Fresh Perspective (parts 5/5) - updated 4/8

January 11, 2012

Apparently I am just going to continue writing new stories forever and ever without finishing my old ones YAY?! Also apparently I am going through an anthro phase right now except the khajiit don't really count (but they kind of do) so dkjhdfjdh. HERE'S A THING.

If you've not played Skyrim, the Nords are a race of viking-ish humans, the khajiit are pretty much just anthropomorphic cat-people, not looked on too kindly by the other races of humans and elves. Farouq is my sneakythief assassin-guy thing I play, I didn't take a screenshot of him but this is basically what they look like. LOOKIT DAT KITTUM-FACE AWW.

Anyway no real warnings I guess, just chance-meeting fluff. Enjoy!

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Only madmen and ice wolves would brave a storm like this, Kyris mused to herself as she gazed out the window into the squalls of blinding snow. Even within the city's protective walls, it was falling thick and heavy, and the wind alternately roared and howled in its fury against shutters and clapboards. The fire in the great-hearth kept the room plenty warm, but all the same she gave a sympathetic shiver at the thought.

Though the inn remained open during all hours and weather, it was late by the time the last dozing drunk had grudgingly stumbled out of the main sitting room and to his quarters upstairs. The young Nord was alone with only the fire, the storm, and her thoughts as she made a lazy circle around the room. Kyris collected empty tankards and plates, returned books to their shelves, righted chairs in their organized places, and contemplated how she meant to spend the rest of the evening. In this weather and at this hour, there was slim chance of any more travelers arriving, which meant a long and boring shift ahead of her.

Then again, if no one was around, there was no harm in tucking into a mug or two of hot spiced rum herself while she went over the day's ledgers. Perhaps it would alleviate the monotony somewhat.

She had taken to humming to herself quietly as she prodded the fire in the hearth, adjusting the lay of the logs. Not time to toss another one on yet, but she had no intent of letting it go out anytime so-....

All at once, she was overcome with the pressing, paranoid sense of not being alone in the room. Controlled by an unusual but instinctive swell of panic, Kyris rose and whirled where she stood, poker in hand and expecting to find some particularly light-footed tenant come down from their room.

Not three feet away, as if materialized out of thin air, there stood a tall, dark stranger. A tall, dark, khajiit stranger.

The first temptation was to scream, but Kyris was a Nord woman, born of the rock and the snow and the cold, and she steeled her momentary surge of fear. The apprehension, however, she harbored and encouraged, thrusting out the point of the iron poker before her in a clear bid to keep the stranger at bay.

"Who are you," she snarled, and then after a beat tacked on the obvious, "What do you want?"

She'd never heard the front door open, nor his footfalls in the front room, but a cat... that explained it. The khajiit were a cunning and sneaky feline race, forever able to get into places where they had no business being, and into business where they had no place. Savage creatures, unscrupulous and untrustworthy, in her opinion and that of most self-respecting Nords. It was rare to see them in the city at all, even rarer to give them lodging.

This one certainly looked like a dangerous character at that, dressed all in black leathers and wool like an assassin, with daggers at either hip and a feral, hungry look in his gilded eyes. Or perhaps that was just the firelight playing off their reflective surface, but she was not going to be too careful.

Whether he was menaced by her silly little poker or not, the khajiit did not exactly seem surprised. Obviously accustomed to this type of warm reception, he took an obliging step backwards and held up both hands, palms-out, in a gesture of unarmed peace. Kyris was not even remotely convinced.

"Farouq means no harm," he began in that funny, lilting accent they all seemed to bear. "Only to purchase a room for the night."

"We're full up," she retorted icily, a lie. There were a good handful of rooms not yet occupied, but not ones that she had any intentions of renting to him. "Take your fleas elsewhere."

To her surprise, he seemed to take this insult in good humor, pulling the corners of his mouth into a weary smile. "No fleas, this one grooms himself fastidiously," he chuckled slightly, a warm, purring sound that seemed predisposed to smoothing over nerves. No doubt he was a con artist as well, and she set her mind against it stubbornly. "Please, the other inns have turned him away as well."

"Can't imagine why," Kyris replied, scowl unrelenting as she studied his features. His color and markings reminded her of the huge saber cats that prowled the wilderness beyond the city, ones that had been known to maul or kill even the most experienced hunters. "Just go, I don't want to have to call the guards..."

The cat lowered his hands slowly, making sure she saw that they did not go for his daggers. "Farouq does not wish this either. He will pay whatever you ask," he said, exhausted but persistent. His gaze was wavering a bit, growing distant as if staring at some invisible horizon. Was he drunk?

As words seemed to be doing little good to dissuade him, she was actually grudgingly considering the merits of this when all at once, the khajiit's features collapsed into a snarl. Fearing that his patience had suddenly worn out and that he now intended to attack her, the Nord tightened her grip on the iron poker and thrust the tip forward a few inches, cautioning.

Instead of lunging at her with teeth and blades bared, however, the cat only turned himself aside to release a violent, grimacing sneeze.

"Aht-KSSSHH--uu!" It sounded ticklish even to her ears, and she was unsurprised to see him repeat the action in an effort to satisfy the irritation. "Aht...--KKSSSH'uu!"

He'd hastily thrown up one arm as an attempted buffer, though she could still see the copious spray glittering in the firelight. In lieu of disgust, however, Kyris felt an unusual moment of concern, or at least confusion. Had she ever seen a khajiit sneeze? Strange. An automatic blessing almost tumbled from her mouth, but she bit it back in time.

The feline looked wanting of another, but when it didn't come he fell to sniffling briefly and turning his gaze back to the Nord. He seemed... chagrined, almost. "Many pardons," he said, "Farouq is in no shape to cause any trouble, even if he wanted to." A pause, and then a quick throatclear. "Which he does not."

Kyris glowered at him for another few moments before slowly, resignedly lowering the firepoker and thrusting it aside onto its hanging hook. With a sigh, she set her arms akimbo and tilted her jaw down, challenging. "One hundred septims for the night."

It was ten times the price she would have asked from any human, Nord, Imperial, or Breton, but there was no hesitation in the khajiit's movements as he reached for a coinpurse beneath his cloak. "The price is fair."

"No it isn't."

He smiled, and held out an open palm with five twenty-septim pieces sitting neatly in the center. "For khajiit in a Nord city, it is."

That she would concede, and wondered if perhaps she was even undercharging his usual inn price. She reached for the coins, suppressing a shiver when her pale skin brushed against his claws. A shudder of disgust, she told herself, that was all. "Your room is on the left at the end of the hall, it's yours until mid-day tomorrow," she grumbled. Money was money, in the end. She wondered what he would have done had she denied him board -- killed her and slept in an empty room anyway, then fled the city? Found an empty alley to huddle into? Made for the next town? He surely would have died from exposure to the ruthless elements.

She didn't think she wanted to see this cat dead, but she hoped he really was just a weary traveler looking for somewhere to bed quietly.

"This one tha--... aht'KSSSH--u!" He interrupted himself with that lagging sneeze at least, smothering it behind an upraised fist. He exhaled in either frustration or relief, leaving the hand at his mouth even as he slit his eyes open to peer at her. "This one thanks you."

Kyris was starting to feel mildly guilty for even accepting an inflated price from this stranger. He was obviously sick, and had met with no fortune anywhere else so far. "Suppose you'll be wanting a hot meal," she muttered, picking up her tray of collected tankards again.

Farouq, at least she presumed that to be his name, looked momentarily surprised. "That... would be appreciated, yes."

"I'll bring something up in a few minutes. You'd best be decent."

The khajiit bowed his head in acknowledgement, accepting a key from her as he slunk away up the stairs. Hopefully not to murder and rob the rest of her sleeping tenants, Kyris mused bitterly to herself. She busied herself straightening up a bit more, then made her way to a small adjoining kitchen. There was a pot of lamb stew still warm on the kitchen hearth, so she ladled out a bowl for her last-minute guest. A heel of mostly-fresh bread, a thin wedge of cheese, and a pint of dark ale would have to be enough to satisfy him, she decided as she arranged the accoutrements on a fresh platter and whisked her way to the second floor.

The door was just slightly ajar when she reached his assigned room, so she gave only a quick courtesy knock before nudging it open with one hip.

Within, the khajiit had set aside his travel satchel and removed his outermost layer of clothes. In fact, he was shedding himself of his underlying tunic as well when she entered, though he paused guiltily with the fabric stretch-tangled across his arms. Kyris stared appropriately, not at the phenomenon of a half-naked man (she had surely seen plenty of those, covered in fur or not), but at a rather large and crudely-applied bandage wrapped around his torso. Fresh blood seeped beneath the cloth, staining red where it soaked up and, to her mild unrest, seemingly still oozing.

"You're hurt," she observed, ever-astute.

"Yes."

She set the tray down on a small wooden table, momentarily distracting the cat from his mortal plight. He committed to taking the tunic off altogether, decency be damned, but seemed more interested in food rather than medical attention. Kyris was not so sure about these priorities.

"When was that sustained?"

The khajiit was already dipping the hunk of bread in the thick broth. He paused with it nearly to his mouth, thinking. "Two.... no, three days ago? Farouq is so hungry, forgive him, he does not remember." He seemed prone to basic niceties and politeness, but obviously hadn't eaten a good meal for days either. Tearing off a ravenous bite of bread, he chewed indulgently for several moments while she crouched down to look at the bindings. He tracked her from the corner of his eye.

"And it's still bleeding? I'm surprised you haven't passed out. This is a shoddy patch job, if I've ever seen one."

"This one is no healer," the khajiit admitted between bites of stew and bread. "It begins to clot, and Farouq is glad, but then he is sneezing and every time it opens up. A vicious cycle, yes." He sniffed for emphasis.

"Hmnf, then you need to sneeze less or see a healer who does know what they're doing."

"One is about as likely as the other," Farouq commented, itching a forefinger against his nose this time with another punctuating sniff. Or maybe that was just the steam of the soup making it run. "He tries not to, but this nose will hear nothing from his ribs, and vice versa. He is not sure which is more ill-timed, the sick or the dragon."

Kyris glanced up at him sharply, snorting. "You were wounded by a dragon?"

"Just so. He kills it, but not without incident," the cat smiled ruefully, nodding to the bandage for emphasis.

Right. So she had a dragonslayer staying at her inn now, wonderful. "You lie, cat. I have met no walking rug as you that could best a dragon."

