The other woman walked past her and to the bar after she expressed her disappointment with her husband. Aravi continued up the stairs where she quickly found her room. She closed the door and quickly disrobed. She crawled under the blankets on her bed and closed her eyes. The sounds of merriment from below didn't bother her, and she drifted to sleep.

*

Eyja:

It was late at night when they reached the foothill below the cliff. Eyja didn't even know what instinct caused her to look up and see the object falling toward them. Her first reaction was to jump out of the way, but something held her there; to this day she couldn't say what.

The second she realized what it was, she knew instinctively who it was. She shoved her robe into Maxical's hands. "Don't let go, no matter what!"

In the spilt-second the drunk man's limp body landed with a jerk of her robe that tore at her shoulders and armpits. His fall was broken, but ... would it be enough?

Eyja lay down, her ear to his heart. "It's very faint." She began healing her friend, but knew she didn't have enough knowledge of healing to save him. Not after a fall like that.

"We have to get him to help, fast."

The panic showed in Maxical's eyes. "Dear gods, it's Seth! Listen, if we bring him to Clavicus Vile, I'll promise him my soul when I die if he'll save Seth. It is the quickest place to reach!"

Eyja shook her head. "I think he'd want us to bring him to Mephala to save him."

Maxical stood her ground. "I don't have anything Mephala wants, and I already have dealings with Clavicus Vile. I have access to his realm with this ring. Let us save him first, then bring him to Mephala."

Eyja agreed. Maxical and Eyja clutched Seth between them, and clutched each other as Maxical slid the ring that would bring them to Clavicus Vile's realm.




***


Eyja didn't know what to expect, Maxical had never let her know about her dealings with Clavicus Vile before; though she'd suspected it for a long time. It felt like the ground dropped out from beneath her. She clung to both Seth and Maxical as they fell into a black void.

The sound of rushing wind echoed around her, but the air was perfectly still; a blackness that knew no end. She couldn’t tell if they were falling or even moving, it felt like they were suspended there for an interminable time before Maxical spoke.

“Clavicus Vile, I need your help.”

When Eyja opened her eyes she was sitting on a sandy shore, a beautiful expanse of crystal clear blue water stretching out from the glistening white sand. Behind her the beach ended in lush green grass and a thick forest of trees still full of their blossoms in spite of it feeling like Frostfall. She'd never breathed air so pure before.

Eyja leaned over and crawled toward the water, wondering if water that pure would help Seth if she cupped some into his mouth. When she tried to scoop the water in her hands they didn’t even get wet. It was an illusion. She lay her head on Seth's chest.

"We need to hurry." She stood up and carefully lifted Seth's limp frame with Maxical's help. He was surprisingly heavy, so muscular.

In the distance through the lush grass was a small cottage, the path leading to it was bordered in beautiful flowering shrubs and a split rail fence. As they neared she noticed two large ornate gates.

The gates opened as they approached and a booming voice of a man seemed to come from the void itself, echoing around them as if it was everywhere…everything.

“Who comes seeking my help? To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit today? Have the three of you just decided to come visit me? I hope you have brought me a gift, as is the custom here for uninvited guests." The voice enveloped them as they approached the cottage.

Outside the cottage the trunk of an enormous tree had been cut into the shape of a chair, and sitting in the seat of it was a giant of a man.

His skin was flesh colored but his ears were a small cut Elven ear. His eyes slanted oddly, but in a good way that gave him a pleasing appearance. What looked like goat horns grew out from his forehead, arching up and back over each eyebrow like those of a fighting ram.

His chest was a mass of solid muscles, built for fighting; but his eyes danced in mischief and his mouth looked like it perpetually smiled. Eyja hoped that was a good sign, and that Maxical knew what she was doing.

For just a moment Eyja suffocated a feeling of panic, standing by his side was the hugest dog she'd ever seen. A line of drool hung from the oversized mouth, and the dog licked it’s chops as it eyed her.

“Er…beautiful dog, what does he eat? Not...people, right?”

The giant boomed out a laugh. "His name is Barbas. He seems to have taken a liking to you."

“Just as long as it’s not for his dinner…or mating.” Eyja eyed the dog nervously. Barbas lumbered over and began sniffing her butt.

Clavicus Vile’s laugh boomed out again. “Let us get acquainted. You must know me as you have come to me for a favor, but I will introduce myself anyway. I am Clavicus Vile."

Eyja clasped Seth tightly to her, but Maxical kneeled down in front of him and looked up into his eyes.

“You may remember me, I am Maxical...or rather Ma'Thjizzrini Qa. Well, actually it’s S'Thjizzrini Qa now since I’ve mated. And this is my friend Eyja the Friendly. Our friend here is Seth, Sethyas Velas. He is the one we have come to ask the favor for. He is dying, we need to save him."

"My my, you are an entertaining lot. We have one with three names and just as many husbands; and two assassins. This one has mated more men than I have souls in my realm. The other has sent many souls to their reward, but none to me…and all of you decided to bring your act to my doorstep and entertain me with it. How kind of you. I can't imagine what I have done to deserve such pleasure. I certainly can't accuse you of boring me…yet."




***


Clavicus Vile leaned back against the tree stump with a sanguine expression. “If you wish to please me, I prefer gifts than explanations. Come now, you have not traveled all this way to walk away empty handed. What have you brought besides yourselves for my entertainment? For I am the one that can grant your wish. That is what I do." The hopeful expression flickered quickly. Clavicus Vile made a show of halfway covering a fake yawn with his hand. His voice was beginning to border on edgy.

Maxical answered, to Eyja's relief. “I apologize, Sire. And I have brought you a gift.” Before she could finish Clavicus leaned over and stared down at each of their pockets.

"Gold holds no interest for me. It is just metal up here. I prefer to deal in souls. I have an eternity on my hands, and see little in it to keep my mind occupied. What gift can you offer that will relieve the tedium of my existence in this plane? Do you have some bargaining in mind? I am always seeking company on this lonely plane.”

Maxical responded quickly. “I have brought you a gift, Sire. It is my soul..."

“Thank you!” He reached his hand toward Maxical, and a silvery film pulled from her chest toward his open palm. He closed his hand around it.

Eyja shrieked. "NOOOO! She meant after she died!"

Clavicus Vile boomed out a huge laugh that continued long after Eyja thought was seemly. Maxical turned toward Eyja and grinned.

"That is a joke he pulls, he uses illusion to scare new people to his realm."

Eyja clutched the tree next to her to keep from vomiting. Clavicus finally stopped his laughter. "And what do you seek in return?"

Maxical answered him. "The life of my friend here. He seems to have imbibed too heavily and fell from a cliff. We couldn't heal him, not in time to save him. Please, will you save his life in exchange for my soul?"




*



Clavicus Vile's Realm:








Clavicus Vile:






Barbas:






*

Serene

Or I could just sleep on the matter

She noticed a khajiiti woman step in loudly asking where her husband was....Serene smiled, more missing husbands she thought

She finished her drink, Aravi had already gone to bed so why not follow her example

With heavy steps she went up the stairs to their room....

*

Maxical:

Bograk's smile when she saw Eyja changed to a look of tusky concern when she saw Seth's inert form being carried in.

"You always seem to come with one laid out, Miss. I take it you'll be needing the suite again?"

Eyja nodded. "Yes please. And how is your Lleris doing?"

Bograk's smile widened. "Back as good as ever, Miss." She signaled for Riad. "Help them get this man to the suite."

Riad scowled when he saw Eyja, but with a roll of his eyes he hefted Seth into his arms and made his way up the stairs.

Maxical grabbed Eyja's cheque book from her pack and handed a blank cheque to Bograk. "She'll come back and sign it as soon as we get settled. I am looking for his wife...never mind, she'd probably be in her husband's room. I'll go look."

Bograk shook her head, then brightened suddenly. "He's the one from the room next to the suite! She is in his room, Miss. I saw her go to bed last night."

"Thank you, Bograk. He is being taken to our suite, can you please give his wife a key to access him? And Eyja has hired a wonderful physician for his care, Gureryne Selvilo from the Chorrol Chapel. if you can direct him to the suite when he comes?"

Bograk nodded her response. Maxical hurried up the stairs to Seth's room and knocked on the door. After several knocks got no response, Maxical grabbed a parchment and quill from the stand at the end of the hall and scribbled a note.


*

Dear Serena,

There has been an accident involving your husband, Sethyas Velas. His injuries are too great for him to be moved at this time.

You will find him resting as comfortably as possible in Eyja and my suite, it is the room next to your room. (Bograk can provide you with a key so you can enter at will).

Eyja has procurred a wonderful physician in Chorrol who will attend him if you have to continue the search for your and his daughter, Rianne. While conscious, Sethyas seemed quite concerned for her safety.

My most heartfelt sorrow for your situation with both your daughter and Seth. I have no doubt Seth will rise strong again, he is too ornary for the grave.

Maxical


*

Maxical slid the note under Serene's door, then brushed past it and into the room next door. She turned the key in the lock behind her and hurried across to the suite, locking that door behind her out of habit.

Eyja indicated a steaming mug of coffee and a plate with a sweetroll and strawberries on it. "I fixed your dinner, but I've already eaten."

""I had to leave a note for Serene, she didn't answer. How is Seth doing?"

"As well as can be expected. Gureryne Selvilo is in with him now. He shoed me out while he examines him."

"I just left instructions with Bograk! He couldn't have passed me, how did he get here?"

Eyja pointed to the back door. "I saw him coming and waved him in."

Maxical slumped down and gulped the coffee too quickly. She choked, spewing out half of what was in her mouth.

Eyja shook her head. "Now I've got to clean the kitchen. I'm bringing a cup of this up to Gureryne, do you think you can stop making messes long enough for me to do that?" She stomped out of the kitchen with the coffee, but then barely made a sound as she moved up the steps.

