The days passed by slowly, washing over Mo'aksa and Ysolda like gentle waves lapping at a river bank. Day and night seemed to cycle quickly, evening creeping up on and surprising them each day. Yet in their perceptions, hardly any time seemed to be passing at all. How long it had been since they first met, began their partnership, or fell in love, neither could say. Somehow it felt as if the feelings had always been there.
A bundled figure struggled against the howling wind, slowly inching its way through empty streets. The swirling snows painted the scenery blindingly white, to the extent that only muscle memory would be able to guide one through the now alien landscape. At last, it reached the shabby door of a snow covered hovel, and with great effort, managed to pry the thing open in spite of its frozen hinges.
"Brrr, it's awful out there!" Ysolda exclaimed, rushing over to the fire to warm her shivering fingers. Mo'aksa, bundled in several blankets, turned to her with a look of abject horror on his face.
"For this one to say it is cold must mean it is a terrible blizzard," he said, brushing clumps of snow off of her shoulders. Ysolda began to free herself from her damp overcoat and boots and set about hanging them by the fire to dry.
"They said a storm has blown in from the sea of ghosts, and that it was strong enough to pass over the mountains in Winterhold. This level of snow is unusual, even in Whiterun," she explained. Mo'aksa only sank deeper into his cocoon of blankets. "Well, that's Morning Star in Skyrim for you! The northern holds get it far worse than this," she chided.
Mo'aksa shifted around in his blanket bundle for a moment before finally releasing his left arm. He unfolded a couple of blankets to make an opening, and gestured for Ysolda to join him under the heap. Ysolda happily crawled in and snuggled up close to him, followed by Mo'aksa abruptly pulling the blankets tight around her. Even though Ysolda had been the one to brave the cold for the past few days, Mo'aksa seemed to be the one complaining about it the most. He had collected every blanket and hide in Ysolda's home to make his nest, and seldom left it unless absolutely necessary. Seeing his imposing silhouette bundled up before the fire was endlessly funny to Ysolda, being that he literally had fur but was somehow still constantly cold. But it wasn't as if she minded much. When she came home, she always knew she could sneak into his blanket pile and have a warm spot waiting for her, no matter how cold the outdoors had become.
"Luckily, we're soon to approach the spring season. I'm thinking this will be the last big storm before it starts warming up," she said, resting her head on his shoulder.
"Mo'aksa surely hopes you are right," he replied, leaning his head on top of hers. Together they stared at the fire in a comfortable silence.
Ever since this storm blew in, most of the shops had shut down on account of the roads being blocked up by snow. Even Hulda had decided to close the Bannered Mare for a couple of days until it was safer to walk around outside. Nords are a hardy people who know how to handle the cold, but that doesn't mean they didn't let the weather affect them. Indeed, the most important part about living in an arctic climate is knowing when to seize the good weather and make the most of it, and when to retreat indoors and hold out for a better day. In whiteout conditions, only a fool would try and go about his usual day. Ysolda only dared to make the short walk to the Bannered Mare to check in on Hulda and Saadia.
But while they knew it was for the best, Mo'aksa and Ysolda couldn't help but be slightly bored by their situation. Mo'aksa could have remained in his room in the Bannered Mare, but when given the choice of being bored by himself or bored with Ysolda, he obviously chose the latter. Ysolda was happy for the company, but couldn't help but feel a bit stifled by having a second person in her tiny abode.
They remained silently entranced by the dance of the flames for some time, each letting their mind wander off in different directions. At last, Mo'aksa's low voice broke the silence.
"May Mo'aksa ask of you a personal question?"
"Of course."
"How did you come to Whiterun?" he asked.
"Actually, I've always been here. I suppose I'm the only one that's left," Ysolda replied, her voice trailing. Mo'aksa's expression turned inquisitive, and he separated himself from her to have a better look at her face.
"What do you mean 'the only one'?" he asked.
"I just mean that my family is all spread out now. We used to all live here in Whiterun, but after my Ma and Da died, well, I guess my brothers just didn't want to stay here anymore." Mo'aksa tilted his head and smiled sympathetically.
"You have brothers?" he asked.
"Five older brothers."
"Five?" he said, his mouth agape. Ysolda giggled and brushed her hair away from her face.
"Yeah, that's right. I grew up with five older brothers!" she repeated, this time with a tone of pride.
