An echoing pop ripped through Quill-Weave's home, shaking the foundations of her house and dislodging dust from the ceiling. Yet, the sound was not so much loud as it was forceful, the shockwave pulsing through her home. It ripped her from her slumber with a start, her heart thundering in her chest. The rust-red Argonian flailed wildly, the brief sensation of falling immediately followed by a dull thump as she hit the floor. She lay there with her hand clutching her chest, panting heavily as she stared upward with wide eyes. Her eyes closed, wrestling with the adrenaline coursing through her system before she finally began to bring her pulse and breathing under control. Then she rose, unsteady on her feet as the remnants of her inebriation still affected her. "What... was that?"

Never before had she felt something like that. It had clearly been magical in origin, but never before had she felt a pulse of such powerful magicka. Even now, she could feel traces of the energy coursing through her body, tingling and electric. Quill staggered over to her nightstand, sliding open the drawer with clumsy hands before she withdrew a simple steel dagger. Now armed and slightly more awake and at ease, she made her way downstairs. As she stepped out into the hall, a stale scent assaulted her nose as dust hung thick in the air. Alarmingly, there seemed to be particles of golden energy suspended within the dust, slowly falling to the ground. She watched them warily, yet they seemed to disperse without issue once making contact with the floor or walls.

Her slow, cautious footsteps carried down the stairs of her home, freezing each time the floorboards creaked even slightly. Yet, no motion stirred in her home. There was no shifting of fabric, no rasping of drawn steel, her house was dead quiet. She took the final step off the stairs and onto the first floor of her house, her eyes locked onto the door that led to the main room. The thick oak was cracked and splintered, and flickering gold filtered through where the cracks split the door. Quill-Weave approached the door, her hand wrapping around the metal handle. It was warm to the touch. Her breathing slowed as she forced herself to calm down, the traces of liquor in her veins long gone. Then, with a sudden jerk, she tugged the handle as hard as she could to swing the door open quickly, her dagger at the ready.

When she tugged on the handle, the door budged slightly before a crack echoed through the room. Her hand came away from the door as she stumbled back, yet the handle didn't leave her grasp. She had ripped it clean off the door. A moment later, one of the hinges of the door popped and the door sagged open, the flickering light fainter now despite the clear view. Quill-Weave tightened her grip on her dagger and ran into the room only to freeze with a gasp as an acrid, sulfuric smell struck her.

On the ground was a familiar form, limp and unresponsive with electric arcs of golden light flickering between her fur. Her clothing was in tatters, ripped and missing in numerous spots across her body. Her yellow fur was singed across most of her form, the burns occasionally running deeper and into the skin itself. One of her pointed ears was torn, the very tip of it missing entirely. Her gambeson was marred by two large rents through it, clearly saving her life yet not without leaving its mark. A sickening gash had cleaved through the thick cotton from hip to midriff, nearly disemboweling the Khajiit. A deep puncture pierced her shoulder, the dagger still buried within her and pulsing with a sickly green light. One of her arms was bent at an unnatural angle, clearly snapped. Beneath her, scarlet red pools of her lifeblood collected and began to spread across the floor, the severity of the laceration across her stomach nearly making Quill-Weave sick.

The steel knife clattered to the floor with a muted tinkling, Quill's hands coming up to her face as she stared in open horror. The cat before her had been in her house just days before, hopeless, desperate for a job, and down on her luck. She had sent the Khajiit to the neighboring town of Kvatch on a simple errand; deliver a letter and return with the reply. Yet now, here she was, broken and bloodied on her floor with strange magics flickering through her fur.