Maxical grinned, popping a strawberry in her mouth, but her expression got serious again as she thought of poor Serene. First her daughter, now this.




*

Desselius climbed down the stairs of his room, his heavy steps singing throughout the room as he descended into the lower levels of the Goblet. Though his steps were loud, he wasn't wearing any armor. On the contrary, Lycus was quite comfortable in his sack cloth pants and coarse linen shirt. His feet were tucked away inside his huntsman moccasins.

The hunt was a success, as he predicted it would be. The hunters collected their fill of meat and trophies and the adventure was a great one. The rest of the morning now would be pure leisure.

The long-haired Imperial giant massaged his left shoulder with his right hand as he moved to the counter for a heavy and hearty breakfast. He heard a light gasp and turned to the direction of the source; a young human girl, no more than the age of seven, stared up at him with eyes wide and a mouth shaped into a gaping oh.

An all too familiar reaction he's got from women who shied away from his aggressive and ugly appearance, men who felt intimidated. Children were often startled.

Lycus looked at the child and managed to crack a faint, almost non-existent smile to her. It was the best he could do. The girl only backed away and retreated away and buried her face into the robes of her mother. Lycus knew he had the face that was as if it was a sculptor's first attempt at hacking away features at a lump piece of stone. More than scarred: crude, savage, brutal and even devoid of any apparent warmth. For all the revelry of the festival, he was sober now: black hair in a loose fashion, bright eyes that should have had a special drink-inspired shine in them but were predator-cold. The knuckles of his hands showed red from stress of fighting Ogres and boars.

As a man once joked about him; Lycus was born an Imperial, raised by wolves, adopted by Nords, trained by a Redguard, abandoned and thrown into the world.

His smile faded and he returned his attention to the idea of a meal to come. He sat on the chair that squeaked and protested at the weight set upon it and it even seemed to cringe when he situated his rump on the surface. He looked down on it and wondered if it would be strong enough to hold him. It should have. He didn't think he gained any muscle or weight, despite how much food he has eaten. He didn't feel no different either.

So he waited and listened to the still-sleepy early birds that were the patrons exchange gossip in whispers that were unheard by most, but loud and clear to him:

"Did you hear about the brawl we had at the festival?"

" . . . I heard a Dunmer man got drunk, fell of a cliff and died!"

"I've been having a lot of headaches lately . . ."

"I hope I don't pay extra if accidentally pissed myself on the sheets . . ."

"My neck hurts . . ."

Khan collapsed, exhausted, onto the bar. He slid the parcel containing the meat across to a surprisingly energetic Yetta, who carried the awkward meaty thing to the kitchen. He looked at the blisters on his hands from gripping his sword so tightly. Those ogres put up a damn good fight, make no mistake, and he had certainly enjoyed it. He sat back in the stool, thinking of what to have for breakfast, when he remembered something. Azurah's unmentionables, Sonita's here!

Ohhhhhh. This was going to be hard. On the one hand, she'd be happy to see him, on the other, he hadn't been here when she arrived. With her, if you were fashionably late, you'd become "the late". Probably best not to act guilty. At least he'd bought her that pot from Blacklight. Spotting Lycus, he gave a friendly wave and went back to the menu.

Lycus scooped up a spoonful of porridge and drove it into his mouth after he finished his plate of scrambled eggs and roasted boar meat. Lleris scurried about with a cheery look on his face, but when he reached Lycus to collect his leftovers there was just the faintest hint of something opposite. The small trace of negativity was quickly subdued by his customary smile and polite excuses.

"Would you like anything else, sir?" Lleris inquired Lycus.

Lycus tilted his head, studying the boy closely before replying. "Blackberry Alkanet tea. I'll have some of that."

"Right away, sir." He said as he hurried off, missing a step or two before he stood up tall to regain his footing.

Lycus concealed the need to chuckle. The Nord cook, Yetta, made no effort to hide her true feelings. A smile spread thinly over her young face and she continued on her duties with a gingerly dance to her every move.

"The lad is a skittish today," Lycus said. "What's happened to him?"

"When isn't he skittish? It's the stamina drinks," Yetta said with a faint smile and a slight whisper. "Keeps him up and running around."

Lycus said nothing. When Yetta saw this, she added "Besides, its not every day a man threatens to break his hands."

The big Imperial managed a laugh. He leaned back and folded his large arms across his chest. Was it his hands or his arms that I threatened to break?

"Not use to Imperial hospitality, is he?"

"You mean a Nord's hospitality?" Yetta asked with a dose of playful challenge in her voice.

"For dark elves, a human's hospitality is one in the same," he said. "What is he? Hlaalu?"

Yetta placed more dough into the oven to be baked, keeping focused on her task at hand. Not once did she distract herself to making a mistake. She timed the cooking perfectly but she was still mindful enough to continue her conversation with the patron.

"Yes," she sounded surprised. "How did you know?"

"Spent some years in Morrowind. I know Imperialized dark elves when I see one. Seen em' a lot."

"Oh? What did you do for a living there? If you don't mind my curiosity."

There was just a quick glint in his eye. "Different trades; Blacksmith. Miner. Mostly a hunter."

She eyed some of the scars written over his arms, and she mustered the courage to look on the one in his cheek. "Mined any stones that fought back?"

"Quite a few."

Lleris returned just then with a cup of tea and set it gently and disappeared to take another's order. Lycus took a sip of the tea, set it down and then proceeded to take another. Yetta moved in front of him to collect the plates left behind.

"Are you a notherner of Cyrodiil-born?" He asked after a moment.

Yetta

Yetta moved about her tasks with practiced ease. Breakfast was not much of a challenge to prepare and serve, and chatting with the inn’s customers made the work light. The big Imperial had a tough and even frightening appearance, but Yetta was used to rough company. Besides, she appreciated a man who tucked into her food with a good appetite.

Lycus responded to her curiosity with a question of his own.

“I’m Skyrim born,” she replied. “Grew up on a farm in Whiterun Hold. A cow broke my leg when I was just eight winters old. Did you know that cows can kick? They can. So I learned how to help in the kitchens instead of the fields while I was laid up with the bad leg. When my Pa lost the farm I got work in a tavern. I’d rather cook than follow a plow, especially for those damned Battle-Borns who took our land. Anyway, I came south for personal reasons that didn’t work out.” She doubted that Lycus wanted to hear about her love life. “So here I am.”

She gave him a grin. “I’ll prepare the game you hunters brought back for tonight’s meal, but I cook beef as often as I can get it. Fetching cows.”

Lleris approached to trade an empty platter for a full one. He trotted off to deliver the meal.

“Did your hunting ever take you to Skyrim?” Yetta asked Lycus.

"Aye," Lycus replied to her with a grin. "I know cows can kick. Seen it a lot."

He wasn't much different than Yetta. He grew up a low-class citizen of the empire. A peasant boy working the farm and tending to his sheep. He remembered once where his hound Tiber was kicked in the snout by one of his cows when he was just a lad.

Yetta too seemed to come from humble beginnings and still worked in a modest trade as a cook. Many women in Skyrim were hardened women who sought to leave the kitchens despite the regular demands of societies' norms. Many of them didn't make it. Like men, not all women are cut out to be fighters. Just as not all women are meant to be cooks.

Gods know how terrible Vera was at cooking . . .

And of course like many others, sometimes things never work out the way they want to. Sometimes moving to another province is the best idea. Cyrodiil surrendered many opportunities places like Skyrim or Morrowind could not. It wasn't the seat of the empire for nothing.

After she asked of his hunting, Lycus leaned a bit backwards from the table. "My hunting had taken me everywhere."

He's hunted in Cyrodiil for a better part of his life. The land was ripe with all sorts of game. Living as a hunter had its uses here.

"I've hunted in Morrowind and in Solstheim."

It wasn't for much long. The majority of the time he spent in the dark elf lands he was hauling stones, picking away at the mines and fighting other men in the arena. It was a few months of a free man that led him to hunt for nix-hounds, kagouti and kwama.

He had the privilege to be alive and breathing during the greatest hunt in the land, hosted by the Lord of the Hunt. Though it didn't last long, he and Vera had traveled there after her grandfather's notes spoken of a time where the young moon would be red, and Hircine and his hounds would stalk the land, preying on men. Many had died, and he was one of the lucky ones to survive the destruction of the glacier. The ice had preserved him and her for two centuries. Times had since changed.

Lycus didn't tell her of the most dangerous hunt he's experienced in Oblivion where he and other mortals were trapped in the Hunting Grounds for weeks, and were pitted against the denizens of the realm. Yetta would strike him as an insane drunk too into his cups or a madman spewing nonsense.

"I've lived in Skyrim soon after I retired when I became Grand Champion of the Arena," he explained. He left out the part where he departed for the safety of his mother and his father and those he held closest. "Hunted everything from elk to men, from giants to mammoths. I built a cottage in the Falkreath woods and stayed there for sometime."

When Yetta was unresponsive, Lycus got up and left.

Abiene

Snowflakes drifted lazily in the light breeze as Abiene made the turn up to the Wobbly Goblet.

“A joyous Saturalia to you!” she called out to Lowren, giving him a cheery wave. The pasture held a fair number of horses, some wooly with their winter coats and others blanketed against the chill. Abiene hoped that there would be a room available at the inn.

The ostler raised a hand in reply to her greeting but didn’t give any indication that he wished to stop his work and chat. Abiene continued up the path, shaking the snow from her cloak and hood as she stepped into the tavern’s warmth.

Auguste stood behind the bar reviewing some document with Bograk. Hethilion put his broom aside and approached Abiene.

“Have they returned?” she asked before he could get a word out. “I sent a note this morning, but then I just couldn’t wait for a reply. So I came to see for myself. Skyrim isn’t that far away, don’t you think they should be back soon?”

Hethilion took her pack while she chattered. His face told her the answer.