"Now Mo'aksa knows why you did not fear him when we first met," Mo'aksa replied with a laugh. "Where are they now?" Ysolda thought for a moment, her expression a bit strained.
"It's been so long since I've spoken with them. Last I heard, I think two of them went to work at a mill in Eastmarch. What was it, Mixwater Mill, I think? One joined the Imperial Legion and got sent out of the province, and the other two became hunters." She seemed to hesitate for a moment before nestling her face into Mo'aksa's shoulder. "It's been many years since I spoke to them. At this point, I don't know if they're alive or dead."
Mo'aksa brought a hand up and slowly ran his fingers through her hair. She let out a long sigh. "We were all close as children. They're all older than me, the closest in age, Horomir, is 5 years older than I am. But even so, we got into lots of mischief together." Her lips curled into a smile as she continued. "We used to pick fungal pods from outside the city walls and hide them in Ma's clothes drawer. She'd open it up and spores would spray all over the place, and she'd come out covered in them." Her face seemed to light up as she recalled such precious moments from her childhood. "Every time, she yelled at my brothers, but I always got away without any scolding."
"What a naughty child!" Mo'aksa said playfully. "Crafty from the beginning, I see." Ysolda smiled and nodded.
"Our house was always so noisy. We lived in a cottage to the west of Whiterun, just a short walk from the Western Watchtower. I'm thankful we didn't have neighbors or else I'm sure they'd always complain!"
"Mo'aksa is thinking you are not so different from your childhood self," he teased, and she gave him a light jab in retaliation.
"Hey, I'm not naughty or loud!" she shouted. Mo'aksa covered his ears and winced in an exaggerated motion, and Ysolda instinctively covered her mouth. Upon seeing his expression, she knew he was joking and started jabbing him repeatedly. "Why, you!"
Mo'aksa laughed. "See, I'm not wrong!" Ysolda gave an exaggerated sigh, clearly playing up her frustration.
"Well, boisterous as we were back then, I do treasure those memories. I miss my brothers, I really do," she wore a forlorn expression and seemed a bit listless. "I guess Ma and Da were really holding us together. After the fire, all my family scattered to the winds." She pulled her knees in and wrapped her arms around them. "I suppose that's a part of growing up, but ever since then, it's felt so… quiet."
"Perhaps you should try sending them a letter. Maybe they are missing you just as you miss them," Mo'aksa suggested. Ysolda furrowed her brow and looked up at him.
"That's not a bad idea, but I can't exactly send anything in this storm. I hope you'll remind me to do it after the blizzard passes!" Mo'aksa smiled and then returned to watching the fire. Ysolda continued looking at him though, and after a long pause said: "Why do you ask?"
His ear twitched in her direction. "Mo'aksa feels as if he still doesn't know much about you," he replied.
"Aw, are you curious about me? That's so sweet," Ysolda said, nuzzling his arm.
"You said your parents died… how did it happen?" Mo'aksa asked, abruptly. Ysolda stopped nuzzling him and suddenly became serious. Mo'aksa flushed a bit and averted his gaze. "You do not have to tell Mo'aksa if it is too painful…"
"No, it's alright. I want you to know," Ysolda said at last, gently reaching out and turning his head back in her direction. She smiled at him. "I was only a girl at the time. My father was a trader, and my mother was busy at home trying to take care of all six of us rowdy children. My brothers were always keeping her busy, so I ended up staying with Da most of the time."
Mo'aksa watched her, entranced by the complexity of her smile, but said nothing.
"It was a snowy day. The fire in our hearth was burning bright, and my brothers had taken a trip down to the creek to go ice fishing. Ma was reading me a story while Da was organizing his receipts next to the fire. If he found one that he didn't need anymore, he would just toss it into the hearth." Ysolda began fidgeting with the blankets as she spoke. "Jodfred came in just then to get more bait, and suddenly I really wanted to go with him. Ma rolled her eyes and Da laughed, but they wrapped me up in furs and sent me out with my brothers anyway. That was the last time I saw their faces." She swallowed nervously. "We could hear some kind of thud from the riverbank, and Horomir and I went up the hill to investigate. Our house was engulfed in flames. They started bringing buckets of water from the creek, and I ran to the tower as fast as I could to try and get help. But by the time I returned, our house had been reduced to a pile of boards stained with black."
Mo'aksa put his arm around her and rested his head on top of hers. She closed her eyes and rested her cheek against his chest. She could hear his heartbeat, and fell in with the methodical thumping.