He shrugged with great care, still tunnelvisioning on his meal more than her or the semantics of how he'd received his wound. "You may believe what you wish, Farouq only tells what he knows -- ahh!" Clattering the spoon back into the bowl, he turned from the table and her attentions, breath labored. Even with his back to her, she could see now that he was fighting the reactionary itch, quivering anxiously in place for several long seconds before...

"AHT'ksshh! Ah-HHH...!" The huge inhale strained his bindings, it surely must have been painful, but the nasal reflex was more immediate, more demanding to be released in a volcanic spray of irritants. "Aht-- KTSSSH-uu!! Oh, Rajhin..."

Relaxing again with agonizing slowness, he allowed himself a wince as he touched the bandage and the fresh spot of blood dotting through. The Nord frowned as well.

"Alright," Kyris sighed, bracing her palms on her thighs as she pushed to her feet. "Finish eating, I'll be right back. And don't think about getting in that bed, I'll not have you bleeding all over my sheets."

Farouq gave her a curious look, but seemed to have no trouble focusing on his empty stomach for a while. By the time she'd returned some ten minutes later, he'd devoured most of it and looked as if he were contemplating licking the bowl clean. Her presence evidently dissuaded him, however, as he took a long pull of ale instead and looked to what she'd brought.

A small stack of handkerchiefs, fresh wound linens, alcohol, and herbal salve. The khajiit blinked. "This one does not deserve such treatment, he paid only for a room..."

"Yes, well. Healing services are included," the Nord woman dismissed carelessly, pulling his chair out with one foot, current occupant and all. Farouq lashed his tail about for a moment to maintain his seated balance, but seemed otherwise receptive to her attentions. Bewildered, but receptive.

"Strange actions for a woman who wished to put a poker in this one's heart just earlier."

"Please," Kyris scolded, setting the things down and then folding herself into a comfortable kneel at his side. "Do I look like a warrior? This is my uncle's inn, I was a journeyman at the healer's college until he died and passed it on to me. Anyway, you just startled me. And it wouldn't have been your heart I was aiming for."

She let him chew on that for a while, not bothering to add that he'd thus far been more respectful and appreciative of her services than some of the Nord men she'd harbored. Strange. She had no doubt that some khajiit, even most khajiit were immoral sellswords of the most dubious honor, but this one at least was behaving himself. And he liked her cooking.

Her fingers worked with practiced ease over his bindings, a small pair of shears cutting it away enough for her to take stock of the underlying damage. It was... extensive. Not crippling, but she certainly couldn't imagine how far he must have walked in this state just to reach the city. Madmen and wolves indeed... madcats as well, it seemed. She wasted little time contemplating this, instead reaching for a fresh bit of gauze to wet with alcohol. Farouq hissed and clenched at the stinging touch of it to the wound, but she ignored him as she went about cleaning up the messed gore, swiping away the dirt still clinging to the wound, the blood already crusting onto his fur or... were those scorch-marks? It did seem to be a bit singed, and had the faint but notable odor of burnt hair once she'd pulled the bandages off. She measured the side of the gash for a moment, thoughtful. Enough for a dragon talon, a tooth? She'd never been close enough to one to appropriately gauge. Hm.

With no apparent protest to being touched, the khajiit sat patiently, his leanly muscled torso rising and falling with breath and the tip of his tail twitching now and again. Otherwise, he was quite still. For a few minutes, anyway. Once she'd seen to the cleanliness of his wound and was cutting up some fresh wrappings, he began to sniffle softly, occasionally brushing the backs of his fingers across his snout with little accompanying nosewrinkles. She glanced up only briefly, catching the way his whiskers silvered in the light and the tip of one fang revealed as he squirmed his nose around. Cute. Talos help her, it was cute. For a mangy savage.

"Don't sneeze on me," she bid simply, and went back to her dressings.

"This one is making great effort no-...hh!" The vibration of speech must have tickled his palate again, begging another irritated snarl of expression. It was a rather frightening look, Kyris noted as she glanced up again, showing long teeth and huge jaws. But her gut reaction of distrust and fear had been tempered a bit, and the scrunching twitch of his nose was anything but threatening. The Nord leaned aside to pluck up one of the clean handkerchiefs, pressing it into Farouq's hands. He snatched the cloth to his muzzle, holding it in place as his breath hitched once, twice... and then exhaled again in a thin, frustrating hiss of air. "... not to," he finished at last, ears tilted back with plain annoyance.

"So I see," she intoned, peering at him again just before laying a hand flush to the still-raw wound. Better that his ticklish nose was playing coy with him, perhaps he could hold off until this next step was complete, and she could test the stability of her dressings. Closing her eyes in cautious trust, the Nord woman recited a few incantations beneath her breath, focusing her thoughts. Within moments, she was rewarded with a familiar prickle of heat and light beneath her palm, diffusing a restorative energy into the open gash. Farouq gave a hushed murmur in some tongue foreign to her, and she was pleased to see the injury already beginning to bind on its own.

"There, that will help it along. It's not an immediate fix, though, so don't go fouling it up," she recited, rubbing a bit of the salve into fur and flesh to keep it supple.

The khajiit snuffled into the handkerchief, still holding it to his face with both hands. "This one will lay low for a while," he agreed, wrinkling his muzzle again slowly and squinting with effort. "May Farouq s-...sneeze now? His nose is tickling something teh--hh!-- ...terrible."

Amused that he'd been waiting this long on purpose, she edged back a little to give him some room. "Yes, actually, I'd like to see how this holds up before I banda--"

"H'aht-- KTSSHHH-u!" He cringed forward, unable to even stand the duration of her sentence. "Aht.. !"

The khajiit drew another trembling breath, curling over his own lap with a brief series of punctuating, irritated sneezes, each one sounding as if it begged just one more to relieve the bothersome itch.

"KTSSH-u! KTSSH-uu! ... Hht'KTSSH-u!" A sniveling breath fueled a final, deliciously satisfying, "AHT--KTSHHUU!!"

His shoulders seemed to not so much sag as they did melt in the dizzying aftermath, his whole body feline and fluid as he recovered from the brief attack with careful breathing and splayed ears.

"By Talos, " Kyris murmured, touching a hand to his arm in a more companionable gesture. His fur was soft beneath her touch, warm and spotted and begging to be stroked. She restrained herself. "Was that it?"

"This one hopes so," he groaned, turning from her to briefly, firmly blow his nose. Twice. Three times, and finally he seemed clear-headed and relaxed again, tail slowing from its anxious lash. "Many pardons, it is quite difficult to resist."

No doubt khajiit noses were a fair bit more sensitive, Kyris mused as she glimpsed the flushed state of his nostrils, still flicking with the occasional sniffling inhale and exhale. She examined the state of his wound in the meantime, pleased that even his wrenching sneezes hadn't spit it open again. "Good, this will hold, though I'd stay away from pepper for a while if I were you," she mused, earning a weak smile. To ensure his stability, she re-wrapped his chest in a snug swaddle of fresh bandages, all the while wondering at her own sanity. Farouq had the right of it -- it was certainly odd to wish an ominous feline stranger would go back out into the blizzard one hour, and be tenderly cleaning his wounds and wiping his nose in the next. A sick man was a sick man, she supposed, the treatment and the appreciation seemed universal.

"You are much too kind to a poor traveler," the cat sniffled, bowing his head in appreciation when she'd finished putting her things in order.

"Nonsense, you're just lucky you didn't need stitches." The more she looked upon his face, the less he looked like a sabre cat. In fact, he reminded her a bit of a pet kitten she'd kept as a young girl, now that she thought of it. Shaking her head before she was tempted to scratch his ears and rub his cheeks, the Nord stood and sighed. "Sleep well."

"This walking rug did not catch your name, pink female ape," he teased with a faint, quirking smile.

"Nor will you," Kyris chuckled, deciding that might be the best of it for both their sakes. "I'm your inn-keeper, nothing more, and I want you gone in the morning, cat." Her words were cruel, but her tone was gentle, and he appeared to take no offense. Instead, his eyes slowly half-narrowed in the fashion of a drowsing, contented cat.

"Just so. Good night."

When she'd collected his dishes and shut the door behind her, she weighed the hundred septims in her pocket for a moment. She should give some of it back, she mused to herself quietly. Just as quickly, however, she rolled her eyes and hustled back downstairs to the rest of her duties. Well, no. He was cute, but not that cute.

Edited April 9, 2012 by Garnet

January 11, 2012

Awwwwww!! That was way cute!! <3 Would it be too much to ask for a continuation?

January 11, 2012

Hnnng.. Garnet-fiction.. .. My favorite~!

I'm convinced I'd read anything you write, even if it was a dissertation on the cosmic ray emitted by the sun, or something xD

Seroiusly, girl. You're SO GOOD at this. The fluff is just-.. *purr*.. to DIE FOR~! SO CUTE!!!!

I don't care if you finish your stories or not, but for my sake, never stop writing in general <3

January 11, 2012

Uwaaaahhh!!!!

T-That was totally hoooot!!! I have never even heard of Skyrim, but OMGOSH I love this!! It's so cute and yummm and I really like your style!! Thank you for posting this!!

January 11, 2012

Aww you guys are so sweet, thank you for reading! My little heart doth swell with happy pride. And ahaha, Scatter, I'll just toss some sneezing into my evolutionary biology and genetics papers from college and post them up, shall I? IT SHALL BE GLORIOUS AND SEXY.

As for a continuation, hmm... I suppose there's nothing stopping me, since Skyrim has no hard and fast timeline and they're my own characters to do wtf-ever I want with! Anything you'd like to see specifically, to give me idea-fodder?

January 11, 2012

I was waiting for a skyrim fic. I love how kajit talk and I could totally hear him in my head.

January 12, 2012

I'm so glad you liked, and that someone else plays haha! I know I can't be the only one who runs around giggling at the Unrelenting Force shout because it looks like some kind of crazy powersneeze.

Come to think of it, that's kind of an interesting idea for a story too :|a

January 12, 2012

I loved this story- Skyrim, lovely characters, fetishy fun. Thank you so much for writing and sharing this. If you decide to carry this on I would love to read it. I hope he decides to stay another night.

Talos guide you.

January 12, 2012

I don't play it myself, but I often watch my dad, and this is just gorgeous.

The Unrelenting Force shout, that is the one where the enemies are pushed away? XD It does sound like one~

January 16, 2012

OK, I shall have to ask my man about this Unrelenting Force shout tonight. He's built up a whole collection of shouts and he's cursed well going to demonstrate this particular one to me if he has it :lol:

Mmmmm. Garnetfiction excellent and lovely. Mmmm.