Abiene bit the corner of her lip, trying to hide her disappointment. “Oh, well is there a room? Yes of course, I suppose that’s why you’ve taken my things for me. Hethilion, thank you.” She took in a deep breath. A rumble sounded from her stomach area.

“What is that wonderful smell? That’s not just steamed pudding and butter cakes. I confess, I’m nearly starved into an ill temper. I’ll just run into the kitchen, all right? Yetta won’t mind. I won’t touch a thing, I promise.”

Abiene gave the dour Altmer’s arm a quick squeeze and darted off down the corridor before he could object. She had arranged for her bills to be sent to Seed-Neeus in Chorrol for payment, so she would never again be caught with empty pockets when it was her turn to buy a round. An open tab gave her very few liberties, and she intended to make full use of them.

“Happy Saturalia!” she called over her shoulder to Hethilion. The savory aroma filled her mouth with anticipation as she approached the kitchen door. “Mara’s Mercy, I don’t think I’ve ever smelled anything quite so tempting!”

Lycus stood tall over his handiwork and it was good. The smell practically had taken away all of the malevolent focus of the hunt that knocked periodically in his head or the worry that Vera might be in paradise right now.

The food was spread out on the table before him: venison and boar meat done over an open fire, wet with a sauce made with the drippings; a fresh capon cooked with honey and almonds; black olives and bread; and a handful of boiled eggs with diced onions.

To the side was a scrumptious sight of bear rib mixed with garlic-sprinkled mash potatoes, glazed carrots and moist buttered rolls. Among these were the spiced meat of boar with honey, green beans bathed in Funnel Cap Sauce. But it wasn't these that were the only specialties filling the air with a captivating aroma. Even the thrushes and bobolinks braised in a white wine sauce, with their flesh scented by the sweet taste of the figs used to fatten them, wasn't enough to make the air dance with the promise of a full-stomach.

Lycus turned over to his sweet masterpiece that would make a khajiit's want to devour its own rear; Saturalia Sweet Rolls, Jazbay-Apple Pie, Butter Stars and Pumkin Tarlets and the cornucopia of food filled the air with such an amazing scent that the occasional patron stopped by to inquire what was being made.

A silver tray with wine cups and a jug sat on the table near him as he poured himself a small cup and drank from it. He didn't do it alone. The other workers were involved in it as well. Yetta was a talented woman and Lleris had his uses, despite being a Dark Elf. But he knew he had to be involved and he knew Bograk wouldn't object. If she did, he'd might as well take the meat elsewhere.

I'll be damned if I let another person cook the meat I hunted.

It wasn't out of spite or mistrust. More of a customary obligation to cook one's own food. Nobles and high-lords had food cooked for them all the time, even if they once in a bloodmoon pushed their fat rumps out of bed to go hunting they never had the will to spend a few hours in the kitchen preparing that food. He learned to hunt and cook his own food ever since he was just a young man and it was soothing, just as fishing or sleeping in the wilderness or hiking in a deep forest. It took his mind off certain things. Things he couldn't afford to keep his mind on with others around. Soon he might even be done before the group returns from their journey.

Thank the Huntsman Vera isn't here yet. Her cooking might as well grow spider legs and scurry off out of the kitchen and damn everyone if they tell the truth. She's blessed with the skills of using a bow, a knife and her hands but cooking . . . Dagon's realm would sooner freeze over.

Lycus turned and saw an extra bit of cooking he reserved just to sample. The best, more enjoyable part of it was that he could taste his own work. And that he did.

A large round loaf was in the center of the table. Lycus twisted off a big hunk. The bread was thick and smelled of olive oil and onions in the dough. His strong teeth ripped into it, tearing off a sizeable chunk from the bread. He chewed and swallowed it and found satisfaction in the knowledge that it was perfect.

“Mara’s Mercy, I don’t think I’ve ever smelled anything quite so tempting!” a voice said.

Lycus turned to the door to see a cloaked Abiene standing there, obviously hungry and lured by the scent the food produced. The large Imperial moved from one side of the kitchen to the other, evidently bothered by the apron that was tight around his massive body. His hair, tied into a ponytail to prevent rogue strands from falling into the food, was also peeving him. It gave him a slight headache. But he didn't complain. He was use to discomfort.

"Pray to your gods to remove such temptation from your path," Lycus said over is shoulder as he poured a white cream over the sweetrolls. "Don't give in just yet. Food isn't done."

He stood back and inspected the dessert with a careful, analytical eye. He then turned to Abiene, and gestured with his head for her to enter. "You're free to come and see what your nose has lured you to. I won't bite, but I'm hoping you won't either."

Abiene

“Pray to your gods to remove such temptation from your path,” Lycus said over his shoulder as he poured a white cream over the sweetrolls. “Don’t give in just yet. Food isn’t done.”

Abiene felt her eyebrows shoot up at the delicious sight. Lycus wore an apron that was as tight as his skin. She quickly schooled her expression even as her cheeks heated. She blamed the kitchen fire.

He gestured for her to enter. “You’re free to come and see what your nose has lured you to. I won’t bite, but I’m hoping you won’t either.”

Abiene hung her cloak on a peg and glanced at Yetta for permission. The Nord woman gave her a welcoming grin.

I see a lot I’d like to bite, thought Abiene. “I promise I’ll behave,” she said with a smile. Abiene picked up a clean kitchen towel and tied it like an apron over her skirt. Yetta’s aprons would likely go around her twice, since she wasn’t much bigger around than one of Lycus’ arms. Compared to the Nord and the big Imperial Abiene felt like a string bean beside a beef roast and a plump, soft roll.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Abiene asked, washing her hands in the basin. “I’m no cook but I can keep a spoon moving, and I have a steady hand with a pastry brush.” She was also very good with a surgical knife, but that was the kind of remark that might turns peoples’ stomachs.

She walked over and gazed at the spread in astonishment. “Lycus, did you make all of this? How did you learn to cook this way? Surely not at a hunters’ camp.”

Her stomach made a noisy grumble. Abiene held up her hands in embarrassment. “Don’t worry, I may be half-starved but I’ll behave. I’ll be sure I… Wait, are those butter stars? Butter stars are my favorite!”

Khan stepped into the kitchen, his battle gear swapped for a quilted coat and linen trousers. He carried a haunch of the venison under his arm, and stopped when he saw Lycus and the woman. "Ah! He cooks as well, then! Hmm. Most impressive. You seem to be lacking a stew, so I hope you would not object to my making of one."

Khan turned to a long wooden counter and began cutting rough chunks of the venison off the bone, leaving a small layer of meat on the bone. He poured a pitcher of water into a blackened pot over the fire. He added herbs, the same ones his mother used to. This was her recipe, and Khan knew how good it was on a cold wintry day.

He added the hock of deer meat and turned to Lycus' bountiful spread. "Are those...Saturalia sweetrolls? I haven't had one in years! Used to buy them from a market stall in Bruma, ate 'em on the wall during watch duty. Takes me back that does."

"I'm rambling, though, aren't I? This looks like a feast fit for an Emperor, and I think several dozen marriage proposals will come your way when the guests taste it."

Lycus maintained his unwavering focus on the task before him. Abiene was excited, almost too excited, to see the food around her. With enthusiasm she rushed inside, plucked an apron and began to inspect and ask how she could be of assistance. Lycus expected the northerner to answer, but she took too long, Lycus replied instead.

"You stir," he said. "We need a steady hand."

Abiene went over to the array of special dishes and gazed at them with wonder. Lycus thought for a second she would sooner eat the food than help make it. “Lycus, did you make all of this? How did you learn to cook this way? Surely not at a hunters’ camp.”

"Hunting isn't the only skill I have," Lycus confessed. And it was true. Those who looked at him saw an imposing, savage brute who could only use his muscle to fix a problem or deal with an issue. But he's learned many things during his long, grueling years. Call him what they will. Gladiator, Hircine's hound, warrior, farmer, hunter . . . most never imagined he was still a cook as well.

He didn't make this particular talent a secret. "Learned a thing or two from my mother when I was a lad," he said. The rest he had to figure out on his own when he left for Skyrim years before the Oblivion Crisis. Living alone, in Falkreath, in no position to be around non-lycanthropes, he had to make his own food and his own living. "The rest I learned alone."

Abiene squeaked in his ears about Butter Stars and Lycus was unable to resist giving Yetta a fleeting glance. No woman should stand in an empty-stomach. He saw fit to at least allow her the opportunity to sample something.

She did save my life, after all.

"Pick one." Lycus said, with a heavy emphasis on his last word.

It was then that someone else entered the kitchen and Lycus didn't need to turn to know it was the khajiit legionnaire from before. The khajiit was familiar with the sweetrolls, and even revealed to Lycus he ate them during his tours.

"I hope you were on break while eating those," Lycus noted. "Wouldn't trust a man with my life if he ate half the time."

Khan excused his own tongue, and explained that the quality of the food before him was fit for royalty. It was true. But Lycus was glad there was no royalty here that he was aware of. He's spent years working for the rich when he was given no choice. No way in Oblivion would he do anything for free. Especially cook.

"To their disappointment, then," Lycus turned to Khal with something almost like a smile on his face. "I'm a married man."

“Thank you, Lycus!” Abiene carefully picked up a butter star and took a bite. A tall Khajiit walked into the kitchen as she rolled her eyes in delight over the pastry. She savored every crumb while she listened to the two men talk.

“I’m Abiene Metonne,” she said to the Khajiit when there was a pause in the conversation. “I saw you leaving for the hunt. I’m pleased to meet you.”

She wiped her fingers and got busy stirring sauce.

Abiene smiled at the banter over Lycus’ impending marriage proposals. “Vera is a lucky woman,” she said. “I wonder if they will return soon. Have you heard anything, Lycus? I’ve tried to reach Darnand through the crystal ball, but I’m afraid I’m not very good at it. The last time I accidentally made his eye bleed. Anyway I’m not even sure he brought it with him.”

