked against them in this instance, the light in their faces obscuring the scene before them, and the breeze at their backs carrying the stench of the witches and their familiars away from the trio. The affect only lasted for several seconds, but it was long enough to place them in serious peril as the two nearest beasts, which appeared to be werecats, took two bounding strides before leaping at the three creatures that had wandered into their lair.

Jurgan's spell had barely enough time to form fully, and had done so as the leftmost werecat was in mid leap and could do nothing as the red hot fireball formed around him. There was very little Jurgan could do to save himself from the now burning, howling, werebeast as it's momentum carried it directly at the Priest besides fall to his left handed side before laying flat as the burning mass passed over him.

Neither Soran (who was right handed) nor Hellina (who was left handed) had payed any attention to the possibility of an attack as they accompanied Jurgan on his search, their minds too much taken up with thoughts of each other. It was for that reason that they found themselves badly positioned when the attach occurred, their sword arms being side by side as they walked so that neither could draw their weapon safely. Both members of the Silver Hand knew that Hellina was the better swordsman, but it was Soran who acted first as he moved quickly to his right as his right hand found the grip of the throwing axe where it stood proud above his left shoulder blade. His upper body rotated slightly and his hand and arm moved like lightening as he tore the axe from it's place on his back and hurled it at the leaping werecat that his rotating torso kept in front of him.

That leaping werecat had not deviated from it's intended target, a target that unsheathed her silver sword in one quick motion before she crouched underneath the leaping figure, slicing it's unprotected belly from stem to stern. It's own howls of pain were added to those of it's litter mate, but none of the three gave any thought to putting the poor creatures out of their misery as the witch and her remaining familiars began to scatter.

It was then that Soran noticed what had drawn the witches attention.

"Gods, it is a some sort of sacrifice."

"Merciful Divines, let it not be her," Jurgan said.

"Do not approach," Hellina said to Soran and Jurgan as she slowly walked to the stone alter, "stay here."

"Stendarr's mercy be upon her," Jurgan began to prey, "merciful and just Stendarr protect her,"

It took Hellina no time at all to determine that Carcette was, for the time being at least, safe."

"It is not her," Hellina said as she looked down at what remained of the Altmer, probably Thalmor, Justiciar.

"You are certain," Jurgan asked as he took a step towards the stone.

"Yes, but spare yourself the sight of this, both of you. There is no need for all of us to carry this burden."

"We will carry it together," Soran said after Hellina had walked the short distance back to them, "just as we share all our burdens, beloved. Do not think for a moment that you must carry it alone."

"You have not called me that in some time."

"And I am shamed by that fact."

"I do not mean to interrupt, but we must pursue these creatures and eradicate them," Jurgan said, "they must not be allowed to escape."

"Onward, then," Soran said as his eyes stayed fixed on Hellina's.