January 17, 2012

And ahaha, Scatter, I'll just toss some sneezing into my evolutionary biology and genetics papers from college and post them up, shall I? IT SHALL BE GLORIOUS AND SEXY.
As for a continuation, hmm... I suppose there's nothing stopping me, since Skyrim has no hard and fast timeline and they're my own characters to do wtf-ever I want with! Anything you'd like to see specifically, to give me idea-fodder?

First of all, HECK YES xDDDD LOL

Second of all, hnnnnnnnnnn~! YAY! More Skyrim-Garnet amazingness!! I suck at coming up with ideas, but I would love to see some more of this

I've always been into sneezing as a torture-mechanism (god, I am so weird ^^'') xDD.. Something like that, maybe? Sneezing while hiding, always good.

More Farouq-fluff <3 <3 Another thing I would love to read.

All up to you, of course. I still come back to read this little nugget of gold, and as I said before, I would read ANYTHING you write~! <3

January 17, 2012

Yeee, thank you so much for the comments, all! I opted to write a little more because... what the hey. This part's a bit transition-y, but I'll probably have at least one more, so stay tuned for some action and maybe a bit of violence on the next bit!

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Kyris worked through the night, with mind occupied of a good many things besides the state of the inn or its ledgers. By the time morning arrived and some of the hired serving maids arrived to help manage the inn for the day, she was well and truly wrapped up in her own thoughts. Shaking herself out of it, the weary Nord threw herself into the morning's chores as well, ensuring tenants were checked out, beds changed, fires stoked, meals started for the day, alcohol restocked.

It was mid-day by the time she finally felt confident in turning over a shift to her assistants, musing bitterly to herself that she had simply not been cut out for such work. Carrying on her uncle's wish or not, she wondered not for the first time if it might not be better to sell the whole place and try to talk her way back into the roster at the healer's college...

Thus consumed, she paused with a sigh outside the door she'd rented to the khajiit. She'd been ignoring it all morning, but the room at the end of the hall was not far from her own, and she had not seen the cat leave with the other one-night patrons. She didn't actually want to kick him out, certainly not in this frigid weather, but she had to make good on her threat and at least check in on the state of him.

A brisk knock yielded no immediate response, nor did the second some thirty seconds later. Trying the handle, however, she found it unlocked and not needing of the keyring jingling at her hip. To either her dismay or relief -- she wasn't sure, but certainly not her surprise -- the cat was still in bed. The curtains were drawn, only a dim filtered light let into the room, but his bag and clothes were exactly where they'd been left the night before, and the khajiit... well.

He did look a bit worse for the wear, even with a night's sleep.

Approaching the bed warily, she noted that it took this much for him to come blearily awake, eyes and nose running and visibly flushed even beneath his silvery fur. His covers were tangled and mussed, ears drooping, and skin loose as he moved. He looked to be in such a state that she pretended not to even notice the suspiciously claw-shaped tear in the pillow beneath his head. At least there seemed to be no blood, her patch job on his side holding up well. Still...

"Cat," she greeted, with a put-upon tone of cool judgement. "I asked you to be gone by noon, you take advantage of my hospitality."

His eyes weakly closed, and he spent a minute sniffling carefully, wiping at his nose with the back of one hand. Carefully clearing his throat, he finally responded in a tone far raspier than the purr of last night.

"This one apologizes greatly, he had every intent of rising at first light, but each time he stands... so dizzy. Please." He gestured with a claw to the nearby travel satchel. "He begs another night of your bountiful patience and comfort, he has the same fee again... double, even."

Just as quickly as she'd gathered it, her icy disposition melted again at his weary dismay. Ignoring his bid to ply her with money, she instead reached to pull his blankets off, shook them out, and re-laid them carefully, neatly over his prone form. He blinked at her blearily, wonderingly.

"I suppose there is no heart in kicking out a sick man, or a sick khajiit," she told him, and retrieved a handkerchief from the clean stack of the night before, though noticeably more depleted now. Passing it along, she dragged an empty chair over to the edge of the bed and sat herself down. Just for a moment, truly. "How do you really feel?"

"Awful," Farouq admitted with a sigh, apparently relieved at the prospect of her not calling the city guards to drag him out. "This one has not been sick for some time but... this weather, it catches up with him eventually." He blew his nose carefully into the supplied cloth, wincing briefly at the effort. "It is so nice to have a warm bed and food, though."

Kyris hadn't traveled much since she'd took up management at the inn, but she recognized that world-weary relief on many of the occupants she'd boarded. Here especially, on a cat so far from his homeland and in this condition. She frowned to conceal her sympathy. "The room is yours until you are in a better state. We can arrange payments later, I only hope you didn't have somewhere to be," she said instead, cautiously trying to feel out exactly what sort of business a khajiit even had in Windhelm. Cat or elf, it was by far not a welcoming city to the likes of any race besides the Nords. In truth, they were one of the few people that seemed to actually thrive in this sort of harsh environment.

"Somewhere... not exactly," Farouq began, pausing to take a drink from the waterskin she offered. She'd been taking it to her own room, but it was easily enough replaced, and the cat seemed a little clearer-voiced once he'd slaked his thirst. He sniffed. "This one has business to conclude, he waits for... friends."

"Here? In Windhelm? To be honest, I'm surprised that the guards let you in. No offense intended..."

"None taken," he dismissed, arranging himself more comfortably against the pillows. His eyes looked glassy still, dazed, but his speech was coherent enough despite requiring some thought to form it. "Farouq lines a few pockets, and so he is admitted on good behavior, yes? In any case, he has a few days on his bosom companions, but he is not hard to track down. Business will be conducted, and then this one is seeking somewhere warmer for a while." A faint laugh.

"I'll keep an eye out should they come looking."

"He, yes, a bosmer, and perhaps another. But the bosmer, at least. Perhaps he must line a few pockets as well. Farouq would appreciate the warning, however." Blink. "The... he apologizes, what is word? The notification."

Not thinking much of his broken speech pattern apart from that it seemed exacerbated from the night before, Kyris nodded and looked him over once more. "Very well, I'm going to bed now, until the evening, but the servants downstairs will assist you with anything needed. I'll have one leave some breakfast outside your door in a bit. If you..."

She was speaking, but he was not listening, that much was obvious. At first, she assumed it was another approaching sneeze, but his focus seemed less irritated and more... vague, distant. Was he feverish?

She reached for his brow, but caught herself with a frown. If he did have a temperature, there would be no way of gauging it through that fur. Farouq blinked at her nearness, but seemed to offer no complaints. Instead, recalling the way she'd nursed sick pets, her hand went to his ears. It was a struggle not to indulge in a few affectionate scratches, silky and warm as they were. A bit too warm, actually. She'd have to cross-check the temperature before she started worrying.

The Nord fetched up a clean handkerchief in one hand, then laid the bare palm of the opposite against his nosepad. The uncovered skin there felt disturbingly hot and dry as well. As she'd predicted, however, the touch of her own flesh almost immediately triggered the urge to sneeze in her unexpected patient. Feeling the khajiit's nostrils begin to flare ticklishly against her hand, Kyris quickly exchanged naked flesh for the folds of the hanky. Just in time too, it seemed, as Farouq's expression wrinkled with an irritated, "Aht-- KSSHH'uue!"

He needed another, that much was obvious from the uncertain crumple of his features, spots a mess and eyes weakly narrowed, but the second was not so easily forthcoming. His breath fluttered uneasily for a few moments, until at last Kyris took pity on the poor beast and rubbed a finger against the cloth barrier. Once around each nostril and then a firm little wiggle just between seemed sufficient annoyance to provoke another sneeze, shivery and desperate.

"Aeht-- ! KSSSCH-uu!"

Wise to his patterns already, Kyris kept the handkerchief patiently in place as he blinked, blinked again, then hauled in a cringing breath for a final purge.

"AHT-SCCHUU!! Ah."

He groaned in hoarse relief afterwards, taking the handkerchief from her at last and weakly clearing his nose. "Many pardons..."

"By Talos, Farouq, bless you. I've never seen such a cold," she said with a frown as he dabbed his muzzle and whiskers clean.

"Truly?" He sniffed. "This one has all the luck with rare germs, it seems." He gave another shudder, then, and tried to burrow himself down further beneath the blankets. "Agh, it is s-so cold..."

Kyris snorted at his quip, but reached to pull the covers back down to his waist and expose his smooth white chest. Still bandaged, but not bleeding at least. "It's plenty warm inside, you've a rising fever. Stop that, now, it needs to break."

"S-such lies," the khajiit dismissed, fangs chattering with an ivory clicking sound. "Farouq is f-freez-zing." He tried to reach for the blankets again, but she pushed his hand away. As an afterthought, she allowed him a thin sheet to huddle under, but it seemed to be doing little good as far as the cat was concerned.

"Be still," she scolded. "You'll overheat yourself. Anyway, what's the point of all that fur if it doesn't keep you warm in a pinch?"

He smiled where he lay, weakly touching the edge of the handkerchief to his nose from time to time. He seemed to have given up the fight for the blankets at the moment, instead looking dazed and weary. "It protects one's skin from the sun during the day, and from chill at night. Not Skyrim chill, though," he grimaced, and then immediately squirmed his snout a bit, as if the mere expression had itched him.

"Like I said, useless," she continued gently, in an effort to distract him from his plight of temperature and sinuses. Why she cared at all was a matter beyond her reasoning at the moment, but she could not deny that he was the picture of uncomfortable misery.

His features relaxed again slowly, eyes half-lidding, though the brilliant, crystal color of them glittered at her. "Perhaps so. I am told it is quite soft, at least."

It was the fever talking, she knew, or perhaps just a bid for a little extra body heat, but she took the bait with a wry smile.

"Is that so? I'm not sure I believe you, it looks coarse and dirty, like wire. I have seen stray dogs with a handsomer coat than that."

"No no," he insisted, turning his head to expose the line of his neck and one downy cheek. "Hush your viper tongue, Nord, and feel. It is softer than the best silks, so clean and smooth!"

She had other playful insults prepared, but the temptation was too great to resist. Biting her tongue, Kyris gave in to his request and reached out a hand for his jaw. She could see that the pelt grew slightly denser and coarser elsewhere, yet here it was satin-smooth and cotton-soft indeed, and she allowed herself several long moments of petting indulgence. Her nails delved into the warm fluff beneath his cheek, rubbing gently as she might a huge, overgrown housecat, and then skirted up behind the ears. How blissful. She would sooner curl up with a khajiit than a man on a cold night like this.

A soon as that thought occurred to her, however, she abruptly withdrew. Blinking and wondering at herself, the Nord rubbed her thumb and forefingers together, as if to call to memory that gentle texture.