She watched the sauce swirl around her spoon, trying to keep the concern out of her expression. There was no reason to worry. Lots of folk lived in Skyrim, and every day some of them survived to see the next one. Her friends could walk through the door at any moment.

Aelena walked from the Mages Guild to the gates of Chorrol with her carrying her brown, cloth bookbag slung over her chest. It bounced lightly against her hip as she walked outside the gate, heading towards the Wobbly Goblet inn. Ever since the festival, the older mages had been raving about the food and drink there, among other things. She had tuned out the rest of the conversation as it veered towards indecency and borderline voyeurism. Instead, she fixed her mind on gathering ingredients in the early morning, before the sun had begun climbing over the horizon.

She slung her long braids over her shoulder and tucked them into the hood of her heavy black cloak. Her bright hazel eyes scanned the darkened road before she lit a spell in her hand, lighting her body with a greenish light that lit up the area around her. She began walking the roads and off the beaten path for alchemy ingredients.

She found few, which wasn't surprising with the weather. Her breath blew out in warm puffs, the air expelling from her lungs in slow wisps as she walked towards the inn. The morning sun warmed her dark skin nicely, but there was still a chill on the tip of her nose. She swung the door open and tapped her heavy boots on the doorframe, knocking the snow off of the bottoms and onto the ground just outside the door. She took a deep breath, and realized she was starving. And sleepy.

She sat at the bar, her stomach growling as the different smelled caressed her nose. She left her hood up to hide her hair, but put her bag onto the ground. She began looking at the menu.

"Spiced cider, please?" She asked the barman. "I haven't decided on food yet, though."

Abiene tightened her hood and stepped out into the cold. Snow fell in thick, puffy clumps that stuck to tree branches and fence rails. Her Weatherward ring kept the chill from seeping through her boots.

She stood for a moment enjoying the quiet.

Hearts Day is in less than two weeks. I wonder if my friends will have returned by then.

The inn’s Welkynd stone lantern caught the snowflakes in its glow. She put the welcoming beacon to her back and started up the road, first through the village and then northwest toward Chorrol.

Auguste

Auguste filled a mug with steaming spiced cider and slid it across to the young Redguard woman. “Take your time,” he said to her. “The pastries will be out soon, or you can order something heartier.”

As if on cue young Lleris appeared at Auguste’s elbow. He placed a platter of sweetrolls and another of sausage-filled dumplings on the bar. “Happy Othroktide,” he said to Auguste.

Auguste’s brows went up. He doubted that Lleris grew up celebrating obscure south coast Breton holidays. “You’ve been dawdling in the library again?”

Lleris grinned. He nodded a quick greeting to the Redguard woman and trotted back to the kitchens.

Auguste wiped the spotless bar and awaited the lady’s order.

Serene, early morning after the accident, which she doesn't know of!

Serene didn't know exactly what woke her up..one moment she was fast asleep, the next she was awake. She felt a growling in her stomach...

Gah, I'm hungry! And where the heck is that husband of mine? hasn't slept in this bed as it seems

She went up and washed her face in the bowl on the small cupboard. Refreshed she looked in the mirror hanging on the wall ..and jumped! She looked awful, her hair was in a mess, her eyes swollen and narrow...she looked like she had been drinking all night...

What happened last night really?

Well some food and hackle-lo tea would probably do the trick. She tried to straighten her hair with her fingers, couldn't remember where she had put her bags....and headed for the door

She didn't notice the note on the floor...

Aelena smiled up at the barman as she carefully sipped her cider. The warmth seeped down into her gut in a pleasant way. She licked her lips briefly and set the menu down.

"The crab dip with bread sounds lovely. Can I also get a glass of water with this, please?" She smiled sweetly at Auguste and sipped her cider.

Lycus discarded his apron and left it in the kitchens. The food was already done, over with. All that was left was for them to be eaten. He knew as quick as they were served, they would disappear. It was the least he could do to take his mind off certain things that peeved him. Much more beneficial than drinking wine until the point of unconsciousness as a substitute for a lack of a restful sleep.

The cook allowed him to take his own plates to his room, which was free for the night. He saved one for Vera before she returned. He knew how much she liked his cooking, despite him hating hers. She was a tough woman, a cold woman, but he knew how to warm that demeanor of hers. It took patience and affection.

The warrior headed off from the kitchens and into open balancing the plates in both of his hands. Though he knew just how savory the work of his hands tasted for years now, he was still eager to take a bite out of it. But he would wait until Vera returned.

Lycus hurried his pace to get away from the others when he was intercepted by a man who was apparently too distracted to see him. The big Imperial's legs collided with the man's knee, and he felt himself trip over with the food in his hands. The room was an immediate daze that he could not tell right from left right away until his fall came to an end.

The food in his hands was gone. It was there, just not in his hands.

It was over the floor, all over his face and caked over someone else. That victim was a Redguard woman full lips and blue eyes with braids longer than his own hair but in various colors. The colors were added with new ones made of pudding, sauce and meat and other ingredients from different plates all mixed together.

Lycus shot a glare at the man, who apologized to him right away as the other patrons began to look in his direction, either to think of him a clumsy oaf or otherwise. It was an accident, and they happened regularly. He couldn't care less about any of that . . . all he cared now was that his food was everywhere but in his mouth.

He didn't apologize to the dark-skinned human, not right away. He only breathed heavily, with eyes closed and a restrained composure. He let the air escape from his lips thinly than he sucked them in. His fast-beating heart began to slow the drumming beat, and his hot blood didn't' feel nearly as boiling as they did when it happened.

The last thing he wanted was to trigger the change here.

There were too many people here. People who just wanted to celebrate the holidays and engage in festivities.

He didn't want to add them to the list of slaughters.

After he was done he looked to the woman, and shook his head. "My apologies," said Lycus with a hoarse voice.

Aelena's contented feeling ended when hot food was tossed at her. Not intentionally, by the look at the large man and the other patrons. Some laughed, and the man took a few calming breaths.

Must have a temper...ow...this food is hot!!

"It smells like it would've tasted delicious." Aelena replied to his apology. "Accidents happen. That's not the worst I've had thrown at me." She joked with a smile at the man. The man behind the bar, Auguste, she had heard someone else call him, sighed and gave her a rag to clean up with. Luckily it wasn't the one he was already cleaning the bar with.

"I suppose this means I'll be taking a bath here." She kidded lamely as she wiped her braids, a frown on her face. She dispelled the spell on her hair, showing the true color of jet black as she wiped them off.

"I'll help you clean the food up." she said to the large man. She stood up and realized she only came up to his chest. she smiled up at him and laughed a little.

"Either I'm very small, or you're massive!"

Lycus almost murmured at her comment about the food tasting savory had the accident not happened. He supposed what was left of it could be put to good use . . . by feeding the dogs. Yes, he thought, that would be appropriate. Such a fine dish he put effort into shouldn't go to waste.

He sat there and began to clean as Auguste tossed a rag at her. It was a miracle he didn't foam at the mouth and jumped in their midst to clean the floor. Lycus had a rag in his hand that he used to hold the hot plate. He now began to clean it up.

"The baths here are worth it," he said lowly, occasionally looking up to her as he cleaned the floor beneath him. "Hethilion does a satisfactory job. I find no fault in the man."

As he said those words he noticed her hair changed color to shadow black, and realized she was keeping her hair under an illusion spell. The woman must have some understanding of the magic arts. A mage, it would seem.

He didn't like mages much, just as he didn't like many things. But he could make an exception to a few. Being a good judge of character, he could see that this woman was something different. His instincts told him she wasn't as malicious as the other magicka-using wizards and spellcasters.

Lycus looked down on her as she looked up at him, making a comment about his size. It was odd that his strange, not-so-stellar face and imposing height and mass didn't scare her off. He supposed it was better her see him in this form, than to face the immense seven-foot tall creature that was his true form.

"You have my sincere thanks," Lycus nodded once to her, and then his lips nearly parted for a smile, one that yet looked like a grimace, as if he was having trouble doing so. "Aye, it is both. You're very small. And I am very large."

Her skin-color and attitude reminded him of a woman he once knew when he was just a human. And he took a step back as he collected all of the spilled contents of his plate. "Haven't met many of you Redguard who dabble in magic," he noted silently that only she could hear. His voice raised when all eyes flicked from him back to the usual routine and activity before the accident. "I can assume you're neither Forebear or Crown."

"You'd be right." She got on her hands and knees and helped him clean up. "I was born and raised in Cyrodiil. Chorrol is the closest I've ever been to Hammerfell. Seven generations my family has lived here. My sister, Ionna, went to the Arcane University, just like my mother. I followed in their footsteps. They're not very happy at my area of skill, but it is what it is."

(Edited to fix mistakes and add a smidgen of detail)

Aravi pushed the door open to the now familiar inn. She could have pressed on a little longer and made it to Chorrol, but why not stay here for a bit? Her limbs were tired from the road and her belly empty. She wasn’t in any hurry anyways.

The hot baths may have crossed her minds as well. Grime from the road accumulated after her hard wash in the springs.

Inside, she was prepared to see the gleaming bar, the Khajiit bouncer in the corner quietly watching, and a smattering of patrons scattered in small groups.

She wasn’t prepared to see Lycus and a Redguard woman standing amidst a mess of food on the floor.

Lycus towered over both of them.

“What happened here?” she asked either of them.

Lycus didn't look surprised, though he was. The girl might have been in her early twenties by the looks of it and yet she hasn't so much as touched her the lands her people were native of. It was common, more so when he was in slavery than he was a free man.

A redguard mage was not common. Their people valued might and arms and honor. Magic and such had no place in their culture but that did not stop a selected few to stray from their people's customs in pursuit of their own agendas and livelihoods.