Quill-Weave turned and darted toward her front door. She had to get the priests before Katia bled to death.

~~~Voth Kaaz~~~

Her consciousness faded in and out. Her sight was black, her limbs lead, and her throat was drier than the sands of Elsweyr she had never seen. Only the taste of iron on her tongue greeted her as she lay there. And pain. A lot of pain. Her shoulder burned like fire and her belly ached. Her head pounded in time with the pulse of her heart, bringing a fresh wave of pain each time. Her entire body ached, the ever-present sensation quickly becoming her only companion. She knew not how long she was awake, or if she even was awake.

Then, voices began to filter in. They were broken and distorted, some laden with emotion and others uncaring.

"Hammerfell is out of our way, we won't make the jou-" That one sounded annoyed.

"-ere can you take her!?" Angry, yet familiar. Unbidden, thoughts of a red Argonian flashed through her mind, yet the name eluded her.

"Skyrim. We can drop her off in -" Resigned.

The voices were gone now, replaced by the rhythmic creak of wooden wheels. Stones shifted beneath the carriage, barely audible over the sound of rain hitting a cloth canvas. Thunder ripped through the sky, the rumble felt in her chest and only reigniting the once-fading pain of her injuries. Then all sound was gone, replaced by blurry sights. She was in a carriage, the off-white canopy above her protecting her from wind and weather. Her head slowly rolled to the side, staring out the back of the cart. In the distance, tall mountains stood proudly in defiance of the wear of the ages. They refused to buckle and fall despite all of the wind and rain that buffeted them. She wasn't sure how long she watched those mountains slowly retreat into the distance, but she did notice as the rain was replaced by the slow fall of white, luminescent snow.

She wasn't sure who she was. She wasn't sure what had happened to her, why she was in a cart, or why she was in so much pain. She only knew one thing.

Snow is beautiful.

~~Voth Mun Ahrk Siigonis~~

"She's waking up." The smooth, deep voice emanated from within the canopy tent of their carriage. At the front of the cart sat a Breton, her ancient elven ancestry clear in the fairer shape of her face and the slight point her ears came to. Yet, fair though her face was, her demeanor was anything but. She muttered something unkind under her breath, her grip on the reigns tightening.

With the rasp of leather on wood, she turned and looked back into the canopy. Her eyes met the back of the deep green Argonian who was busy kneeling over the form of a prone, relatively injured Khajiit. "Then put her back out! We don't need a fucking cat trying to swipe our stuff after we hauled her useless ass all the way to Skyrim. Getting her through the border was enough of a hassle that I'm tempted to claim she owes us money!"

The lizardfolk rolled his slitted eyes with an amused chuckle, clearly familiar with the girl's outbursts. Deep green magic flowed around the Argonian's hands before he placed them on the Khajiit. In moments, her slitted eyes flickered shut. She was out of it again. Once done, he let the magic fade from his fingertips and climbed back to the front of the wagon, climbing out and into the driver's slot alongside the Breton. "So, is that why you decided to drop her in Riften? She's a thief we're smuggling?"

The Breton scoffed. "She's a cat, they're all thieves. Some are just more successful than others."

When the Argonian gave her a pointed look, she glanced away with a sigh. "I don't know, I didn't care to ask that other Argonian. We were paid to bring her and her possessions to Skyrim. Falkreath is closer, but it's still far enough out of our way that I can't afford the detour without extra pay, which the girl couldn't afford. So she's being dropped off in Riften. I'm sure she'll love it."

"Or she'll lose everything within the first week within the city." He pointed out with a small frown. The idea didn't sit right with him, not at all. Riften was one of the worst cities to rebuild a life in. The people there wouldn't care too much about her being a Khajiit, but burglars and pickpockets roamed the streets with impunity.

With an unconcerned shrug, the Breton responded with a snarky tone. "Look, you're the one who decided to swap to the smuggling side of things. If we took care of every worthless cat, lizard, and elf that came through our routes, the whole operation would be out of coin in weeks! That Quill girl gave her money, gave her clothes, and gave her advice. Either that'll be enough for the cat to get by, or it won't. Either way, it doesn't affect our bottom line. If you don't like that, you can leave the Guild and go join some temple somewhere."

"I have no interest in leaving the Guild." The man grunted in annoyance, shifting in his seat and shooting her a dirty look. "I... may not remain a smuggler. My talents are wasted here."

She rolled her eyes again. "Talents. Sure. Go back to diving for wreckage in the north, then. I'm happy with my routes."