Farouq was blinking at her sleepily, eyes having narrowed in a subtle, tactile pleasure of his own for the duration of that brief stroking. "Very fine, yes?" He prompted, sniffling and giving another shiver as he came back to himself.

"Very fine," she admitted, thoughtful. "You have that everywhere, hm?"

She hadn't meant it in an unseemly manner, but from the way his expression immediately narrowed with wicked mirth, she had to roll her eyes in exasperation.

"You climb in here to keep Farouq warm, and you will find out," he chuckled. That was a bit more of the rogue-ish khajiit she'd first expected.

"Now you're certainly fever-dreaming," Kyris scolded, but she pushed herself up from the stool and fetched a wooden bowl from the table nearby. "Stay there," she instructed, as if the feverish cat had any intentions or capability to go anywhere. "I'll be right back."

This felt somewhat redundant of the night previous, the innkeeper mused to herself as she fetched a basin of fresh water, neither warm nor ice-cold, and a clean washcloth. Hopefully there would be no blood this time, at least. When she returned to Farouq's rented room, the cat had disobediently pulled the covers up over his nose again and was huddled beneath, only eyes and ears showing as he peered at her like a pathetic kitten.

Gods. He was killing her.

"What did I say?" She fortified her maternal defenses with a mild reprimand instead, setting the bowl on an end-table and herself back in the bedside chair.

"You said to stay here, this one has not wandered."

"Hmnf." She allowed him this small victory as she dipped the cloth in the water bowl, wrung it out, and then leaned in to touch it gently to the arches of both velveteen cheeks. His eyes immediately weighted half-shut with pleasure again, something like a muffled sigh evoked from beneath the blankets. Applying a few more gentle, stroking touches of the wet cloth to his brow, temples, and the base of his ears, Kyris slowly coaxed her guest into complacency. When he'd drifted his eyes shut, she gently eased the heaviest blanket off and folded the rest across his chest, a compromise. He didn't seem to protest, to her relief, and so she edged the chair a bit closer and brushed a slow, damp touch against his jaw and throat, carefully over each closed eye, and the bridge of his nose. Anywhere the fur grew short and fine enough to lend him some benefit from the evaporative cooling.

"This feels... so relaxing," he murmured sleepily. "Farouq's mother used to do this, when he was a cub."

Endeared, Kyris smiled as she wetted the backs of both ears. "With a towel, or her tongue?" She teased mildly.

"So funny, you are. Ha ha. Although..."

Her smile transmuted to a grin at his deadpan, but she schooled herself back to a neutral expression when his eyes cracked open. "Yes?"

"You may use your tongue, if you like."

Quite the feisty little thing when he was fever high. She brushed the cloth over his nosebridge again in admonishment, wriggling it side to side this time in the downward stroke. The touch seemed to have the desired effect of making his features first wrinkle, displeased, and then shakily collapse.

"Ah, you are...s-so cruel!--AHT'ksssh!"

She drew her hand back in time to avoid the spray of the sudden, cringing sneeze, though he barely managed to get his eyes open before the next struck with equal force.

"Aht--KSSH'u! Aeht-KSSH'u!!" Twice more, wetly baptizing the blankets and half-sitting up with the effort. The cat hissed in pain as he dropped back again, the urge to sneeze seemingly replaced by discomfort from his healing wound. Kyris's features softened with a little guilt at that.

"Gods bless, I suppose that was unfair. Are you alright?"

"Just so," the khajiit sighed, sniffling wearily. He rasped a weak, careful laugh. "This one deserved it, perhaps. Though, -hhh...it..." He struggled to continue, but there was a lingering tightness in his expression, one nostril arching, flickering as if with an unrelieved itch. "It... ah-HHH-!"

Faster than his reflexes this time and genuinely worried for the state of his wound, she pressed a forefinger flush to his opened nostrils. They were damp to the touch, and shivered with tiny, uncertain tics against her digit, but slowly began to relax again in the face of her gentle pressure. Farouq had an opened hand half-raised for hers that had frozen in mid-air, but this too dropped away with a wavering sigh as the moment passed.

"Ahhh. Many pa--"

"Shht," Kyris interrupted, pressing another clean handkerchief into the waiting hand. "Blow, before you set yourself off again."

He complied, features gathering with the effort, but the short expulsion seemed to clear the tickle out along with it, and he fell to limp submission again when it was over. "So unseemly, this one is sorry."

"I have seen much worse than a runny nose and a fever, cat," she murmured, truthfully, though she discreetly wiped the side of her finger against the washrag. "Now, relax." Folding the cloth over, she went back to petting his brow and cheeks when he had no return quip.

This time, there were no interruptions for some many minutes, and after the space of perhaps a quarter hour, lulled in the soft, repetitive motion of her hand and the ebb and flow of his breathing, she realized that he'd fallen asleep. Good. Something she herself ought to visit soon, but still she lingered for another hour or so, gently testing his temperature now and again. He squirmed his nose and flicked his ears at her little touches, but did not wake again despite tossing in the throes of some hallucinating dream or another. Finally, by late afternoon, his fever seemed to break and he feel into a cooler, more restful sleep.

Kyris left the bowl and cloth, but withdrew herself quietly from his quarters, this time without a warning for the beast to be gone from her sight as quickly as possible. In fact, she was rather hoping he would still be there when she next awoke.

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It was late evening when she stirred again, rested as well as she ever was. Not very, but it would do. Dressing and making herself presentable, she checked in briefly on Farouq without knocking. As she'd predicted, the cat was still fast asleep as she'd left him, tail dangling out from beneath the covers to flop limply on the floor. Poor thing. She clicked the door shut again, and made her way downstairs. In a little while, she'd bring up some sustenance, but for now there were other duties to attend to.

Making her way downstairs, she was relieved to see one of the servant girls staying on for a night shift. Most of them were silly things, but it was nice to have some company in the evening hours, and somebody to foist some extras duties onto.

For an hour or so, they kept occupied in cleaning, cooking, and tending to the inn's nightly tenants. A light population tonight, and for that Kyris was grateful as well. She knew it was silly, but already she wanted to retreat back upstairs and climb under the covers with... ahem, check dutifully on her unusual patient. She didn't mind the typical travelers that came through Windhelm, there were plenty of interesting dunmer and Nords with good stories to tell, but even that became monotonous after a while. This was... different. He was different.

When she finally found a break to put together a little plate of something, however, fate turned its hateful eye upon her.

The weather this evening was as poor as the one previous, and not many had ventured their way to the inn. Though it wasn't late just yet either, the front doors had been silent most of the night. Until now. Of course.

With a howl of wind and a flurry of flakes, the paneled wood swung open to admit a tall, slender man dressed in leathers and wools. No, not a man, Kyris noted as he shut the cold out behind him, but an elf. Brown-skinned, slit-eyed... handsome, she supposed, in the feral sort of way that elves were. The bosmer were not widely regarded to be as... ominous as the dunmer, perhaps, but they were less familiar to her, and she kept her wariness close as she slowly approached the stranger.

"Harsh night to be out, sir."

Shaking his hair out from beneath a dark hood, the bosmer looked her up and down, blinked, and then smiled slowly. One of Kyris's servant girls was gazing at the ethereal creature with the familiar expression of a lovestruck teenager. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"It is indeed. I had not intended to acquire a room, but I think I'm reconsidering this decision now," he chuckled, voice warm and velvety.

"Well, charge is ten gold a night... twenty if you're wanting of a meal and ale to accompany it."

The elf combed a hand through his hair, relieving it of a few lingering flakes, and smiled again. "I will keep this in mind, but I confess that I arrive under a different pretense, just now. I'm looking for a cat."

She wet her lips briefly. Of course he was. She played dumb anyway.

"A cat, sir? May be there's plenty running about the city, alleys and such."

The bosmer frowned for a splitsecond, but shook his head and was simpering again by the time he'd completed the gesture. "No, a... khajiit cat, forgive me," he laughed again, mildly. "Tall, silver, spotted. A friend of mine. The guards tell me he passed through a night or two ago, I thought he might try his luck here."

Kyris sighed to herself, but nodded to the serving girl. "Ah, yes, the khajiit. He did stop by. Miren, will you go and see if our guest is receiving company?"

Miren gave her a slight look, begging to be the one left alone with the elf, but a sharper glare from Kyris soon chased her upstairs. In her wake, she turned back to the stranger. Something about him... perhaps it was his race, or the insincerity of his smile, but something didn't quite sit right with her. Best to keep him distracted, perhaps.

"Pint of ale while you wait, sir? Alto wine? I didn't catch your name."

"No, no, that's quite alright, and it's Endring. A pleasure."

She took his offered hand with a nod, but did not volunteer her own name. "Traveling alone tonight, Endring?"

"Ah, yes," he chuckled with an air of self-deprecating humor. "Rather foolish, hm? But it could not be helped."

Before she could discern much more about him, Miren was returning, skirts gathered in her hands and a frown on her face. "Pardon, ma'am, but the guest... left at the end of the hall, wasn't it?"

Kyris mirrored her frown, wary. "Yes... is he awake?"

Hesitantly, Miren shook her head, perplexed. "He's gone, ma'am. There's a mussed bed and a bowl of water sitting out, but nothing else."

The innkeeper blinked. What in all hells...

January 17, 2012

........ GARNET... GUH..

You've done it again, ma'am, you've done it again~.. The story here is developing BEAUTIFULLY. SO cute! The relationship is adorable to watch form, and now you've introduced some conflict! YUM!..

I had to contain myself when I first saw this update. I squeaked in joy xD

I REALLY can't wait for the next part~.. I'm on the edge of my seat, OMG!

I AM A FAROUQ FANGIRL xDDD *huggles computer screen*

And now, if you don't mind, you genius you.. *goes to re-read*

January 17, 2012

Aghh! So cuuuute!! You're killing me the suspense here. Cutecutecutecutecute!

January 17, 2012

More? Please please please??? *begs*

January 18, 2012

You call this a drabble? :lol: (Not that I'm at all complaining about the length, in fact I may encourage it :innocent: )

Very intriguing story. I'm quite curious to find out where this cat has gotten to and whether the woman will end up in bed with dutifully attend said nice cat.

January 20, 2012

Bwuaaah I love you all! Scatter, good thing you mentioned sneezing-while-hiding, because I was totally already writing this next bit in my head bwuaha.

I'm rating this slightly mature for violence and scary-ish themes, but I editted most of the gore and bad stuff out while still keeping the plot intact. Mods, if you feel this is still too far, feel free to move around appropriately.

Actual sneezing is a bit sparse in this part, but if y'all are still hanging on, I'll reward you with some nice torture and fluff in the conclusion. And with that said....