"Many will not support what you are and what you do for a living," Lycus told her as he rose up at last, and set the plates on the counter. "All you can do is focus on yourself, and forget about the others that can anchor you. The world is bad enough as it is. You don't need others forcing their bile on you."

It was then that a familiar face had came in, asking what had happened. Lycus appraised the newcomer to the unfortunate event. It was Aravi.

The khajiit woman was dirty and much of the grime from the roads had gathered in her fur. He could smell it a mile off. But while he wasn't displeased to see her, he did expect to see another individual who shared his blood.

Vera.

Aravi came back alive, and alone. No sign of Kayla, no sign of that Breton mage and no sign of his woman. Lycus didn't draw too many conclusions from her absence, but he did fear that the worst was possible. As gifted in killing and a talented huntress, she wasn't immortal. And neither was he.

He knows was death felt like. He didn't think it would happen to Vera anytime soon. But he had to know for sure. He was confident that neither of them would face fate quietly in a death bed.

We've killed too many to be granted a peaceful, painless death.

"Accident," he said abruptly, and then turned fully to face Aravi, bit of concern written in his expression. "You've returned, alive and well. But my woman, what has become of her?"

Aravi looked confused. “She isn’t here? We separated for the return trip and she started back much earlier than I.”

Lycus devoted most of his attention to Aravi. The Redguard woman took a little too long to reply to his answer. She must have been still gawking at his size and frightening looks. He did expect Aravi to explain a little bit more on the subject, in longer words. But she was mum.

The Imperial looked visibly bothered by his woman's absence that his brow had folded and his jaws had tensed up a bit. He made a sound of consideration as he pondered on the reason why Vera hadn't shown yet when she left before Aravi did.

Lycus set his gaze down on Aravi. "I would like you to explain what happened in your journey."

He wasn't asking for specifics, but he wanted to know details on what occurred when they were out there. He could assume they were all alive. Aravi wasn't in mourning nor did she look distraught saves for the exhaustion and grime painted in her face.

Did Vera really return?

While he felt the suspicions creeping in, he knew he shouldn't have Aravi as a suspect. But yet couldn't trust anyone. Vera wasn't the kindest person in the world, and she was brutally truthful when she had to be. That never sat too well with anyone. Hells, her condition never sat well with anything either.

"Come," Lycus said, gesturing for her to follow him upstairs.

Aravi frowned, and followed Lycus up the stairs.

She could sense tension from him. She decided to offer more of an explanation as they walked.

“Kayla and I went to Winterhold, the bard went off on her own. Darnand and Vera went immediately back to Cyrodiil. Everyone made it through the cave,” she hesitated. She almost said fine, but Kayla did almost die…

“Well, everyone made it.”

Lycus climbed the stairs up to the corridor and then followed it to his own room. He stopped, and then opened the door and admitted Aravi inside as she explained what happened.

Within the room Vera's daggers and weapons left behind were kept in a secluded corner. Lycus' obsidian-colored armor of steel was sitting beside a dresser along with the greaves, boots and gauntlets. The snarling wolf helmet was there, as well, polished to shining.

The lycanthropic Imperial scratched his thick black beard as Aravi finished telling the story. Part of it, anyway.

They parted ways. The mage and Vera came together while her and the high elf woman went further north in Skyrim. When she spoke at the end, however, there was just the slightest hesitation in her voice. This prompted him to investigate further.

"Please," Lycus gestured toward the chair. "Take a seat. I'm sure whatever you need done can wait."

"I will be honest," Lycus said after a moment of thinking. "It is dangerous when one werewolf is in the company of men. More so when two werewolves are locked in combat with a group of non-lycanthropes."

He made no secret here to tell Aravi that he knew. He's always known since he first saw her. He didn't know if she was aware of his own condition or not, but he would soon find out. Whether by his words or by Vera's actions who's details are unknown to him.

"I know my wife well. She is a solitary woman. She hides her intentions and knows how to conceal what she is. This isn't something I like to admit, but I know she has fallen from her comfort zone when she agreed to leave with you and your . . ." he had to find the right words for this. "Friends . . . I suspect she may have been holding back on what she could do, and she was never a woman to temper her emotions much when they're swirling within her like clouds of flame. I want to know: has Vera jeopardized her secret?"

Lycus brought her into his room and offered her a seat. She sat, her aches and pains from travel not forgotten but ignored.

She would be first to admit that she didn’t like Vera, but she was concerned that she never returned. She should have been here long before I.

Lycus reminded her of Red Mountain. Huge and calm at the moment, but capable of exploding into violence that would destroy this very inn and everyone in it. She was much more capable now than when they first met, but she was sure he was as well.

Aravi fought because she didn’t want to be under anyone’s power again. Lycus fought for that and more. He took to the warrior culture more than she did. He enjoys doing battle.

She admitted there was an inexplicable rush that was like nothing else.

He spoke, and Aravi listened. She couldn’t help but blink when he revealed he knew what she was. Why should that surprise me? Vera knew.

When he was done speaking, she remained silent a moment. Here we go…

“Her secret was revealed. Both of us were revealed. It was that or death.”

Aravi spoke the words Lycus suspected would come but wish they didn't. Things went from bad to worse.

Lycus folded his lengthy arms across his broad chest and shifted uncomfortably in the position. His eyes stared into nothing in particular as he analyzed and studied the situation, forming possibilities of what might've happened in the moments Vera and the group were gone from the Wobbly Goblet.

Vera would never voluntarily skin-shift unless there was an absolute necessity to do so. Same as him. He recalled one time where he was poisoned with an arrow coated with Wolfsbane extract and the juice of ripened belladonna berries. Trapped in the form of a man, he had no choice but to shift to wolf to acquire the supernatural healing from the blood and flesh of his enemies. It was a necessity.

How strange- and perhaps fortunate- that everyone made it out alive. He's seen the aftermath of Vera's carnage when she turns. Sometimes, only bones remain . . .

Either they were lucky and intelligent to find a way to flee or the gods must have a tremendous sense of humor.

In any case, death was almost certain in many situations. "Hmm, you may have chosen death regardless," Lycus said with a heavy emphasis on the word may. "It is as I've feared. I have been exposed by Abiene. She saved my life here in the Inn. And in exchange for her good deed, I promised I shall not take her life in knowing the secret of what I am." He looked out the window. "I do not know much of your friends, and I have been wrong before in judgment but I hope that they aren't as fickle-minded and trapped by the outdated mores as the rest of society who wish to mount our heads on walls and use our coats for warmth and pelts as trophies."

He walked over to the door. "Though you've become a strong woman since the time I remembered you, I can see you are fatigued by your travels, Aravi. I do not wish to burden your conscious with worry. We wolves are not meant to be paranoid, but simply cautious and aware. Keep your eyes open, and on the prey, not the horizon. Get some rest. I would speak to you at another time."

With that, Lycus bade her a farewell with a gratuitous half-smile.

Aravi saw that her news was less than welcome. Obviously it would be. Everyone would have been happier if it had never happened.

His next words made her think that the bloodshed may not be over. She narrowed her eyes and her ears shifted back in the slightest.

He walked her to the door and bade her farewell. Before leaving she said, “I do not know why Vera has not yet returned. I can assure you it has nothing to do with my friends. You will not harm them.”

Before Aravi left his quarters, her last words to him was a bit of a mystery. Lycus implied it as a subtle threat. The kitten has gone bold . . . a bit too bold. He had no reason to harm her friends. They weren't his enemies. But if they gave him or his woman any threats or if they were a danger to his survival and Vera's, he would have to do the worst imaginable.

Simple.

He hoped, deep down, it wouldn't come to that.

Nevertheless he was grateful for Aravi coming to him and telling him what had happened. It meant he could count on her for something. Still, he did feel her loyalty was to her friends and not so much herself. To what she is.

But that is her burden alone.

The big Imperial closed the door as she left and walked to the window to gaze out into the world of white beyond the Wobbly Goblet Inn. The landscape was covered in snow and the green trees were blanketed with white.

Despite how tired she was, she was now on edge. Did Lycus think her friends were involved in Vera’s disappearance? If he did, they would be in grave danger. And she wouldn’t let him harm them.

She blew air out of her mouth.

I would try.

She arrived at the foot of the stairs and looked around the tavern. Simpler problems came to mind. Food or bed?

Vera Castius trekked through the thick snowy terrain, leaving her footprints dotting the path. Her body was covered from her head to her toe yet she couldn't feel any warmth despite walking in her heavy ebony gear.

The trip from Skyrim to Cyrodiil during winter was a long, arduous trip but still worth it and productive. A few coins richer was never something to complain about. At least not for me, Vera thought.

Lycus, on the other hand, wasn't enamored with the idea of living off gold as she was. The land offered sustenance. Currency was something invented by men and used throughout civilization. It didn't surprise her a man like him who has actually met the first hunters in history in Oblivion, and who has hunted with them as a pack throughout the Hunting Grounds, would set aside shape and societies' advancement in exchange for a time similar to that of the Dawn Era. A time before recorded history.

It wouldn't be long before he made her make a decision on how to live. To raise their child in the forests of Valenwood or Skyrim. Or even Cyrodiil where the majority of her family lived in through the centuries. Her son or daughter would be a Castius after all.

Hells, he'd even go as far as to try and raise our offspring in Hircine's Hunting Grounds.

Vera sighed.

A baby was long overdue. She's not getting any younger.

She walked through the snow, and into the Wobbly Goblet. She didn't know who she would find here but she deeply hoped she wouldn't see Aravi or any of the members of the group. It wouldn't feel right being around regular people knowing exactly what she can turn into. The prejudice and fanatical crusades against her kind had made her extremely distrustful.

Vera went through the door, walked past the patrons, and hurried up the stairs.

I hope my husband is here.

Ushak gra-shub walked.

She walked through the early morning and grumbled to herself.

