I missed my home. Or what was left of it. Skyrim was plunged into chaos. I never really understood what had happened to it; I was a child. The only thing I remember about it was my sixth birthday.
I had woken up that day, and I already smelled that roasted Skeever my mother made. I got out of my cow hide bed and put my small feet on the cold wooden floor. I lived in Morthal, a small town near Solitude. Everyone there lived in wooden houses. The biggest house there was a cabin, near the edge of the town. That was the first to go.
That day, my birthday, was the day I remember the most, because it was the day I left Skyrim. The pines were roaring in the middle of the day. It was a horrible smell, like burning rats over the pot. Evil men came in with torches. They burned that cabin down. I was in my house crying, my brother was holding me tight. I can still feel his heart beating against my shoulder to this day. My mother told us we needed to hide in the cellar, so the men wouldn’t find us. Before we could make it there, though, the evil men busted in. I remember my mother’s body falling on me. An arrow had penetrated her right in the chest. Then the men took me. Their stench was horrible and their skin was white. White as the snow on the Throat of the World. They were Snow Elves. It was strange…my skin was of the same tint. For I, was a snow elf, too.
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