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"I didn't see him leave, ma'am," Miren frowned.

"He might have slipped out the back," Kyris admitted, just as perplexed. And annoyed. But mostly perplexed. She was sure that she'd checked on him only an hour or so ago, and he'd been dead to the world. Even if he'd been faking, he surely must have still felt poorly, not nearly the type of stamina suited to go riding off into the snowy night. "I'll go check the stables, if you would like to see to Mister Endring."

"I'll come with you," the bosmer said suddenly, instead. He smiled at the innkeeper pleasantly, though Miren didn't look quite as happy about this idea. "I only need to see him for a moment, there's a bit of metalwork I owe him, that's all. I won't want to hold him up, if he's in a hurry."

Kyris glanced at him in discomfort, feeling less and less confident about this entire scenario. But what could she do or say? Managing a nod, she took a lantern from the tabletop and beckoned the bosmer to follow her, keeping him just in the corner of her eye at all times. She didn't trust that man.

"And so... how is it you know the khajiit, good sir?" Kyris made what she hoped to be casual, innocent small-talk. Subtlety was not her strong point, but she could play the part of a nosy gossip will enough. "Just seems... we see very few of that type around here, yours as well actually. And I mean nothing personal by it, just observing," she feigned a chatty demeanor.

The bosmer's features twitched slightly, but he managed not to break that smile as he followed her out through the kitchens and store room to the stables beyond. A small building, open on either end, but not entirely exposed to the elements as the roof and positioning kept the horses warm and protected. There were perhaps twenty stalls in all here, waiting to be filled, but only about five or six of them were occupied at the moment, counting her own horse. The inn had been a fair bit more well-populated back in her uncle's days.

"Oh, we met on the trade roads a few years ago, struck up something of a partnership. We run into one another now and again to do a bit of business, share stories, and the like. Outcasts stick together in such harsh environments, hm?"

That explanation... seemed reasonable enough, she had to admit, as she glanced back to the bosmer's features. Still sly, feral, but he couldn't exactly help how he looked. She lowered the lantern a little, shoulders sagging. Maybe she was putting too much thought into this.

"Farouq?" She called out into the darkness of the stable. She didn't count any steeds missing, from what she could see, but neither did she sense movement or hear a return call. What had gotten into that cat's mind? She began to pace down the row of stalls with the elf at her heels, peering into each. "Are you here? Your friend has arrived..."

"Pity, he seems to have left in a hurry," the bosmer sighed. "I had hoped to catch him. Do you suppo--mmf!"

Blinking, she whirled with the lantern raised high again, eyes wide. There was the bosmer just behind her, but he in turn was pressed up against a third figure, seeming materialized out of nowhere. A silvered hand was pressed over Endring's mouth, silencing his protesting cries. The elf reached for his weapons, but Kyris could see only the pale eyes glittering at her from beyond his shoulder, the assailant's spotted face half in shadow. And then came his other hand.

In one swift, elegant movement, a khajiit had drawn a finely-honed blade across a bosmer's throat, cutting him from ear to ear. Endring tried to scream, tried to turn and counter-attack, but by the time his attacker released him, the elf was choking on his last few breaths. They watched together, Kyris and the cat, as he fell to the dirt and lay there still.

She should have screamed. But she stared. At the elf, for a long moment, and then up at the cat.

"... Farouq?"

Her patient... ex-patient lashed his tail and bowed to her stiffly, as much as his wound would allow. She'd never heard him approach, never heard him draw steel, one moment he hadn't been there, and then there he was. Murdering elves in her stable. Her mouth opened and closed helplessly for a moment.

"I... you killed him?"

In retrospect, not the most intelligent thing she might have uttered, but it was all that would come to mind at the moment. Here she had been worried that her poor cat wasn't going to be warm enough for the night, that he might like some fish stew in a while, and now here he was crouching down to loot something or other from the elf's corpse. Kyris had seen plenty of dead bodies before in her studies, she was not squeamish, but she grimaced and looked away.

There was a difference between a long-cold cadaver, and seeing a murder conducted right in front of her by a man whose bed she'd been gently tending for the past two days.

"This one hopes you did not mistake him for a tame housecat," Farouq returned in a hoarse purr. He still sounded sick enough, but he was dressed and seemed alert, tense.

The Nord blinked angrily, beginning to back a way. Maybe she had let her initial reservations drop too far and too fast, he'd clearly played her for a fool where she should have been watching his every move. So stupid... "I thought he was your friend... are you going to kill me, too?"

Of medicine, she might know plenty. She could cook, she could ride, she could mend, and in a pinch she could probably defend herself, but the khajiit was obviously... quite good at this. A professional.

But he only blinked at her, tail twitching. "Of course not, Farouq would not be so ungrateful."

"You just killed a man in my stable!" She hissed, feeling herself grow hysterical. "I... I should be running and screaming or..."

"No," the cat interrupted sharply. He wiped the blood from his dagger and sheathed it in a whisper of sound. "You a strong Nord woman, and for that this one is glad. The bosmer was no innocent, if this is what concerns you, long and long has he had this coming."

"How can you... but..."

The cat waved a hand impatiently, not a bit the bleary-eyed, sick animal he'd seemed earlier. Except for the flush of his nose, of course, but still. It was hard to feel sympathetic when she was terrified and furious in equal amounts.

"Not important, what this one must know... where is the other?"

"The other what? Get out of here, cat, run if you're not going to kill me. You're a criminal."

"The other man, Endring does not travel alone," the khajiit insisted, stepping closer. She backed further away, aware of the horses beginning to panic around her, wise to the smell of blood and the tension of energies crackling in the air.

"I don't know what you're, there was only the one elf. Let me go..."

Suddenly, one of the horses at the far end of the stable gave a nervous whinny, and Farouq suddenly lunged at her.

"He comes, get down!"

She dropped the lantern in horror, certain that he meant to tear her throat out with teeth or claws alone. As the flame promptly extinguished on the ground, she felt Farouq's hand clasp over her mouth this time, arms like iron bands around her. How could he be so strong? He had seemed so weak earlier...

He was going to snap her neck, perhaps, or hold her hostage. Eat her, for all she knew of khajiit culture. But above all these things, she least expected him to suddenly jerk her in close to her chest, just as the bosmer had been captured, and dive aside into a large pile of clean straw. Their twined bodies wrestled fiercely for a moment as she struggled to elbow him in the wound and squirm free, but his breath was hot and angry hissed in her ear.

"Be still and stay hidden! This one does not wish to hurt you."

For reasons she did not fully understand, the Nord ceased her struggle and complied. Perhaps she trusted him, perhaps she was afraid of 'the other' moreso than the cat. Perhaps she was crazy. But she laid still.

Even fit and hale, it was torture lying there on the floor of the stable, with a dead body cooling not thirty feet away and a murderer at her back. With the lantern extinguished, she could see precious little in the pitch dark of the stables. No problem that would affect her patient turned captor, however, his sharp feline eyes no doubt tracking the tiniest movements in the gloom. Her head was a jumble as they laid there for long minutes, motionless, cold, with the smell of musty hay and blood filling her senses.

Her lips just barely touched the pad of his palm where it clasped over her mouth still, tight. Unlike the unfortunate bosmer, however, she did not have Farouq's dagger simultaneously at her throat. In fact, his free hand was tightly gripping her own, holding her close. She could have easily broken the hold if she'd wanted to, he hadn't bothered to restrain the rest of her body, but fear and confusion kept her grounded. Anger kept her warm, the indignant response to having her hospitality and softening feelings for the cat so cruelly spat upon. And yet... she stayed there like that, unmoving, waiting for what she did not know.

Because... his blade wasn't digging at her throat, he hadn't attacked her after bearing witness to the bounty. He said he wouldn't kill her but... he'd also told her the bosmer was his friend. She couldn't believe anything he said. Although here he was, laying still and quiet as death beside her. She had to hold out some small hope that the cat knew what he was doing, and wouldn't throw her under the proverbial horsecart.

Once this was all over, if she survived, Kyris was now most certainly going to sell the inn, learn to use a sword, and make her own way back to the healer's college. If she couldn't even get a break from the bloodshed by selling ale and beds, she was at least going to do something useful with her life.

It was likely only a few minutes that they laid there, minds racing and bodies still. Miren would have come looking for them otherwise, but it seemed hours until finally, finally there came a soft, nervous whinny again, from one of the horses near the stable door. They'd been anxious already from the smell of blood in the air, but the body lay cloaked in shadow on the far end of the building, and there was another, far more alive one approaching now.

Moments later, a lean, round-faced Breton came prowling around the corner, a flickering glow preceeding him. The source of light was not, as she'd thought, from a lantern, but from a ball of suspended fire slowly circling his upraised hand. Magic. The horses whickered uncertainly, and Kyris tried not to shudder. Farouq's paw squeezed her hand once, but she was wise enough not to nod in acknowledgement. This would be "the other", then.

The Breton moved slowly, in carefully measured paces, scanning his eyes left to right across the bales and piles of hay.

"Endring," the man murmured softly, calling for his companion. "Show yourself, do you have a new fur coat?" He listened hard for a moment, but he could not hear the tiny, miniscule congestion of Farouq's breathing as she could, and even then because it was just beside her ear. His whiskers tickled her neck and the straw itched everywhere else, but she dared not move.

As the Breton edged closer, he saw the lantern on the ground, nudged at it with a toe. He frowned, sheathed the dagger in his other hand and reached instead for a pitchfork leaning against the stable wall. The flame circling his hand cast deep, dramatic shadows over his swallow features as he began to methodically jab the tines of the pitchfork into each suspicious pile of straw. Damn...

If they made a sound or a motion, Kyris had no doubt that they would find themselves set ablaze by that suspended ball of fire. And yet if they didn't...which was worse, death by immolation or death by a pitchfork jabbed through the back of the skull?

She wanted to close her eyes and brace for the end, but she made herself watch, praying, as the Breton approached their strawpile. He took a stab. It came back clean. From the corner of her eye, she could see the prongs just barely graze Farouq's cheek, but he never flinched, never gasped. And neither did she.

The mage seemed satisfied and moved on to the next pile across the way, calling out a coaxing, "Here, kitty kitty..."

It was any wonder she didn't sob with relief. In the space of the thirty seconds since the Breton had entered the barn, she'd most certainly seen her life in review before her eyes.

They weren't safe yet, though. Her stomach chilled with a fresh welling of dread as she heard Farouq's breath hesitate beside her.

No. No no no no...