She trekked over hills, dipping high and low, ignoring the beauty of the snow and ignoring the warmth her armor provided her and complained silently to herself The path was too gravely, the sun too hot, her armor too heavy. She sorely needed a bath and someone to warm her bed. She laughed at the thought.

You couldn't get Sanguine himself to warm your bed. She thought bitterly. She didn't see anything wrong with her appearance. Her tusks were short and out of the way, her body was strong and lean. BUt for Orcs, her face was too soft and human-like, and for man and other mer, too Orc-like.

She wasn't concerned about it at the moment. She had plenty of experience warming her own bed.

She passed the Priory, waving to the monks that lived there. She asked if they needed any assistance with anything, as her savings wasn't running dry, but it was lower than she would like it to be. They shook their heads and pointed her to the inn up ahead, and she kept moving. She walked in, nodding to the barman and ordering food while a tall Altmer got her room and bath ready.

She couldn't wait to get her armor off. She sat at the table and drank her water.

Lycus argued with his woman. No blows were exchanged save for the insults. Insane she-wolf, he says. Hypocritical bastard, she barks. The room is nothing but a prison where two inmates bicker.

It doesn't bother him. She'll be kissing his feet, and him showering her with love later on.

But as of right now, he needed to clear his mind. Meditation wouldn't do. Nor would cooking.

Hunting is the only true pastime to hunter.

Lycus stormed from the room. Vera did not bother asking where he was going. This happened occasionally.

Out of the inn and into the open, Lycus was in a black mood, and not just because he dropped his plate full of food. His marriage was in agony. The two were at odds, and a few others seemed to know it. Their argument was loud, but the most precious of secrets kept under harsh whispers. When Lycus passed the stable, he’d heard two young newcomers sniggering behind his back. He could almost imagine that the horses were sniggering, too.

Lycus took nothing with him but heavy layers of fur coats to cover his body, and boots for his feet. A bow was slung over his back to join his quiver of steel arrows. He prayed to the Huntsman that tonight would be favorable. When a lad, hunting during Evening Star was more challenging than other seasons. The streams in the Great Forest were small and icy, and the game scarcer. Long ago, Lycus hunted and fished when he could, but it was harder, and some nights even in his true form he found no suitable prey. At times he went to sleep with an empty belly.

Traveling the area, Lycus was determined to stay well away from roads. Where one find roads, one finds travelers, and travelers have eyes to see and mouths to spread word of a tall Imperial with a wolfish grin and fur growing out of his ears. That, and traveling highwaymen stubbornly eager to make some coin. Lycus wanted to avoid them like a plague.

Highwaymen learned to group up. And in a unit, they're more dangerous. Lycus had just a bow and his arrows. It wasn't enough. Using his bare hands would inspire the beast to unleash itself. He simply couldn't have that. He was already angry. Any spark would set everything to flame.

Perhaps the wilderness could keep him calmer. People had the tendency to do the opposite.

Moonlight painted the wet forest in shades of silver and turned the grey peaks white. Owls hooted through the dark and flew silently between the oaks, while a fox scampered about to hide away in its den. Lycus closed his eyes and attuned himself to the forest.

Waiting. Listening.

Lycus couldn't control it. His mind gave in. His emotions raw and unrestrained, everything else was lost in the throes of the shift.

The Imperial dropped the two rabbits in his hand and fell to his knees with his hand reaching to his chest.
Everything went wild. The effect was instantaneous.

His copper skin changed color, turning a light shade of gray. His unruly scalp birthed a mane of silver fur that sprouted from his head and shoulders, and then all across his body and limbs, which themselves grew much larger in the space of a painful heartbeat. His blood-splattered fur coat and breeches came apart at the seams as he assumed the proportions of an enormous canine. His fist curled into monstrous hands. Clawed feet replaced his human ones, and a tale grew from his backside.

The effects of the transformation pulled on his flesh and bone, so that it flowed like a wild tide. His very skull underwent a grotesque metamorphosis. A canine muzzle protruded from his face. His brow sloped backward over fierce yellow eyes. Tufted ears tapered to a point. Flattened nostrils flared above a maw full of sharp incisors. He was tall and ferocious and beyond belief. Like the giant beasts of ancient Nordic myth. The beast exulted in his newfound power. An overwhelming sense of exhilaration accompanied his transformation. He flexed his great limbs, feeling the inhuman strength and vitality in them.

Feeling so free.

Or so deadly.

There were always things to see and things to smell, and an entire wilderness to hunt. And he could run! There was nothing better than running, unless it was running on the heels of prey.

The seven-foot tall lycanthrope shook the cloth from his hide, and explored the wilderness in search for prey. Sliding in and amongst oaks and trees in search for food, he startled four white-tailed deer and sent them bounding away through the forest. The beast saw the flash of motion and was after them at an instant, falling to all four to gain speed. He panted, with jaws slavering, practically tasting the meal to come already.

The deer leapt and spread, and the wolf chased a single one target into the open road and across it. The snowy terrain was no tough ground. He was able to traverse it with ease with his powerful legs.

The omnivorous mammal ran, but not too fast. The beast gained speed, and tackled it with brute force. He aimed for the throat while his claws raked the deer to open the belly where the meat would be found right beside the spine. The beast dug its head deep inside the open stomach, swallowing the contents within until he was able to reach it. He ate over a hundred pounds of flesh, and still wasn't sated.

He raised his blood-stained muzzle to the air and sniffed it. The wind carried a scent.

He followed it, but not before stopping to pick at the berries growing in a bush.

The werewolf explored the country-side looking for food and came upon a enclosure of sorts. A flock of sheep and cow were huddled inside a wooden lair. To the werewolf, it was just a matter of getting there.

With careful eyes that searched for a weakness, the massive beast took the front path and invaded the front door, crashing through. The sheep huddled together, bleating loudly. The werewolf's jaws bared a row of long, sharp fangs, and his lips pulled back into what could be considered a smile. The sheep had nowhere to go.

It attacked.

****

Vera approached the counter with a bag of coins in her hand, courtesy of Aravi. It was too cold to hunt outside, and she'd rather rest her body after that trip. Though able to travel great distances, she preferred to spend the some of her coin on food. She remembered when she had lost her home all those years ago. It felt like it happened in a span of a few years rather than many. Thirst; hunger; despair. They were her constant companions, with her every hour of every day, and in time she had come to think of them as her allies. They motivated her to hunt. Now she had the luxury to buy food when the mood didn't strike.

She admitted being side-tracked before returning to the Goblet, but she sincerely thought Lycus would understand. And so wolfman and she-wolf bit at each other's throats. Mostly about [censored] that wasn't necessary.

He's sleeping in the snow tonight for being stubborn.

She made a large order of food to the Orsimer woman at the front, and sat and waited. As she did she saw another Orc sitting just beside her with heavy armor. Vera glanced at her direction twice. Once to sum up her size, and the other to capture her face.

Two things were certain: she was too pale for an Orc. too soft-skinned, it would seem. Then again, she was big enough to crush a woman not able in battle.

Vera's peripheral vision saw a mace at her side. Orcs . . . they do have a love for blunt weaponry. Maybe because it matched their personality?

Orcs were hardened warriors, and more disciplined than other cultures in some ways; no doubt under the guidance and protection of a higher power. Much like her and Lycus and other packs of men-beast.

Aside from her looks, Vera also took notice of the amulet around her neck. Every little boy, girl, hatchling or cub in the Empire learned about Mara and the faith of the Nine Divines. Most of them, anyway.

Vera was no stranger in growing up in a household that valued the Nine, long before tragedy struck. She recognized that those who wore the amulet either served Mara faithfully, or were looking to be betrothed.

For some reason the woman didn't strike her as too religious.

Pity a human man who marries an Orc, Vera thought the words Lycus told her once. Poor bastards can't handle such a woman. She recalled a tale her husband said of a Redguard lad who shared his heart with an older Orc woman from Orsinium. They didn't last two weeks before she ate his horse and nearly bashed his skull in with a club for him eating too much. Vera knew better; it was probably that time of month again.

No matter how savage Orcs were to people, Vera had to admire their fortitude. No matter how many times their lands were sacked and pillaged, they came stronger and tougher than before. If they behave like beasts, it's because half the humans in Tamriel talk to them like they're big dumb beasts.

Vera had a different mind. As a wise hunter once said: Not every beast is a brute. Even a large monster can outsmart a man.

As Vera anticipated the arrival of her food, she saw the green woman take a sip of her water. Not too fulfilling in a time like this, Vera mused.

"You should try the Spiced Honey Boar or the Hunter`s Stew," Vera said to the woman, turning only gently in her chair. "They make the meat just the way you'd want it."

Ushak idly sipped her water, still contemplating her meal choice. She had caught a glimpse of the woman behind the mouth-watering smell; a Nord, no less, and that was good enough for her to trust the food would be filling, if not too salty or bland. It was hard to tell which was which.

She heard someone speaking next to her, the woman who had come in earlier. Ushak didn't feel like socializing, nor did she feel up to being around too many people. But once the night came, once she had had her rest, she'd outdrink all of them.

She took off her helmet, her thick black locks spilling over her shoulders. She slid her fingers though her hair and blinked her pale blue eyes at the blonde woman. She was vaguely aware that there was a chance her hair was sticking up in odd places, but still mostly shaped as her helmet on the top. She sorely needed a bath.

"Do they?" She said in a slightly amused tone without turning towards the woman. "It was my understanding that most inns do, unless you're closer to the border of Skyrim. Then you get what you get."

She realized her words might have sounded sarcastic, but she wasn't in the mood to feel any remorse to possibly hurting someone's feelings. She was hungry, tired, and dirty. Back home, she'd be re-reading one of her favorite tomes or opening a new classic without her father's knowledge. Though not fond of magick himself, Urab gro-Shub valued knowledge and history. He'd entertain himself and her with stories of ancient monsters, magickal tales, and the history of anything you could think of.