~~~Ahst Kaaz Hahnu~~~

"You think you're walking out of here? After what you've done?" The shrill voice echoed through the stone halls of the Guild, the woman's voice laden with rage and hate. A bolt of fire jetted through the passage, the radiant heat scorching the very stones just moments before it impacted Katia's leg, burning through the cloth and melting the flesh. She cried out in raw agony, her nerves firing as unfiltered pain assaulted her. Her shoulder slammed into the wall when she lost her balance, stumbling hard. She pushed herself back up and limped onward. Her eyes, teary and unfocused, spotted the window ahead of her. The little mark on the glass denoted that it was the same one she had unlocked just an hour ago. If she could just get to it, she could get out of here saf-

A blade tore through her shoulder, cutting clean through her armor and flesh before remaining there. The impact sent her careening into the wall once more, her charred leg giving out on her and sending her to the floor where she landed on her broken arm. For a time, she was unaware of the world around her. All she felt was pain and all she saw were stars. When she regained her senses, her slitted eyes were wide with terror. They stared into the familiar yellowed eyes of the orc highwayman who had already robbed her of all her goods once before. He grinned, baring his surprisingly clean teeth. "Gotchya, cat~"

Just behind him, the scowling face of Sigrid stared down at her as if she were nothing more than an insect. Her previously pristine blue robes were charred and slashed, and her face sported two new bruises, but she was otherwise unharmed. The wizard lifted one hand, her broken finger unnoticed as powerful arcs of electricity began to flicker between her fingers. "Gharug, step away, please."

The orc chuckled, ducking out of the way of the spell. With a disgusted frown, Sigrid swung her arm forward as the bolt of lightning surged forward, intent on burning a hole clean through the little Khajiit on th-

~~Amativ Ahst Tiid~~

A startled shout ripped from her parched throat as Katia was jolted out of her slumber, her arms flailing. Not even an instant later, she regretted every decision that led her to that moment when her muscles lit up in a deep-seated soreness. It was a far cry from the agony she vaguely remembered feeling throughout the last several moments of consciousness, but that did not make it any less of an unpleasant sensation. Katia groaned softly, letting the mildly comfortable bed greet her once more as she fell back into it with a whoomph. It felt strange. Her clawed hands reached out, feeling around her for a time before she realized was not lying on a blanket. Beneath her were a couple of fur pelts that were covering a thick layer of straw within a wooden frame. Her eyes shot open wide, her slitted pupils narrowing as she realized she wasn't in Quill-Weave's bed. She darted into a sitting position, ignoring the protest of her body, and took stock of her surroundings.

It was very different than what she was familiar with. Her cautious eyes slowly took in her room. There were four wooden walls, a tall roof, and she was alone in bed. It was already a better track record that most instances she woke up in an unfamiliar place. Accompanying the bed she was on was another set just a few feet away, thankfully empty. It, too, was covered in pelts instead of any kind of true blanket. On the floor in front of the wooden double doors was a large pelt functioning as a rug and, for some reason hanging on the wall, was yet another pelt - she was beginning to see a theme here. At the front of her bed, a rounded table sat covered in several objects; clothing, a large bag, and a small pouch. Behind that table was a shelf filled with stable foods, pots, and cups. Outside of the room she was in, she could faintly hear the sound of movement on top of quiet voices.

With a stagger from unused limbs, Katia forced herself out of bed. Immediately, she hit the floor. Her legs felt like jelly, slow and unresponsive to her intended movements. The Khajiit remained there for several long minutes, fighting back the unwelcome tears that welled up in her eyes until she could stand again. Once on her feet, she allowed herself a small smile. With slow, shaky legs that protested through every inch of the journey, she stumbled her way over to the table until she could sag within one of the chairs. Only then did she notice the small, folded-up note addressed to her. She reached out and picked it up with clumsy hands, one of her claws making deft work of the seal as she began to read.