With the khajiit's head against hers and the mage's light source still flickering nearby, she could tilt her neck by only the tiniest increment and bring his features into her field of vision. She didn't like what she saw.

The pitchfork might have missed spearing their soft flesh, but the motion of it jabbing through their hiding spot had stirred a few strands of straw loose, falling across their concealed features in new patterns. To her horror, one particularly thin, ticklish-looking bit of hay had found its way to the cat's nosepad and was poking its tip at a pinkened nare.

Farouq was making a valiant effort to resist or even ignore it completely, but it was obviously a losing battle. He was going to sneeze. Between the chill in the air, the motes of stable dust, and his cold, it was any wonder he wasn't already in convulsive fits.

His muzzle crinkled up into velveteen creases, the dark stripe over his nosebridge distorting in the process. It was the only movement either of them could afford, and murderer or not, she would have plucked the strand away and rubbed his nose for him if she could. The Breton man was still close, though, too close, and there was little she could do but watch as the cat's eyes watered and nostrils quiveringly expanded, wrinkling open wide as if in an effort to escape that gentle, probing point of hay. They trembled weakly, revealing raw, damp interiors pulsing with tiny tremors of irritation. There was something almost beautifully tragic about the entire thing, the way his fangs snarled into view, long and sharp, as a tear of irritation threaded down the arch of one cheekbone and his jaw began to tremble. So close, so close...though the mage was finally moving away down the line of stalls, towards where the body lay. As he went, so too did the light source, until all Kyris could see was a distant half-obscured flicker. Then it was only the delicate catch of Farouq's breath in the darkness, the twitch of his whiskers against her neck. She squeezed her eyes shut and prepared for the inevitable sneeze, and the fiery death that would surely follow. His chest expanded against her, hand tightening on her mouth.

"hh...hht--... kggt!"

By some inexplicable miracle, the cat managed to stifle the sneeze almost into utter silence even without the aid of his hands, his lean form trembling just as hard as it could against her, and then going immediately still, catching his breath quieter than a whisper. The mage never heard it. In fact, judging by a sudden formless sound of surprise from the far end of the stable, he'd just discovered his fallen comrade.

While he was distracted, Farouq suddenly stirred into motion. At first, she thought he was preparing to sneeze again -- that single, tightly bottled explosion had almost certainly done nothing to alleviate the itch in his sinuses. Instead, he crept over and away from her, slipping out from beneath the haypile more like a great, silver serpent than a cat. She could just make out his form rolling into a soundless crouch, hands going to his belt. One slow step, then another. He hadn't been hiding in wait for the Breton to go away, she realized, he'd been setting up an ambush. She watched the twitching tip of his tail vanish last, and then he was out of her field of vision.

A beat of silence. The sound of steel clearing leather.

"... you bah-HHGKK!" That was the Breton, a brief crackling flash of flame, and then darkness and silence once more.

Kyris waited until she heard a single, deliciously relieving "AH-- ! AHT'TSSHH-UUE!!" split the quiet before she let out her breath all at once and came crawling out of the hay, weak with relief. Oh, thank Talos.

"Farouq?" She hissed into the dimness, wondering why she didn't simply run. He was at least as dangerous as either of those two men, moreso even since they were now decease and he... well. Was sneezing again.

"Ahht-- KTISSCH-uu!" He must have needed it after that torture in waiting. Though the lantern was out, once free of the haypile there was just enough ambient light from the inn and the city streets to make out the shape of his head tilting back, jaws parting. Nostrils miserably flared as well, no doubt. His silhouette doubled forward with a violent, nose-clearing release. "Hahht--- KTISSHH'uu!! Ah."

For a moment, she was tense, expecting the Windhelm guards to come barreling around the corner to arrest them both. But then she recalled that he'd done his work silently, swiftly, and there was no crime in hearing a man sneeze at night. She swallowed tightly, groped for the lantern, and struck it to life again with shaking hands. She half-expected to find Farouq vanished again into the frigid night, once she'd gotten it lit, but there he stood with a forearm rubbing against his nose and two bodies at his feet now. Gods...

"Are you alright?" Farouq asked, surprising her with the question. Lantern shaking in one hand, she patted herself down.

"I'm.. I'm fine. Are you okay? It... you have to get out of here, Farouq," she added, trying to calm her mind and process everything logically. "They'll catch you."

The khajiit winked. "This one survives, and has been better yes, but he has not been caught yet. At least not for very long." He was putting on a front, she could see that, but he walked straight enough as he left the bodies there, sheathing his daggers and approaching the strongest, fastest looking horse in the stable. "She is yours, yes?"

"I...yes..."

"This one will be taking her."

"Wh-what? No, just..."

The cat glanced back at her, already reaching for a bridle and lead. "Farouq is very appreciative of your succor, Nord, he means this. It is a privilege rarely extended to his kind, and the favor will be returned some day. But he is not asking permission."

Well. There wasn't exactly any arguing with that. She could run and shout for the guards, they might get here before he either ran off or slit her throat to keep her silent, but she didn't think he was planning on that. She hoped he wasn't, anyway. For a moment, she could only stare in helpless, frustrated anger and confusion as he fit the horse into the bridle and bit. Here was a stranger from a strange land, who until a few hours ago had turned out to be a surprisingly good-humored, respectful tenant on the unfortunate end of a bad cold and a wounded side. Now he had killed two men behind her inn, and he was stealing her horse before her very eyes.

She knew the actions of the last hour should have sent her screaming for help, but all at once... she had it. There it was, wrapped up neatly for the taking.

"Wait."

The khajiit looked back.

"Take me with you."

Now he blinked, seemingly as surprised as she at the words that had so easily tumbled out.

"You know not what you say, Nord. Look the other way, and this one will be gone. Tell the guards whatever you like, the truth if you must."

"To the hells with that, take me with you. I know the horse, I know the land. You're sick and wounded still..."

"This one can mind himself," he protested, glancing to the dead Nord and bosmer. She waved him off impatiently. They were running out of time, Miren would be out to check on them soon.

"You can kill a man, I see that, but can you stay a'horse for hours of riding through the snow and wind? You're still fevered, I could feel it with you next to me. Don't argue with a healer, cat, I'm coming."

The khajiit's jaw worked helplessly for a moment, trying to suss out her meaning, but she could see that he was impatient to be going as well.

"Why do you wish to come? This one... he is fond of you, yes, but you hardly know him. Your livelihood is here, with your inn... your people."

"My inn?" She spat. "It's a fine job for an old maid, but I run it out of guilt and promise to my uncle. But here I am wasting away, and he is dead. I have no family here, cat, I want to finish my studies. Take me out of the city and I'll make my own way back to the healer's college. They will say I've been kidnapped by some khajiit bandit, people will talk for a while, they might put a bounty out, but I'm guessing that wouldn't be anything new for you."

He hesitated a moment longer, baring his teeth in frustration. Finally, before he could rebuff her again, a flicker of irritation crossed his features and he crumpled forward. "ATSHH!" He sneezed, sudden and strong, but sounded drained for its tagalongs. "Aht'tssh! Ktsshh!"

"Gods bless. Make up your mind quickly, before my serving girl comes looking and finds a bloody surprise. I won't shriek for the guards, but she will. Elsewise no one might find them for hours, until morning even."

He recovered with a twitching sniffle, swiping the back of a hand across his nose. "Fine, fine, fine, yes! You saddle the horse, Farouq is taking care of the guards. You meet him out the east gate within a quarter hour or he is leaving without you."

She didn't say how far she thought he'd get, only nodding hastily and brushing the hay and dirt from herself, making herself presentable. "I'll be there." She watched him run off to ensure that he didn't leave with the horse anyway, and then bolted back into the inn through a backdoor. She'd have to make this fast.

Through the store room, an empty leather satchel filled with a waterskin, salted beef, and a few other well-preserved foodstuffs. Done. Up the stairs, to her own quarters, for a change of only the most basic clothes, and a satchel of gold. Personal affects... well, she had precious few of them, but she took whatever wouldn't weigh them down or could be resold for money to get her across Skyrim. From her wardrobe, she pulled free a small wooden chest, fumbled for a key around her neck, and unlocked it. She stared at the sheets of parchment inside, her will and deed to the inn. Who did she even leave these things to? She hadn't been lying to Farouq when she'd claimed to have no friends or family in Windhelm to speak of. Oh, there were people she knew, people she was friendly with, but not...

Sighing, she snatched up a quill and ink and scrawled in Miren's name. She was a good girl and a hard worker, if simple, she could make good use of the place. Leaving the papers on her bed where they would be easily found, Kyris darted back downstairs and to the front room, where she found the servant wide-eyed and wondering.

"Ma'am, I wondered where you'd gotten to! You... are you alright?" She wondered, looking Kyris up and down.

"Fine, yes," the Nord sighed, trying to hide her flushed cheeks and breathlessness with a careless wave. "Our feline guest appears to have vanished in the night. He must have slipped out the back. That will teach me, I suppose, at least he paid for the first night. Mister Endring decided to take his leave elsewhere for a bit, in case the khajiit returns." She feigned a shrug. "Best of luck to him, I don't think that scoundrel's coming back."

"Oh, poor Endring... I hope he'll return here when he's done, it's too chilly a night to be wandering the taverns or streets..."

Poor Endring indeed, Kyris thought to herself, but could only shrug again. "He might. I'm going to go feed the horses for the night and check in on that new fry pan from Oengul, before he closes shop for the night. I'll be back within the hour, can you watch the place until then?"

It wasn't at all uncommon for Kyris to run errands around Windhelm while her servants manned the inn, and it wasn't yet too late to be out and about either, so Miren only nodded blithely. "Of course, ma'am. You keep warm, now."

"You too, Miren, thank you."

And then... what else? Was that really it? Kyris shrugged herself into a winter cloak and boots, standing outside in the stables again as she stared at the blood slowly freezing to the ground nearby. Was this really happening?

She had to keep going before she second-guessed herself. Leading her horse from the stall, she saddled her, tied the travel satchel in place, kissed the beast's nose and then mounted up. It was difficult to keep the gait casual as they trotted down the streets of cobblestone and packed earth towards the eastern gate, but any guards or citizens she passed fortunately didn't seem to think much of the sight.

By the time she reached the gate, however, she found the number of guards dwindling to some, then a few, then none. That was unheard of, but it meant that the cat had done his part. She hoped he'd only disarmed or knocked them unconscious, not killed them, but now was not the time to think or worry. The vast gates of iron and reinforced wood were drawn open, just enough for a single horse and rider to pass through. She could only pray that Farouq would be still waiting beyond the walls.

Kyris took a deep breath, steeled her nerves, and rode out of the city.