But he wasn't a soft man. He was, after all, an Orc. He expected her to know the basics of weaponry, and the history of their people, though what he knew had been passed by word of mouth and dusty tomes. News traveled slowly in Skyrim, and most of all, in Winterhold.

In the end, it was he who encouraged her to make her own niche in history. "I know my place in history," he had said to her in his rough, low voice. "Go find your place. It's not here, behind these walls with dusty books. You have three days to prepare."

Without the rules of a Stronghold to tie her down, Ushak did just that. Though unskilled with a weapon himself, he knew many books to give her to teach her what she needed to learn. But it was all technicality and to experience at first. She had the knowledge, she just needed the practice.

Venturing through Skyrim to Cyrodiil have given her just that. The armor that had weighed her down like the world was on her shoulders made those same shoulders strong. Her mace was like an extension of her arm, and her shield had many dents that saved her life.

She finally turned to the woman.

"Ushak gra-Shub." She said simply.

Vera scratched the wood of the counter with her long nail, carving into it out of habit as the Orc woman replied. Her lips curled at the Orsimer's words, though it wasn't due to the tonality of her voice or the way she spoke.

"You haven't been to many inn's here if you believe that," Vera responded. "They don't serve food the way they use to. You'll have better service down by Anvil or in Skingrad."

It was true. She's been to plenty of inns, and the Goblet was the best so far in quality of service. Vera thought back on a day her and Lycus spent two days at an inn a few miles south. The barmaid was a terrible, envious and disrespecting wench that secretly soiled her food. She wench was a wanted woman, and she became a barmaid to hide herself and perhaps start anew after attempted murder and unfaithfulness to her lover. Unbeknown to her, Vera and Lycus had been watching her for quite some time. It made hunting her through the thick of the Great Forest enjoyable, quite sporting. They had bows, she had nothing but a dress.

The Orc that introduced herself as Ushak gra-Shub removed her helmet to show her black hair that tumbled to her shoulders. Vera wondered why she looked different than the average Orc, and then saw that her eyes were a clear blue. It made Vera wonder of the woman's parentage.

She looked like a traveler. Most Orcs were one way or another a warrior or an adventurer, taking refuge in their strongholds across certain lands. Their culture was brutal, tough and unforgiving. She's met many of them and fought very few of them. What is said about their martial prowess is true. They're fearsome combatants when giving into their berserker rage. Ushak looked young, but was she competent with that mace?

Vera's food arrived, and she removed her hand from the making her markings on the counter. When Ushak looked at her, Vera returned a glance. "Luka," Vera said, giving her nickname.

She shifted in her seat with her tight-laced leather pants and shirt of roughspun brown wool. Her arms extended beside her plate, she looked down at it so the smoke could lift to her nose. It was good.

And what was Lycus doing at a moment like this? Eating snow.

"Perhaps the inns serve the food the way I want because they believe I'll rip their leg off and kick their own rears with them." Ushak chuckled. "Perhaps I might use that threat again one day." Her helmet thunked on the wooden bar stool as she set it down. Her legs ached, begging for hot water, and she itched in places she couldn't mention aloud.

She didn't find herself particularly fearsome, but she noticed people flinched easier here. In Skyrim, some thick-headed Nords would sooner bow up to her rather than slink away, like most people do here. Luka did not, she saw. That was a welcome change.

"Luka," Ushak repeated after the woman, putting it to memory, though it didn't matter. The woman's face would soon blend with others, and join the other hundreds of faces she had seen through her travels. As the woman savored the tantalizing aroma the was lifted to her nose, Ushak 's stomach growled. She turned to the barman.

"Spiced Honey Boar, well done, three rolls, mead, mashed potatoes on the side." She set the appropriate amount of septims on the bar, and the man took it without so much as a sigh and disappeared in the back. Ushak turned to the woman named Luka, her expression neutral.

"Where can I find a minotaur?"

The question wasn't phrased with an inflection, she realized, but as a statement.

"Forgive my bluntness. My father is a scholar in the College of Winterhold, and I'd like to bring him back a souvenir when I return. There are no minotaur in Skyrim."

A large cup was slid in front of her, and Ushak saw it was her mead. She took a swig and set it down, wiping her mouth.

"Better than the horse piss they serve in Winterhold," she mumbled before taking another drink.

Lycus.

The beast tugs at the flesh of the dead sheep, eating his fill with zeal. The throat and chest had been torn apart, and glistening innards and ribbons of ragged flesh dangled from where the belly had been opened. One leg had been ripped right off the socket; The werewolf bit at the bones, gnawed and cracked, picked clean of meat.

He ate everything undisturbed . . . until.

"What in Oblivion is making the sheep go wild?" a voice said.

"Shut it," another one said. A female one. "Bears be at it again, methinks."

"Could be Lucellius' boy again. Lil' bastard never learns."

"Whatever it is, we're dealing with it."

The wolf saw them from the distance coming his direction. He can smell the neglect and sweat from their bodies. It smelled like weakness, like a young or aged deer driven to the fringe of the herd, prime pickings for predators. There was absolutely nothing more savory that the meat of Man and Mer. The wolf knew this.

And he moved forward.

Despite his massive size and full stomach, he maneuvered over the carcasses of the various slain livestock in the barn without making much noise. He crouched low, hidden behind the wall of hay while in shadow. Watching and moistening his lips.

The humans came in with torches, and gasped. The wolf saw the beat of their hearts suddenly take speed, going faster and faster. Even in the cold, they produced perspiration. Unlike some, instead of walking further in to inspect the carnage, they turned upon heel and fled.

The wolf took action immediately, and burst from the barn and into the open. He found his target, and tackled her down.




"The advantage of being an Orc," Vera murmured. "Bet you don't even have to say a word to get them to do thing they normally wouldn't do. Perhaps you should."

I have to actually talk, and in most cases, do. But Vera didn't say that. Not everyone who looked at her would be quick to label her as dangerous. In fact, her simple low-class outfit was much like sheep's clothing. Folks would be fast to place her under the good-looking lass with no coin and no future. Big men saw her as something of a fresh picking. She had the lithe body and the toned physique, but that could be due to Nord parentage. Fact of it was that to the untrained eye, she was just another lowly girl that in no way possible had the strength of three grown men.

Vera could easily tell Ushak was treated like most of her people around the Empire. Orcs were the most vilified of the races, and the most hated and spurned. No coincidence here they're called Pariah Folk. Vera could relate somewhat. She knows what it means to be hated and persecuted by the world . . . but then again not all Orcs go around the countryside killing livestock and eating pregnant women.

Vera looked at the woman as casually as she did everyone else. Little things these days scared her. There was no way an Orc would. She knew this is how Ushak felt about her, too. Orcs fear little.

When she mentioned a minotaur, Vera shrugged. "You'll find them in warmer places. They don't tend to stick north, as you know." Vera guessed as much since she mentioned Skyrim. "During Midyear and Sun's Height they'll roam in plenty, usually twenty or more around the Great Forest and in the hills further east down the countryside."

"Right now," Vera said by digging a fork into her food like a shovel. "I'd wager they're in the caverns. With any luck, you'll find them asleep and laying low during winter. You'd fare better during mating season. It drains the males. Makes em' tired and easier to strike down. The rogues that lost the mating challenges are even easier. There's a better time for open season. You've come to Cyrodiil at the wrong time."

Vera justified her knowledge, not revealing that she knew things from her own experience. She thought it better to keep the appearance of a blond-haired peasant woman rather than anything else. The people in the tavern already knew different. "My grandfather told me all about them when I was lass. I know what I know from what he told me."

The woman took a swig of her mead that Vera could smell a mile away, and made a comment about the drink. Vera had a comment of her own, though it was more of a teasing jibe. "I thought horse-meat for Orcs was sufficient. Didn't think horse piss would be an addition."

Ushak nearly choked on her mead, sending small droplets down the front of her steel armor. She coughed twice, then laughed. She reached over and patted Luka's shoulders twice, finding the woman more sturdy than she looked.

"You are funny!" She turned back to the bar once her ears picked up the sound of a plate being slid in front of her. She eagerly picked up the utensils and sliced her boar up, then dipped her rolls in her mashed potatoes and washed it down with mead. She let out a groan of satisfaction.

"Definitely better than horse meat," she said, making a jest of her own.

Vera didn't squirm away when the Orc woman patted her back, but she felt the Orc's apparent strength when she was touched. Imagine what a hand like that can do to someone's face . . .

The huntress didn't need to look around the room to know Ushak had a few stares from the Goblet's more Orc-weary patrons. But Ushak probably did not care. She didn't strike Vera as a person who would worry what others thought about her. Perhaps she was bold, brash and had a no-nonsense attitude.

Vera was good at reading people. She's been wrong before, and off the mark on some of her first impressions but most of the time she was accurate.

She had a reply to Ushak's words. Anything is better than horse meat, or You wouldn't believe half the things I've eaten before. But she kept to herself. She couldn't even smile, even when she tried forcing it.

Lycus was on her mind even when she wanted him out of it for now. Talking to someone could distract her long enough for her to keep herself calm. She was clearly older than Ushak, but she did not appear she aged too much.

Vera could boast her young face, lengthy hair, lithe build and that youthful vitality and tremendous strength her condition has granted her, but there were things that gave things away; her eyes and at times, her speech.

It is said that the eyes are the window to one's soul, and Vera's soul was place no would one wish to visit lest they had the patience and the mind to do it. Being in stasis as centuries passed can change one's mind quite a bit. She's blessed to even be alive all this time.

Vera ate her fill, and at the same time made some conversation with the Orc. She set her elbows on the table as she chewed. "What lured you here from the north? I'm certain you didn't come here to Cyrodiil just because of bull-headed men."

She resisted the urge to give Ushak's weapon an inspection.

