23th Sun's Dusk… 1430…

"You're a hard person to find." The young man took a breath. "I have a message for you…"

The Khajiit looked at the windswept features of the craggy tors and mounts, ignoring the messenger. Snow was only one scent on the wind, the clouds above obscuring the sun. His eyes wandered the rolling hills to the ancient monument just south of their camp. "That is the point, is it not? To be out here, it is to be… left alone."

The young Breton shifted uncomfortably under the gaze of the Khajiit and his pet. "I… um… guess so." He quickly handed the letter to the Khajiit leader and ran back towards Rorikstead.

The Khajiit stared at the wax symbol on the paper then broke the seal.

~Olamar~

It's been a long time, friend. But, I hope your offer stands. I need your help if you are still willing to give it. You know of this war and I have learned a great many things that can no longer be ignored. I can already hear you say that I should have listened to you.

More so, I believe you about the Thalmor now. I didn't think it was possible that they could be worse than what I knew. I destroyed their embassy and the Nords will all know in a few days' time. I have spurred their hunt as I hope to spur yours. Hunt them as you will on the plains, let their blood stain the soil at your feet. Know that I hunt them, but leave no trace for others to find.

If you will still help me, head to the city of Whiterun. Ask to speak with the Jarl himself, show the seal to the guards if they refuse you entry. Tell him you will aid him in protecting his city, this is my request. He's a Nord, but he is fair and he will bargain. The Khajiit traders have moved to his Hold, I know you venture the plains and I hope he will give your clan a permanent home. The Nords are stubborn, but I know that their hate can be overcome in time.

Azurah guide you, my friend… no matter your decision.

~Azriel the Dragonborn~

Olamar exhaled a long, shaky breath. "Finally…" He looked out to the mountains in the distance, watching a lone dragon circle a peak. He let his hand search absentmindedly for the thick skull of the sabre cat resting next to him.

He had waited a long time for anyone other than his tribe to believe him. He had spent years searching for answers and even more time running from the Thalmor. Olamar reread the letter again with a toothy grin. Hunt them? Yes, I will hunt them…

He turned back to his tent and the young Ohme watching him. "Fatima, run and gather the others. We are leaving for Whiterun."

"Whiterun? Why, father?"

He looked at her for a moment. "Azurah bids us travel and change. The Dragonborn needs our aid and she shall have it." He watched a blush form on her cheeks and patted her shoulder in understanding. In the cycle of eighteen new moons, she had only ever shown interest in fighting. He knew it would never change, even if her interests had grown to other things in the last two. Like the Dragonborn. He'd seen it when the two had met and he had chosen to look the other way when the girl had toyed with the young warrior.

"Come now. Tell the others to gather quickly. We leave soon for the city."

He watched her sprint off and sat in his chair once more. Looking back out to the mountains, he watched the dragon for a few more minutes. Gently, he scratched the large cat behind its ears and listened to it purr. He'd been wondering if the rumors he had heard were true, dragons loyal to the Dragonborn.

He longed for change, one that came with true freedom and roads of adventure. Not the hiding that came from being a former slave. He felt the large cat lick his claws and looked down to scratch it under its chin.

He returned to the view with a touch of peace. His vision swept the hummocky terrain as the wind did, never lingering, only enough to stir his soul. It was times like these he missed his wife most. He let his eyes close and listened to the wind. Sometimes when he was quiet, he could almost hear her laughter on the breeze. It calmed him and soothed the jagged edges of his broken heart.

He let his eyes open on the small patch of blue in the sky. The clouds threatened it with the coming snow, but it didn't bother him. The wind shifted direction, bringing the smell of the campfire to his nostrils. This place was his favorite in all of Skyrim. Unlike other Khajiit, the cold didn't bother him. He had been born in Cyrodiil and knew nothing of the sands of Elsweyr. The frigid air was a constant reminder of his life as a warrior and nomad. The open expanse was a quiet home for them, a place to scratch their claws without the hate-filled glares of the Nords. No one bothered them and if they did, they didn't live long.

Soft mewing drew his attention to the small house cat at his feet. They shared a look and he smiled at the emerald green eyes that sparkled at him.

"Is our little warrior awake?"

The Alfiq mewed again.

Olamar rose to his feet, taking one last look at the mountain peak in the distance. The dragon had disappeared. "Come, Maximus. Let us tend to the little one while the others make preparations to leave."

Olamar pushed back the tent's flap, letting the smaller Khajiit through first. At the back of his tent was the small black Khajiit child he had recently taken under his protection. The caravan he had been in was sacked, the child's mother killed. Through the years he had grown as cold as he could. His life as a slave had taught him hate was the only thing to keep him alive. When the old Imperial assassin had freed him from the Thalmor, he had learned a new way of life. But, his beloved wife had shown him another path was possible.

And for the fourth time in his life he had opened up his heart, first to his wife, then his own children. Now to this orphan, but how could he refuse?

Still, it had been a struggle. The child's nightmares of the event haunted him and it had taken a long time to gain his trust. The caravan had been cut down by marauders, led by a Khajiit. "Carran?" He called gently and the blankets moved to reveal a black tail.

"Carran, wake. We must go."

The tail swished and the blankets moved again.

Olamar laughed softly at the child, knowing the boy was already awake. "Come, Carran. It is time."

The blankets rolled and tiny cerulean eyes peeked at him from the cocoon. "Where are we going?"

"We are going to Whiterun. Rise quickly so we may be off."

The blue eyes blinked at him. "What's in Whiterun?"

Olamar finally sat down and pulled the boy into his arms. "We must aid the Dragonborn there."

Carran pushed the blanket away from his face. "The Dragonborn?"

Olamar ran his fingers through the long onyx tufts of fur. "The one and only Dragonborn… You wish to meet her, do you not? Then rise, we must go, my son."