Edited January 20, 2012 by Garnet

January 20, 2012

AAAAHHHH I LOVE THIS Garnet!! I'm not generally a fan of anthro, either... but this..... hngghh

I didn't find that too violent at all, personally.... i was expecting a lot worse from your warnings lol (then again, I watch a lot of anime like Fullmetal Alchemist and such... so I guess I'm probably desensitized to general violence <.< haha)

I am really intrigued by Farouq's character development. The fact that he's a totally epic assassin and not just a random traveler... AND he's sick.... yummmmy And the hiding scene literally gave me chills, it was fantastic!

I can't wait to read the rest!!!

January 20, 2012

Haha I edited out most of the gory descriptions and stuff, because about two paragraphs into describing the blood flow I was like "WHOOPS MAYBE I SHOULD TONE THIS DOWN to keep it on the normal forums". Glad you liked it though, I'm super happy that you're reading! <3

January 20, 2012

WAAAAAAAH~! *huggles story*

I love waking up, checking the forum, and seeing another installment! Best way to start the day xD

And Garnet, honey, I'm sure 12-year-olds have seen worse on True Blood LOL. The violence really isn't bad at all~

AND SNEEZING WHILE HIDING~! Hnnnnnng. *purr* And he still his his fever~.. Ah, this is wonderful. You weave such lovely literary magic, Garnet. I'll be waiting with baited breath for the conclusion <3

January 20, 2012

This is just... just... :boom:

I simply don't know what else to say.

January 20, 2012

Man I hope twelve-year-olds aren't watching True Blood! But it's really not a matter of what I think since I'm a gore-whore anyway, I'm just making sure that I'm staying within the positing parameters. The Constitution mentions "graphic violence" as being marked 18+ and it was definitely graphic before I posted it haha. I only mentioned it at all as a disclaimer in case those scenes seemed stiff or clipped.

ANYWAY super glad you're all still reading! Your comments make me happy and inspired to continue~

Edited January 20, 2012 by Garnet

January 23, 2012

You know what I don't care about being redundant. THIS IS FANTASTIC. :heart: I love how you can work so much excitement and tough action into a story and bring the sneezing in at EXACTLY. the right moments. Brilliant. Three cheers!

February 1, 2012

Aaaand apparently my brain decided NOPE, let's extend it into TWO more parts. So here's the first, and next time I SWEAR some more fluff and sneezing! I swear it, I do.

So here you go! Warning for violence and some blood, kept it light but I also didn't edit anything, so mods let me know if it's violating the constitution or something :B

---------------------------------------

The storm from last night had let up somewhat, a shadow of its former self. Outside the city walls, however, the world was still awash in tones of white and grey, exposed to the elements as wind and snow whipped against her hood. Kyris studied the long road out of the city and through the mountain passes, then looked back towards the city gates, still standing open.

Not a soul in sight. That was eerie.

For a moment, she almost lost her nerve and doubled back to undo everything of the past quarter hour, cat be damned. But no. Alone or with company, she had made her frosty pact and bed, it was time to lie on it. Tightening her gloved hands on the reigns, she urged her hardy mount onwards. If she made good time and didn't encounter any wolves or bandits, she might make it to the Nightingale Inn before it got too dark to see.

But then, if her disappearance was to hold true, she couldn't exactly be seen at cozy neighboring inns not fifteen miles from the city. She'd have to hope for a nice cave, instead. Cursing to herself, Kyris tucked her head down and soldiered on.

"Aht--ksssch-u!"

Up came her gaze again at the by now familiar sound. She should not have been surprised to see Farouq's hooded form suddenly beside her horse, working a gloved finger lengthwise against his nose. The damned cat seemed capable of materializing from nowhere and everywhere, but he was still a pathetic sight. She wondered at herself for being relieved to see a murderer.

"Bless," she said, reaching down a hand to him. "Come on, you can ride behind."

He glanced at her hand, then narrowed his eyes at her, as she'd half-expected. "And who is 'kidnapping' who, this one wonders," he frowned.

"No one's kidnapping anyone, but this is my horse and my country," Kyris told him boldly, and then offered in a softer, more bargaining tone. "Come, I'll be useless if we encounter any trouble on the road, better to have you well-rested."

He seemed to know that he was being cajoled, but in the end, it wasn't worth squabbling over. A horse was a horse was a horse, and they needed to make tracks. Seizing her hand, the khajiit touched the horse briefly with the opposite and then swung up behind the saddle.

He obviously wasn't a bad rider himself, balancing carefully on the animal's haunches with legs stretched forward, but this would slow their pace some. They couldn't exactly go galloping through the mountain passes at night, especially with him clasping to little but the back of the saddle. Two horses would have been better, but far less stealthy.

"South, then?" The healer's college was far from here, but she hardly expected him to travel with her the entire way, nor did she even know where he was headed himself. For now, 'away from the city' seemed a good choice.

"Yes, but to the inn first, the one a few miles from here. And through the pass. Less foot traffic, fewer will be inclined to follow. "

"The Nightingale?" She wondered, pressing her horse into a steady walk away from the city, graduating to a trot when she seemed to handle the extra weight well. "I'd thought about it as well, is it safe to make bed so close to the city?"

"We are not making bed," Farouq sniffled, bowing in close to the windbreak of her body. She felt him shiver with chill, and worried for his fever, his wound. Her sanity. "Only stopping briefly. This one's throat tires of talking now."

She suspected that was a ploy to avoid discussing whatever his plans at the inn were. More assassin work, perhaps, and she almost resisted at the thought. But now was not the time to be re-evaluating her morals. Instead, she sighed and kept her horse at pace down the road for a while, swerving off through the pass when she found a clear way through the snowpack. It was not yet deep enough to slow them down, tamped tight enough by hunters and trappers passing through. Hopefully none of them had a taste for a khajiit-skin rug.

As evening descended, however, the ride slowed to a careful, picking walk. Her horse was surefooted and strong, but the way was treacherous as the altitude rose, and a misstep would be disastrous. Wind scorched her face with cold as they ascended, and the flakes whirled fast and dizzying. More than once, it snatched her hood and her breath clean away, but Farouq seemed safe enough in the shelter of her shoulders. He remained quiet, as promised, and occasionally she wondered if he'd slipped off to some daze between waking and sleep. But then he would tense for a cough or the occasional sneeze muffled against a glove, she would bless him, and then the silence would resume.

She hoped this was worth it.

Once darkness fell in full, there was only the pale, chill light of the moons on the snow. Eerie, in a way, but beautiful as well. When the path finally leveled out and the lower crags protected them from the harsher winds, she pushed her hood back slightly and stole a glance behind. Farouq's eyes were two gleaming orbs themselves, bright with fever and reflected light as he gazed almost reverently up at the twin celestial bodies.

"We'll be a the Nightingale shortly," she told him, when he caught her looking at him. The promising golden flicker of the inn's lights could be seen through the treeline now as they made their way back below it.

With her hood down, even the milder winds of the lower pass snatched and teased at a few errant locks of her hair, fluttering it back against her cheeks and his snout. Her expression softened as his own crinkled up with irritation. She quickly gathered her hair away again, but too late to avoid tickling his nose.

"Aht-- SSHHHsshu! " He sneezed over one shoulder, but managed a curled fist to his mouth for a second, more sharply relieving, "HAHTSH-shhu!"

"Bless you, I'm sorry."

"Many thanks." He sniffed. "And do not worry, this one was having to sneeze anyway." His anger had dissipated a bit, it seemed, back to quiet politeness. Kyris was still not sure which side was the real Farouq, but this one was at least a bit more manageable. He cleared his throat and nodded wearily to the inn lights below. "You wait in trees, rest the horse. Farouq will return shortly, he hopes."

Kyris remained slightly unsettled at this, but did as he bid when they finally reached the inn. She misliked the feeling of waiting in the woods alone as well, sure that she was about to be savaged by some wild animal or lurking thief. But she put on a brave face as Farouq slipped off her mount and gave his nose a final quieting rub, bidding it to behave for the duration of... whatever it was he was planning.

"You stay, this one will be back in a few minutes. If there is commotion, you run and leave without him, yes?"

She hesitated a moment, but nodded in grudging agreement. "Yes, just... be careful."

Without another word, only a vague smile, the khajiit tugged his hood up and seemed to melt into the darkness of the wood, even his footfalls muffled as he crept away.

She dismounted as well, letting her mare recover from the short but treacherous ride through the pass. A handful of oats and a stroke on the neck seemed to be all the horse ever asked of her, and she was happy to oblige as she waited for her unlikely companion, trying not to let herself think about what he was doing. Or how his health was faring. Instead, she rested her brow against the animal's shoulder and just breathed in the comforting smell of hay and horse-sweat.

Every snapping twig or rustle of the underbrush with some nocturnal creature was unnerving, but she kept calm. No need to spook her mare over a squirrel acquiring a late-night snack. She lost track of how long she'd been waiting, with the inn just visible beyond the thick woods and underbrush. It seemed a very long time, though in truth it couldn't have been more than a quarter hour. When the sudden crunch and rustle of a much larger animal began to approach from the darkness to the east, however, the healer was unable to keep her hands from tightening instinctively in the reins. A bear? Or a sabrecat. Oh, she wished Farouq had not left her alone. Assassin's work or other, she would have much rather been in his company than unprotected in a dark forest.

Her hand went to her belt and a dagger stored there, preparing to either defend herself or swing up onto the horse and run, depending on who or what was coming.

"Stay back," she hissed into the darkness, hoping the sound might startle if it were an animal, and not a starving one.

"Be easy, it is me," a familiar voice answered, releasing the tension in her shoulders with a sigh.

"I was beginning to worry, cat."

As Farouq edged into a patch of moonlight filtered through the canopy above, she could see now that it was neither bear nor sabre stepping through the brush, but a young dapple grey gelding. The khajiit was astride it, and nodded her to resume her own mount.

"You bought a horse?" She began uncertainly, swinging herself obediently back up into the saddle.

"More ah... 'borrowed'. Long-term. Such a handsome creature, Farouq will take good care of him, yes," the cat stroked the gelding's neck, the horse seeming unconcerned about who its current master was, as long as they bribed him with food.

Kyris sighed. Horse thievery, well... she could not condone, and she would miss the warmth and feel of him against her back, but at least now they would make better time, and not be straining her brown as much. And better stealing a horse than killing a man. "Where to, then?"

"Back on the trail, we may rejoin the road farther along where it is less.. populated. Farouq has business in Riften, but it is far and far away. He must ride for some time."