"The guards said it was most likely an accident. Looking back, we used to keep some oil next to the fire to rekindle it if it ever went out. I guess one of father's receipts fell into the bucket and ignited the whole thing. An oil fire is tough to put out, so they probably lost control of it and just… perished," she said with a shiver. Feeling this, Mo'aksa squeezed her in close.
"That's terrible," he said simply. Ysolda nodded, and then broke away from him.
"Well, what's done is done. I can't bring them back, but I like to think I can still make them proud," she said with a smile. "That's why I've got to be the best trader in all of Skyrim!"
"Mo'aksa knows you can do it. He'd like to see the day it comes true," he replied, leaning back against the bench. Ysolda gave a cheeky grin, but her expression soon melted away to a more quizzical one. She looked down at the floor for a moment, unsure of what to say next.
"Well, I told you my story. What about yours?" Mo'aksa furrowed his brow and then turned away slightly, his eyes examining the intricacies of the opposite wall. "Why did you come to Whiterun?" she repeated.
"Because of your note. Don't you remember this? With the orc fellow?" Ysolda rolled her eyes.
"No, not that. I mean, why were you in Skyrim in the first place? Why would you come all the way here from Elsweyr?" Mo'aksa shifted uncomfortably.
"Ah… it is a long story. Perhaps another time," he said nervously. Ysolda only pouted and leaned in closer to him.
"See that's not fair! After I told you my story and everything…" She seemed to hesitate for a moment, and just as she was about to back down, she suddenly clenched her fist and lifted her head. Her eyes felt like they were boring holes into Mo'aksa, but he was transfixed by them and couldn't look away. "Don't make me a hypocrite! I know I said you didn't have to tell me, but… I just… I want to be the kind of person you feel like you can say these things to. You know?" she seemed exasperated, but her message got across. For one so talented with words, when the emotions were high, she often fumbled with them.
Mo'aksa broke away from the blanket pile and walked up to the hearth, his palm resting on a thin wooden shelf just above the fire. He shook his head. "Mo'aksa wants to tell you but… perhaps now is not the right time," he said, his voice trailing off a bit. His back was to her, but he could still feel her disappointment from across the room.
"Well, when is the right time?" She crossed her arms, and Mo'aksa felt almost as if she had regained that childlike entitlement that all city girls have. A trait he found repulsing.
"I don't know! Not now, maybe not for a long time!" he said, throwing his hands in the air.
"Fine, then I have another question," Ysolda snapped. When Mo'aksa turned back, he saw not a child throwing a tantrum as he imagined, but rather, a woman with an expression as stiff as a block of ice. He was taken aback, both by her seriousness, and also her beauty. He stood, mouth agape, for a moment before she spoke.
"What am I to you?"
The words pierced through the air, and Mo'aksa felt a cold chill run down his spine. This was a question he feared would come, but having only been with Ysolda for a little over 2 months, he hadn't expected it to arrive so quickly. Her anxiety wasn't unjustified. Though they spent all their time together, Mo'aksa was careful never to let slip even one iota of his personal history. Slowly, she opened up to him, and had confided in him some of her most private feelings. But he had yet to reciprocate, and Ysolda was left feeling guilty, as though she had burdened him with her feelings. For him though, he hadn't once considered her a burden, and indeed, reveled in the trust which grew ever stronger with each secret she divulged.
But now they had reached a crossroads. For all he thought he had learned of Ysolda, the part of her which resented his secrecy had yet remained a mystery to him.
The wind howled outside, and a small powdering of snow poured in through the gaps in the window and pooled in a thin frost on the sill.
"I've known you for the better part of a year now, you know that?" she said quietly, her eyes maintaining their direct line to his. "I know I said you don't have to tell me, and I guess you really don't but…" she sighed and pulled her knees into her chest once more. "I don't know… I guess I'm feeling selfish," she said.
"Mo'aksa does not think you are selfish," he replied, kneeling down in front of her. Her cold expression melted away, and tears pooled in her eyes.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly. Mo'aksa shook his head and then rested it against her curled-up legs. "I've just been confused is all. I mean, I told you how I felt, and you said you felt the same, but ever since then it's felt like…" she hesitated for a moment. "Like you're going to leave me when the spring comes."