Katia,

I don't know what you did. You just... appeared in my house with a magic boom, unconscious, bleeding, and burned with a paralyzing dagger stuck in your shoulder! I got the priests to stop you from dying, but that was all they could do. Once they left, a bunch of Legionnaires showed up in town. They were going door to door looking for 'a yellow Khajiit thief wanted for immediate execution.' I think I fooled them for a bit, but it's only a matter of time before they start searching every house in Anvil to find you. I needed to get you somewhere safe, but that wasn't anywhere here. I... have a few contacts I was able to pay off to get you out of Cyrodiil. There was only one place I could afford to send you without selling myself into slavery. You're in Skyrim, Katia. I hope they brought you to Falkreath, but they probably didn't. You're most likely in Riften, home of the Thieves' Guild.

I couldn't do much else, but I made sure you would have a few things to help you. Provided the smugglers kept to the deal, you should have an extra set of clothes, a dagger, a bag of preserved meats, and a pouch of twenty bronze septims. I'm sorry I couldn't do more for you. I'm sorry I sent you to Kvatch. I don't know what happened, I don't know why you're wanted for execution, but I know you aren't a thief. You're shameless, your talents are rarely useful, and you're a little crazy, but you aren't a criminal. I'll try to clear your name, but I don't know what I can do. I just know I couldn't let you die on my floor, or turn you over to the Empire. I'm sorry, Katia. I doubt we'll meet again, but I'll hold out hope that I hear from you one day.

Quill-Weave.

That did it. The tears Katia had fought away before came back, stronger and more intense than before. Salty trails of water flowed down her cheeks as she stared at the letter in front of her. She sniffled hard, unable to stop the tears now that they were flowing. She had fucked up again. Quill-Weave gave her a second chance to prove she wasn't useless. Deliver a letter and bring back the response, and yet she ended up wanted for execution. She had trusted Sigrid despite every instinct telling her to flee. She let herself get charmed out of everything she had, including the clothing she had been wearing. She broke into the Guild to get her belongings back but failed, getting caught. Then she brought that trouble back to Quill-Weave, making her spend even more money just to get rid of her.

The Khajiit buried her head into her arms, letting the tears flow. She needed a good cry, so that was exactly what she did. Her body shook, pitiful sobs wracking her unhealthily thin frame. She had fled Hammerfell to get away from her old mistakes, even going as far as taking a new name to avoid repeating them. Yet... she did it all again. What different would Skyrim be? It would be nothing but another place where her name was spoken of in ridicule. In Cyrodiil, she hadn't even lasted a full day before returning to the bottle! How worthless was she that she couldn't fight her alcoholism for a single day? Very worthless.

Engrossed in her sorrows, she failed to notice as the door to the room opened quietly. Soft footsteps floated across the room, going unnoticed up until Katia felt an arm drape itself across her shoulder. Katia was startled out of her tears, nearly tipping the chair over before the man kneeling beside her caught it. Her paw came up to wipe away the tears as she coughed, her nose feeling clogged from her crying. In front of her was a dark-skinned Redguard adorned in fine orange robes, a yellow hood wrapping around his head loosely enough to allow his features to be seen clearly. His smile was calm and warm, understanding and unjudging of her plight. "Do not stop on my account, my daughter. You are safe here."

Katia brought both of her hands up again, wiping away at her face until the tears were mostly gone. Yet, the traces remained. The fur of her cheeks was damp and matted, and her eyes were tinted red. Her breathing sounded congested and her voice was raspy. It was pathetic. Despite that, she subconsciously leaned away from the Redguard, her reddened eyes meeting his. "W-where am I?"