"What lured you here from the North?" Was Luka's next question. Ushak had heard the question only a handful of times before, and it was usually laced with suspicion, as if ah was going to sack the village and et all of the livestock. Seeing other Orc once she was out of the secluded walls of the college have her some perspective. They were brazen, dumb, and uncultured except in their own ways. Ushak understood the fear. She had felt the same apprehension when she had met Orc in a stronghold. She had not, of course, let her feelings show.

There was no apprehension in Luka's voice, however, nor genuine curiosity. Ushak recognized the signs of someone wanting to pass the time with conversation.

She was bored. Ushak couldn't fault her for that.

Rather than give Luka the lengthy story, she cut it down.

"Father is a scholar, like I said. Once I turned eighteen, he told me I had three days to prepare to leave the College to find my own place in history. He said, 'Ushak, Orcs don't live as long as other mer, but don't come back until you have a book written on your adventures.' So I made my way here. By the way, the troll meat here is better than the ones in Skyrim." She suddenly laughed. "Ushak Eats-Anything, they called me in one village. Those plump little Imperials don't know what hunger is until they've had nothing but snow for two solid weeks."

Vera was all ears to Ushak and for many reasons she wasn't surprised on how the woman turned out. Ushak is a traveler as she came to know, sent away from her home by her own father to make a name in history and have her own story put to paper. It was true, what her father said. Orcs don't live as long as other men. They're like elven nords; they'd rather die at the end of a sword or at the tip of a spear than of old age.

There is glory in a violent death, Vera murmured inwardly. Dying in peace is not a bad idea, though.

Vera didn't see any bitterness coming from Ushak when she told her tale. She was willing to bet the enjoyed the idea of leaving home to become a traveler. The lure of the outside world is strong and irresistible in most cases. There's a sense of mystery of Tamriel that every young lad or lass would be tempted in finding out whether through books or experiencing it for themselves. The Breton Darnand had the spirit of a book-worm and part adventurer. He knew the best the both could offer. And the worst.

Vera wasn't well-versed in vast knowledge but she has flipped a few pages in her grandfather's library. Most books of his though related to a single topic.

"Eats-Anything," Vera said softly. "You know - -"

She halted her words. Ears perked up, listening. She didn't sniff the air but the smell of blood was there. It wasn't the meat in the kitchens nor was it someone stubbing their foot. Human blood.

She heard noises coming from outside the Goblet. Screaming. It wasn't long before everyone else heard it too as they all turned to the front entrance.

The door to the front of the Goblet burst open, and in came two of the tavern's patrons. Lowren and Tooth-in-the-grass helped an older middle-aged man inside.

The older man had the white of snow that did little to contrast his white hair and beard. His brown peasant cloak was thick with snow. He had blue eyes, and from the distance that she was she could see he was missing a few teeth.

The man was breathing hard, and he had an injury on his forehead that looked like someone bashed his skull in. Others came in to help him and ask questions, and the Imperial officer ran to the scene. She was the first to separate everyone to give the man space, while overwhelming him with questions.

"What's happened? Who did this?"

Vera saw his wound had broken pieces of wood. Either he accidentally collided with a tree or a log while running or someone hit him.

"My wife," he wheezed, coughing from the cold and fatigue. "My wife."

"Your wife did this?"

"My wife is dead!"

Vera turned completely to face the scene. There were small gasps and murmurs, and everything froze at the man's presence and his words. "Our livestock was klled just two miles from her, near southwest of Chorrol. A manbeast ran through. Killed me sheep. Killed my cattle and it killed it . . ."

The old man's blue ice-cold lips trembled and he began to weep. "It killed my wife. I saw it bring her down. I got on my horse and left while I could."

Vera lunged from her feet and joined the others, leaving Ushak and her own plate behind her. She rushed behind a line of folks gathering over the old man.

"You saw it? How big was it?"

"Three hands taller than an Orc. It was grey. I know a wolf when I see one and it wasn't no wolf. It was a hybrid."

Vera already began to retreat from the group. She made one step back to leave to her quarters. In her mind, she was already in her room, packing Lycus' extra clothed, fitting herself in her armor and going in after him. The other half of the pack couldn't be left behind alone when potential hunters would be gathering tonight.

There hasn't been a werewolf attack in this area for years. Not since her and Lycus' time, as far as she knew.

One person is dead and Hircine knows how many would die tonight outside or if a mob forms. One thing is for certain. He's in danger. It isn't the full moon but he could be in that form as long as the beast controls him.

Should morning come and he's found naked, shivering in the ice everyone would know who he is and everyone would know who she is by association. Abiene would probably confess to knowing the secret, and her allies should they come back, would reveal her and her husband's identities due to the death of a woman and a man's livelihood.

That cannot happen.

Vera understood the man's pain and grief. But she'd rather not grieve when Lycus is dead.

Ushak turned when the man came in, and though she didn't immediately get up, she could hear what the man said.

"Werewolf," she murmured to no one in particular. She had heard of were-panthers and were-boars, even were-foxes in Cyrodiil, but a wolf was a rare thing to come across. She saw Luka begin to retreat from the crowd, and she stood up and gripped the woman's elbow.

"Wolf." The word was blunt. "The best thing to do is stay indoors. Only one creature is three hands taller than an orc and looks like man and beast put together. It's a werewolf, and inside is the safest place to be, besides inside the city walls."

She had seen werewolves before. Oh yes, and were it not for the Silver Hand taking the beast down, she would be dead, instead of it. She lightly touched the hilt of her mace with her left hand, just to feel the familiar steel. She let go of the woman.

"Stay inside, do you hear me?" She said loudly. "Panicking will only cause death, understand? Anyone who can hold their bowels in a fight, you'll need silver weapons, or an enchanted weapon."

She realized her bath would have to wait.

What's a bit more blood? she thought. "Who joins me?" She didn't expct anyone to stand up right then.

Vera felt the hard grip on her elbow and turned accordingly. Ushak went over the dire situation that Vera already knew ever since the man entered the Goblet. The sense of urgency in the Orc's voice spoke of the danger lurking outside and what had to be done. The huntress nodded to Ushak but uttered not a word. Her expression translated: I prefer the safety of indoors.

The Orc turned to the assembly of people after telling her not to panic and remain indoors. She shouted at the entire Goblet, riling up the folks brave(or perhaps stupid) enough to go after the beast, that silver weapons or magick-ridden ones would be effective in killing it.

With the question raised on who would join her on the hunt, Vera lowered her head and hunched her shoulders, and silently slipped out of the Goblet. Many men and women, some of which were armed to the teeth, walked past Vera while some even bumped into her to speak to Ushak.

The Goblet had patrons who remained silent. But after an anonymous male voice shouted "I", a handful of others began to volunteer to participate like sheep.

I've just about had enough with this. Vera murmured. If I hear about more werewolves after this . . .

The lithe, unremarkable peasant-looking woman climbed the steps that led to the second floor, leaving the voices and clamor behind her. She'll have to get outside before everyone else does. She was confident in her abilities as a tracker and she didn't lose faith in her husband's deadly prowess. But neither did she underestimate the mob's fortitude. Even a beast such as a werewolf can be overwhelmed, and as Lycus once told her, even legends can die.

Vera couldn't fathom the thought of his head on a pike, or decorating the wall of some pompous self-righteous hunter as a latest trophy. But she tried to picture it. Lycus' true and terrifying form roaring forever as a stuffed statue, as some oddity for men, women and children to gawk at while the man who brought down the beast boasts his self-absorbed inflated tales of victory.

The thought was repulsive, and it only made Vera hurry up the steps and into the privacy of her own room. She went straight to the dresser. It was just as big as she needed it to be.

She pulled out Lycus' dirty clothes.

The black leather tunic was faded and cracked on the edges with white salt rings of old sweat stained the armpits, rawhide laces stretched and stiff. She put it on the side of the bed, right by the soft black pants that were blanketed with slices and tears crudely sewn; the coarse brown thread was like old bloodstains on the leather. On the floor she set the pair of strong black boots that was made for Lycus' foot.

Vera prepared her own clothes, too. She stood before the full-length mirror inside the inn's room, naked from head to toe. The flat muscles of below her breasts, the curvy ridges of her abdomen, the met cords of her thighs and arms, all were put out like they'd been finely cut into stone. She turned slightly and narrowed her golden eyes, looking at that thickening just below her waist with critical distaste. Maybe this was an inevitable consequence of time passing by or maybe she'd been slacking with all that damn food she's been eating. Only the faintest pinch of vanity painted her disdain; nearly all of it was caused by the in-your-face- knowledge that five or six extra pounds could slow her down fatally at the critical moments between certain victory and death, especially with the amount of clothing she's taking with her.

She was fast, but she could be much faster.

And with speed, she began to put on Lycus' clothes. First the leather tunic followed by the shredded pants he never bothered himself in discarding. She raided the dresser, and added yet another layer of clothing to cover herself. This would put some weight on her, alright. Not counting the snow.

Any average person would find it considerably difficult to navigate the snowy terrain in such a get-up. But given her blessing, she wasn't exactly what most called average.

Vera put on her gloves, and prepared her bow and her arrows. She didn't bring her silver arrows this time.

She wouldn't need to use it against him. Lycus never harmed her in his true form while she was temporarily trapped in her human shell, neither did she harm him when she was in her bestial form. As members of the same, two-individual pack, they knew one another more than brothers and sisters and far more intimately than lovers. It was a special bond between shared blood and damn anyone who would go about their way to harm him.

Damn myself, I suppose, Vera thought. If he survives this, I'll probably just end up killing him myself for causing this trouble to begin with.

Vera, already armed to the bone, rushed out the window of her room and out in the open. She landed with a hard thud and her feet sunk to the snow. It wouldn't leave a trace for long, not with the amount of snow that was beginning to pour through.

Without looking back, Vera ventured forth into the wilderness to look for the beast knowing full well the mob would be right on her heels.