"The truth is, Mo'aksa fears telling you of his past," he replied quickly, before her words had a chance to sink in. "You know he is a fugitive, yes?" Ysolda nodded slowly. "I fear my safety and yours. Even being here, khajiit is afraid that they will find him and harm you all."
Ysolda was quiet. She rubbed the top of his head and stroked his hair. She had nothing to say, only an uneasy feeling in her chest.
"But if you wish to know, Mo'aksa shall share," he said at last. "He has fled East from Elsweyr to Cyrodiil in a city called Leyawiin. There are many Khajiit there, so Mo'aksa felt he could blend in. But news of his bounty spread, and soon the Empire caught word and was after Mo'aksa's head." At this, he rubbed his neck and pulled his ears back. "I left to find a cabin in the woods along the river. It had been abandoned, so Mo'aksa took over and began living as a recluse. This is when Mo'aksa became a go-getter, as the only way to earn gold for me was to do favors for strangers."
"So how did you get to Skyrim from there?" Ysolda asked impatiently.
"I lived this way for more than a year, but this caused me to get comfortable. I began to spend time in cities and mingle in the taverns. One day, a traveler recognized me and turned me over to the guards. I was arrested there, and locked in the castle dungeon until they could arrange for me to be brought back to Elsweyr." Ysolda shifted uncomfortably, and he gave a hesitant but reassuring smile. He knew she had little concept of the struggles of life as a fugitive, but in his heart he did feel that he owed it to her to open up, at least a little bit. "I knew if I returned to Elsweyr, they would execute me for sure. I had to escape." He sat up and leaned back on his hands, scanning the room for a moment. "When your life depend on it, one can easily accomplish many things. You notice the cracks in the walls, and loose floorboards." he motioned to Ysolda's peeling walls and creaky floor as he spoke. "The castle where they imprisoned Mo'aksa, the one in Cheydinhall, is old, and many prisoners before Mo'aksa have tried to escape. They left behind some secrets for those sharp enough to find them... Mo'aksa pulled apart loose bricks in the castle walls, crawled out the side, and put them back together. In the morning, they had no idea how he escaped."
"Hm, you're definitely a crafty one, I'll give you that," Ysolda said. Mo'aksa nodded and laughed quietly.
"That is how he has survived this long," he said with a bitter smile. Ysolda felt her face flush and she looked away, but her hand still reached out and rested atop his shoulder. He continued; "After that I ran. With the Empire after Mo'aksa, it was no longer safe in Cyrodiil. I heard about the war in Skyrim, where the Empire had been weakened. To this place I escaped, and made camp in the wilderness. Again, I began fetching rare gifts for strangers, which brought me to the giant den, which brought me to you." Mo'aksa stood up and stretched his back, his fidgeting barely disguising his anxiety. "Ah, now you know how Mo'aksa came to Skyrim. Is it interesting to you?"
"Well yes, but to be honest, it's not really what I was hoping for," Ysolda responded, a bit sheepishly. Inside, she too was feeling nervous about pressing him. But her curiosity was too great, and she couldn't help but continue. "You've told me this much, won't you share the rest?"
Mo'aksa scratched his head and sighed loudly. The fire had begun to dim by this point, and the dwelling became chilly from the howling storm outside. "It is better if you don't know the rest, Mo'aksa thinks." Ysolda frowned.
"And why is that?"
"The more you know, the more dangerous it could be, for both of us," he replied sharply. She huffed.
"Well, maybe if you would tell me, I could help you! Do you really think, after all the people in this city have already done for you, that we'd let you get executed?" she protested. She stood up and drew in close to him, holding her hands up to his face and bringing him down to her height. This time, she spoke in a more hushed tone. "Don't you want to be free of it?" He gulped nervously, and though he tried to look away, her gentle hands on his head somehow felt like impassable barriers. "Don't tell me it's 'for my own safety', I know that's a facade. What's the real reason you hide your past?"
Mo'aksa was quiet for a moment. "It is difficult… to speak of," he began. He looked into her eyes for reassurance, and she nodded understandingly. His expression became tense, and his hands clasped tightly into fists as though he were bearing down under some immense pressure. Slowly, he began to share the memories he had locked away deep within his mind.