"You are in the Temple of Mara in Riften. You were brought here two days ago, wounded. The Breton and Argonian who brought you here said they had found you in the wilderness west of here, far more injured. Do you remember what happened to you?" He asked, his voice soft and caring. Though his tone was both kind and curious, without any detectable edge, his question still caused her to tense up. Katia shifted her gaze away from him, unable to meet his eyes. Her paws idly fiddled with the letter in her grip before slipping it into her pocket. Then she shook her head slowly, untrusting of her voice.

The Redguard pursed his lips. Clearly, she was hiding something and it was related to the letter she had. Yet, the guards had cleared her. She was not wanted within the Hold of Riften, and if she had a bounty in the other Holds, it was not high enough to warrant sending runners. As long as she didn't bring trouble with her, it was not his place to pressure her about her past. "I am Maramal, the head priest here. May I ask your name?"

Silence reigned for several long moments. Katia wasn't sure what to say. Did she make another one yet again? Or did she continue using Katia? What if her name was in some great big book of wanted people? In the end, she made her decision right as Maramal was about to speak again. Her voice came quiet, yet in the near-silent temple, it was clear. "Katia."

"Katia, do you have any family in Riften or any of the nearby holds? I'm sure we can reunite you with them. It would not take much to arrange for a letter to be delivered for you." Maramal asked kindly. He finally rose from his kneeling position next to her, instead choosing to slip into the chair across from her.

"I don't know anyone in Skyrim," Katia admitted softly. One clawed hand was still inside her pocket, absentmindedly tracing a thumb across the worn paper. "I don't have anywhere to go."

"I see," Maramal responded, his kind tone faltering slightly. He was not surprised to hear that, but that did not make it nice to have his suspicions confirmed. "All are welcome in the Temple of Mara, Katia. As long as you do not cause trouble, you are welcome to stay here. It is far better than sleeping out in the elements."

The Khajiit glanced around the room, noting the rather significant use of wooden furniture and construction materials. It shouldn't be a problem. Ever since she had learned she was an Atronach, her tendency to randomly ignite fires around her when stressed had faded. Not to mention, this was a Temple. It was almost certainly warded against magic if not outright protected by divine favor. It was really unlikely for her to burn it down, and the idea of a free bed was one she could not pass up. "If... it's no trouble."

Maramal reached across the table, gently patting her hand with a small, understanding smile. "I insist, my daughter. Mara will protect her Temple and those within it. As I said, you are welcome to stay here as long as you need. Mara does not turn away souls in need of guidance, and neither shall we."

"Thank you, Maramal." Katia said quietly, her tone subdued. Her gaze shifted from him to the table, her eyes tracing across the clothing, the food, the dagger, and the small amount of money. It was more than she had owned for months, on top of a free, safe place to sleep each night.

She didn't deserve any of this. She deserved to starve out in the cold. "Can you give me a moment? I... have a lot on my mind."

Maramal nodded, rising to his feet. He brought his hands together and offered her a small bow. "May Mara bless you, Katia. When you are ready, come out into the Sanctuary. I will answer any questions you may have for me." Then he left, quietly shutting the door behind him. For a moment, Katia stared at the door. She didn't feel very blessed by the Divines.

The cat slowly rose to her feet, staggering her way back to the bed. She stood next to it for a long moment, then simply dropped onto it with a thump. After a moment, she curled up onto her side and draped a pelt back over her weary body. She wasn't ready to face the day.

~~~Author's Note~~~

If you are unaware, Katia Managan is a character from the in-progress comic called "Prequel, or Making a Cat Cry: The Adventure." It's a great interactive comic that updates slowly because of all the art and small animations that come along with it, but very much worth the read. I was sad that there didn't seem to be any Katia stories of significant length on this site and decided to write one myself!

I am well aware that this story is not canonically possible. Prequel takes place two hundred years before the events of Skyrim. That's the fun thing about fanfiction!