The Bound - A Tale Of Tamriel

8

8

i. Öenthir.

After breaking camp, the party made good progress through the Rift. The path was, it surprised her to see, well maintained in most places with only the occasional bit of rough going. The landscape changed often. From sparse woodland, to far-reaching farmer's fields, to riverside, to lakes. The path meandering a lazy course through the land.

They encountered few other people on the road and none had bothered to exchange pleasantries further than a non-committal tug of their hats or a mumbled 'Morning". Öenthir supposed that the party gave a strange impression to the usually loud Nords. Or, she considered, the Nords in Riften had been the exceptions to the rule. Or even that the city brought out the raucousness of the Nords.

Between the party, themselves, there was little conversation beyond the occasional times Revna pointed out things that were almost unique to Skyrim. The mammoths, whose mournful calls would drift with the wind. The shaggy giants that stomped by, keeping to themselves, were avoided with care, as were the sabre cats.

Before they were about to stop for a rest and to eat, dark clouds rolled in from the mountains of the 'Throat of the world', appearing far less distant with each step. A peculiarity for this part of Skyrim, the rain moved in fast and began to pour down in great scything slashes.

There was nowhere to find cover here and Revna said the rain could last anywhere from a few minutes to days, so they pressed on feeling more and more miserable as the rain seeped through all their clothing, dripping from noses and ears.

By late afternoon, Öenthir was feeling thoroughly fed up. She was cold and wet. Her hair was an atrocious mess and she didn't even want to think how the rain was affecting her suede riding dress or the beautiful Bosmer riding boots her parents had bought her so long ago, it seemed.

After some time, the rain began to soften and diminish and they could finally see the lights of civilisation in the distance. Spurred on by the possibility of a warm and, more important, dry place to rest for the night, the party kicked their horses to go faster, tugging their attackers horses along with them.

Upon reaching Ivarstead, Öenthir found herself a little disappointed. It was little more than a village, but it had an inn and a stable for the horses where the stablemaster raised a knowing eyebrow at a group of four with twelve horses, but a handful of gold put paid to any unwanted questions.

Yngvid, the innkeeper of the Pilgrim's Rest was welcoming and friendly to the travellers but was sad to inform them that he only had two rooms available. Itagaki immediately chose to room with Revna, avoiding the enquiring eyes of Tilly who quickly turned her attention to Öenthir.

"Looks like it's you and me, then, Wen." The Dunmer threw an overly-friendly arm around Öenthir's shoulders, "But don't get any funny ideas. I'm not that kind of girl."

The day had been long and tiring and they all decided to forego the food on offer, even though it smelled quite delightful, and go straight to their rooms. Öenthir struggled to have the energy to get undressed and sank, thankful, under the covers on the bed. Even the itching from rough woollen blankets couldn't irritate her skin enough to stop her falling asleep in seconds.

She found herself dragged from her dreams, happy they weren't nightmares this time, by the bright Winter sun coursing through the small windows tucked beneath the roof. Tilly had already risen and was nowhere in sight. Öenthir's riding clothes from the day before, that she had hung up beside the room's small fireplace, had dried, so she folded them with care, returned them to their place in her satchel and pulled out another set of clothes. These were a little more practical, leather breeches, fine cotton blouse and a riding jacket made from a thicker cotton weave, as decorated and adorned with colourful stitchings and beads as any of her other clothes.