"Mo'aksa lived with his mother in a nameless village south of the Scar, deep in the khaj of Eslweyr. He was a part of a hunting group which he joined as a cub, and mother made clothes for rich ladies in the city. This is how we got by, though it was a modest life." Ysolda nodded along quietly, taking in each and every word. His expression seemed stressed, but he continued speaking. "One day, I come home from a hunt and mother is frantic. She say to me that she has an order for a dress which needs much fine silk fabric, but she has none at home. She begged me to find a fabric store in the city of Orcrest, far north from our home. It is a full day of travel across the khaj each way, but I do this for her because she promised me that this order would bring us good fortune. This was the last time Mo'aksa ever spoke with his mother."
"Mo'aksa went to Orcrest, but try as he may, he cannot find the shop which mother requested. The city is wide, but even so I check every textile stall and store, and not a one matches what mother described. In the end, I buy several bolts of plain white linen cloth, which perhaps she could dye to be the proper color. After a day in the city, I set off to return home. The journey is long, and I planned to complain when I returned, but I never got the chance." His fur began to stand on end, and his ears were pressed firmly against his head. In his eyes, he seemed to be reliving these vivid memories.
"Even from as far as where I could just see the village on the horizon, I could smell the blood. The air was thick with it. 'Perhaps there was a successful hunt and they are having a feast' I thought, but in my heart I knew such stench could only mean one thing. I began walking quickly, the smell growing stronger the closer I got." Suddenly, Mo'aksa's tone became strained, and his eyes grew wide. Every word had to be forced out as his breathing became labored.
"When he arrived in the village, it was a terrible sight. The streets were lined with the bodies of Mo'aksa's friends and neighbors, each one with their fronts stained red from a slit in their throat. Men, women, and cubs alike, all laying in the roads, dangling out windows, or collapsed over their carts. I could not tell how long it had been, perhaps they had only just been killed, or perhaps they died days ago and the dry desert preserved them as they fell. Everything became blurry, and I sprinted through the streets, calling out for anyone who might be left. I shouted every name I could remember, but the streets were silent and my words were swallowed by the desert wind. My legs carried me all the way back to my home, sitting on top of a hill on the southern edge of town. I went silent and my legs felt like lead… I didn't want to go in…" he suddenly fell down to his knees, and began shaking. Ysolda reached out and rubbed his back.
"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…" she said quietly. She had begun to feel a touch guilty for making him share this story which seemed to bring him so much pain. 'What was I thinking, making him share this?' she thought.
Mo'aksa let out a breathy sob, but shook his head. "Let me continue… I must," he said. He took a deep breath and covered his eyes with his hands. "My home had been half-collapsed. The cabinets were destroyed and the furniture all broken. Inside, my mother…" he squeezed his face and shook his head. "They… they killed her, but not like the others. They cut her tail off, tore her open… her face was so mangled, Mo'aksa couldn't even recognize it, but from the smell he knew it had to be her. And on the walls, written in the ink of her blood, it said 'fibi oriit an suthjor ma, ras kethi jaadi tena'. It means…" he paused, and the air in Ysolda's home felt incredibly dense.
"The dirty woman and bastard child make bloody their hands," he said at last. Ysolda put a hand over her mouth in shock, but said nothing. "I stumbled backwards and fell, my hand landed in a pool of her blood. I screamed and shouted, but there was no one left in the village but me." Suddenly his expression shifted and he became angry. His tail was bushy and his claws were digging into his own head from the tension of his hands squeezing it. "Only me! If only I had not left, if only I had stayed behind, maybe I could have saved them, or at least, I could have died with them and not had to carry on knowing that their blood is on my hands!"
"But you didn't kill them! Why do they blame you for this crime when you're clearly a victim?" Ysolda said loudly. Mo'aksa shook his head and shivered, but Ysolda could not tell if it was from the cold or his emotion. "Doesn't it seem strange to you? Why would they slaughter an entire village, but leave just one person alive? Why did they only kill your mother in that… brutal way, but not the rest of the village? And to have it all pinned on you just because you were the only survivor… it doesn't make sense," she said.
"But why? Mo'aksa has nothing! What could they want from him?" he shouted back. His face was scrunched up, and for the first time, Ysolda thought she sensed genuine fear within him. "Don't you think I've thought it over a thousand times? You who just hear it, you immediately think I must have been framed, well, I have had this same thought every day for years!" he stood up and began pacing frantically around the room, his arms gesturing wildly as he spoke.
"If it's so obvious, then how could both the government of Elsweyr and the entire Empire still find you guilty?" Ysolda asked.
"Ysolda, this is why I cannot stay. I've indulged myself too long, and now I put everyone at risk. They've killed many to get to me, I fear they will not hesitate to do the same to Whiterun. I've known this was the case, but I still stayed here! How could I have done this… how could I have endangered you?" his eyes were wide and his tone panicked. Sensing this, Ysolda lunged towards him and pulled him into an embrace. She squeezed him tight as she could, until the shaking stopped.
"Mo'aksa, you don't have to be afraid! Even if they come for you here, I'll fend them off myself if I have to," she said in a quiet but firm voice. Mo'aksa began laughing with a mournful tone.
"Mo'aksa does not think you would be able to stop them. He doubts he could even defend himself should they get this far," he said with a defeated smile on his face. Ysolda jabbed him again, this time ever so gently.
"Yeah, well no one asked you." She hugged him tightly. "Don't you ever think about trying to clear your name? There are many in Whiterun who could vouch for your character."
"Even if it worked, Mo'aksa is not certain that whoever attacked his village would not still privately pursue him," he said, shaking his head. "I resigned myself to running a long time ago."
Ysolda lifted her head and looked at him with the most earnest expression he'd ever seen her wear. "Well if you must run, then what if I came with you?"
"You'd only put yourself in danger doing that," he said with a sigh. "Don't you want a normal life?" Ysolda shook her head vigorously.
"Oh, nothing bores me more than the idea of a normal life. That's why I started up the sleep tree sap business, you know," she replied. "And it's also why I fell for you in the first place, I think."
"Even so, Mo'aksa cannot allow it. He cares too much for your safety to let you put yourself in harm's way," he said as he ran his fingers through her hair again. Every time he felt those silky locks, his heart was drawn in as though he were caught in a spider's web. Sitting here like this, even though he felt paralyzed with fear that he would be the cause of yet more deaths, this cocoon of warmth that Ysolda had made for him put him at ease. Though her words were idealistic, he didn't feel patronized by them, and instead, found that his fears subsided bit by bit every moment.
"If I become a successful caravaneer, we could use the money to fund our travels. Then we could flee anywhere in Tamriel!" Mo'aksa stopped for a moment and thought about it.
"That… is not a terrible idea, actually," he said.
The fire in the hearth flickered gently, and a lone ember jumped onto the stone surrounding the fireplace. Its soft glow slowly faded into a black speck, but in a moment, the entire flame heated once more. Ysolda had grabbed a bellows from nearby, and after tossing a new log into the hearth, fed the embers with air and got the fire roaring once more. Her home became filled with a pleasant orange glow.
"I'm full of good ideas, I think you'll find," she said. Mo'aksa laughed slightly, and went back to the bench to wrap himself in blankets. "Regardless, they haven't found you yet, and who knows, maybe they never will. But if the time comes, I'd be more than ready to flee with you." She walked back to the bench and joined him under the covers. "I'd do whatever it takes to be by your side. I want you to know that."
Mo'aksa leaned in and planted a tender kiss on her forehead. "Thank you for listening to my tale… I have never shared it with anyone before. You are the only person besides Mo'aksa who knows the whole truth," he said quietly.
"Well, us, and at least one other person," she said. Mo'aksa tilted his head, confused. "The person responsible for their deaths."
"Mo'aksa never sought revenge. He has been too afraid to face the murderer, even in his thoughts," he said, recoiling.
"Well, in this case, revenge seems a bit… unrealistic," Ysolda sighed. "Though I'm sure it'd put your heart at ease."
"Actually, Mo'aksa's heart is at ease right here." Ysolda's face lit up, and though she seemed to be about to say something, she was cut off by Mo'aksa abruptly jumping out of his seat. "Look! The storm has stopped!" he called, and clamored to his feet. Both of them being wrapped in the same blanket though, he instead ended up tangling himself and Ysolda up and falling to the floor. They both laughed, and embraced tightly.
Outside, the snowy streets of Whiterun saw the first glimpses of the warm sunlight of a new season. The slender tendrils of light pierced through the clouds, and slowly, very slowly, began to melt away the immense buildup of snow. It may take days or even weeks to melt it all away, and after that, the roads would still be muddy and cold, but in time spring would come.
And they were both eager for it.
~Chapter 11 END~
A/N: Ok I lied last time, there will be one more chapter after this, but then that's the end of this part of the story! This was the longest chapter yet, I hope it was worth the wait!
Ta'agra translation:
khaj... desert