Business. Maybe turning in the trophies he'd cut from the bosmer or the Breton, she couldn't be sure. But they could travel together for a while, at least.

"... lead on, then."

The gelding was not quite as hardy as her mare, he had obviously been trained on roads and city streets rather than in the wild country, but he seemed to get the hang of it after a while, and they made good enough time riding out by moonlight. The two riders and their mounts made quite a picture together, Kyris mused as they weaved through the gentler trails that would lead them back to the road. The gelding's coat was not unlike the khajiit's own, silver and spotted so the two moved like moon and shadow through the wood, while she on her brown and wrapped in dark furs seemed more some terrible wild animal, doggedly chasing the ethereal pair.

Even if he'd spent a good night or two at the inn recuperating, Kyris could see that the rest had done him little good. It might have, before all of this cloak and dagger business, but the weather and the strain was going to soon unmake all of the progress. She bit her tongue, though, and resigned herself to keep a careful eye on the cat instead, riding in silence for what seemed like hours. She was weary herself, with winter beating down on them for the first leg of the journey, but once they'd broken from the woods and made it onto the road south, it was at least easier to see. The winds were more prevalent here, out in the open, but the snow had let up and the night was cold and clear.

"There will be bandits on this road..." She spoke at last, pulling her mare up alongside him. The horses seemed to get on well together, the somewhat-flighty gelding calmer in the presence of her stolid mare. The cat looked dazed, however, trying to focus but mostly letting the horse lead the way.

"Just so, a fact we must be prepared for. Normally Farouq would smell them coming, but..." He pulled the wind-breaking scarf away from his face and sniffed pointedly, emphasizing his stuffy nose.

"Will you be able to handle them?" She wondered dubiously, watching him sway on the gelding. He rubbed the back of a hand against his snout.

"If they are not too great in number. It is not bandits this one is most worried about, however," he added, scanning the sky. For what, she didn't even want to think about.

"We need to work on your encouraging statements."

He flashed a weary smile, but that was something.

"Who were those two men you killed in the stable?" She tried cautiously. The Nord still wasn't sure that she wanted to know, but any conversation to keep their minds off the freezing ride. And to keep him from dropping out of his saddle. She supposed getting to know a bit more about her unusual travel companion would be useful too, perhaps.

Farouq sniffled again cautiously, seeming to debate the wisdom of answering. "Former brothers," he answered at last, before tucking his head down to utter a trademark "ahht--KTSHH'u!" brought on by the wind exposure.

"Bless. Brothers in what?"

"Brothers in... brotherhood," the cat replied, perplexed.

"Strange, I did not see any tails or whiskers on them."

He sniffed again, eyeing her sidelong in weary amusement. "Just so. Dark Brothers, then."

Oh. The Dark Brotherhood... she'd suspected as much, but it still made her swallow tightly to hear it confirmed. She really was playing nursemaid to a professional assassin. Granted, she'd had everything from thieves to war heroes passing through the inn, but this was certainly a particular circumstance.

"I see. So you kill whoever you're told to?"

"If the bounty is high enough," the cat admitted with a shrug, and another sharp sniff, fighting either another prickle of irritation or a runny nose or both.

"And how is that different from any other mercenary?"

He glanced aside at her again, as if sensing that she knew the answer to her own question. "The Dark Brotherhood is for jobs done right. This one can speak little more of it, he apologizes. He should not have even mentioned this much."

Kyris sighed, breath steaming in the air before her. That might be best. "Would you kill me?"

Now his glance was vaguely amused again. "You keep asking this..."

"It's a legitimate concern! I'm not in the habit of traveling with assassins."

"Just so, but you do not have a bounty on your head, so..."

"And what if I did? You don't know that," Kyris grumbled, but pleased that she didn't notice her frigid fingertips or toes so much now.

Farouq rasped a weak chuckle. "This one does not think s-so." His nose wrinkled visibly, just before he turned to release the lingering second sneeze at last. "Ah..Aht-KSSCHH'ue!"

"Gods bless." She was half-surprised that the resulting silver spray didn't freeze immediately in the air.

Wiping at his nose with a weary sniffle, the cat gave her a bleary, curious look.

"Why do you say this?"

"What, 'bless you'?" At his nod, she frowned in thought. "It's just... reflex, I suppose. I'm not sure what the origin of the saying is, I just know it's polite. I won't, if it makes you uncomfortable," she said, uncertain if she ought invoke khajiit deities in particular to soothe a sneeze.

"No, no, not uncomfortable. Farouq has simply... never heard it said to him in this land. It is pleasant, though, like a... verbal embrace. This one does not dread sneezing when his nose is blessed so dutifully each time."

She laughed suddenly, inexplicably endeared by this parallel. "I suppose it is. That nose must surely be a holy object by now."

With the horses walking almost shoulder to shoulder at a less breakneck pace, he could reach a hand across the space between them, offering the palm of his clean glove. She glanced at it uncertainly for a moment before slowly, hesitantly placing her hand in his. This seemed to be what he was after, as he bent sidelong and raised the backs of her hide-covered fingers to his mouth. A kiss was placed upon them, and suddenly Kyris was blushing like some silly girl, and wishing that she'd given him a bare hand instead.

"This one would not kill you, to answer your question, even for a bounty. All the same, it may be best you keep out of the trouble that would require one."

"Out of trouble," she smirked as he released her hand and she pulled it reluctantly back to the reins. "I believe it's a bit late for that, khajiit."

He gave another soft laugh, but the conversation was obviously draining him, so they fell into a companiable silence again after that, listening only to the clopping of horsehooves and the crack of trees in the icy night.

Once more she lost track of how long they'd ridden, her attention divided between the road ahead and her ailing companion, wondering if he planned to ride all night and through the next day without stopping. She didn't think the horses could take it, much less the cat's health, but wasn't sure she would like the answer if she asked. So she didn't.

It was many miles later, and only when she was half-dozing in her saddle that she become aware of Farouq suddenly stopping. Blinking herself back to full awareness, the Nord reined in her mare as well.

"What is it?" She murmured, wise enough to keep it to a whisper.

She saw nothing special about where they'd paused, a long stretch of winding road cutting through a hilly forest. There were numerous rocky outcroppings here, leading to caves or crevices into the earth, but she could hear nor smell any animal. Still, the khajiit was sitting up straight and tense, ears slowly tilting this way and that as he scanned the forest for tinier noises than she could hear.

"This one mislikes these woods," the cat answered slowly. "We should turn back, and take the other road."

"What? That fork was a mile ago at least, and you said it would take twice as long."

"Just so," Farouq insisted, already beginning to turn his dapple grey in a tight circle. "But shortcuts bode many dangers for weary travelers. It was foolish to come this way. Come, we go."

She really had no argument beyond this, and so with a sigh brought her mare around, preparing to trudge back into the wind. The khajiit beside her was pulling his gloves off with his teeth, for reasons she couldn't discern. It was still plenty cold out, and he would need all the warmth he could--

All at once, something exploded out of the underbrush and outcroppings beside the road. Two, three... four somethings.

Farouq's horse was the first to panic and bolt. While her mare squealed and skittered in surprise, the dapple reared once and bolted into the woods, dismounting his rider as if he were a ragdoll being jerked backwards.

To her amazement, the khajiit managed to land in a crouch, though she could see little else as her mount spun and danced in panicked circles, only the controlled expertise of the Nord's reins keeping her from taking off as well.

The 'somethings', however, were not animals but bandits. Four men, or maybe women, dressed in dark skins and shouting as three swarmed her friend. She couldn't see what nationality they were, nor did she care as the fourth came circling towards her, tense and fast, in an attempt to grab the reins from her. She whirled the mare away, broke for the treeline. He followed. Her mare kicked, but he dodged, and as the horse reared balked at the line of underbrush, she felt the bandit's hand yanking the reins from her grip. With the other, he dragged her off and into the snow with far less grace.

The man who had dismounted her was preoccupied with trying to calm her terrified horse, but no sooner had she rolled to her knees than one of Farouq's bandits was upon her. With a sword pressed to her throat.

"Your money, turn out your valuables," he snarled through a thick beard, and her hands shook as they tried to find her pockets and bags.

"Please, I... on the horse, they're..."

"Hurry it up wench," the bandit snapped, starting his free hand towards her. She fell backwards, his sword-point not fast enough to follow, and in a terror of sudden freedom she tried to scramble away. "Mangy bitch," she heard him bark. "We'll do this the hard way."

His sword thrust for the back of her neck, but she rolled, still fumbling a hand at her side. No longer for coins this time but... where, oh where was... there.

The bandit was making to lunge again when her hand came up bearing her dagger, plunging it into the meat of his leg. He howled in surprise, crumpling sideways onto his good leg, but he hadn't dropped the sword yet. Panicked, she yanked, wrenched the dagger free from his leg, fumbled her gloves on the grip, and fell on him stabbing.

The blade disappeared into the man's stomach through cloth and thing leather. She could feel when it hit flesh, though her eyes were blurring with tears, and again she pulled the dagger out, again she drove it into his belly. Over and over, until the bandit was limp beneath her and she realized that she was kneeling over a corpse. A dead man with a dark spring bubbling out of his abdomen, staining her pants, her gloves, and the snow around them.

She fell backwards, pushing herself away, and somehow found her way to her feet. She looked left, sure that she would find her sick companion gutted in the snow nearby, but instead found a second, female bandit dead, and a third dying in... oh gods. Farouq hadn't even had time to draw his daggers, he'd done the work by tooth and claw alone. There he was crouched over the other man, jaws crushing his throat as he slowly suffocated him to death, just like a wild sabre might.

There was no time to be sick or horrified, especially in light of what she'd just done. Instead, she swung around to find the fourth man, the one who had her mare. Dumbfounded by the fate that had become of his brethren, the man was still standing there with a hand on his sheathed weapon and the other on the horse's reins. Full of adrenaline and anger and fear, Kyris raised her own bloody blade and took a step forward. The bandit took a step back.

She heard Farouq cough wetly behind her and assumed he had finished his kill. The last bandit saw it too, swallowed, and retreated another step. Evidently he did not like the odds of two to one, with three of his fellows did, because he turned to try and mount the stolen horse.

The mare would have none of it, though, loyal only to Kyris and dancing angrily away at each clumsy attempt. At last the thief gave up, dropping her reins and taking off on foot. He was slow, she could have caught him, and was sure Farouq might have been on him in moments were he not so sick, but she let him go. More important was catching hold of the skittish horse.

She started for her mount slowly, despite her senses still buzzing with the rush of the incident. Softly, she called the horse's name, but she'd forgotten the scent of blood fresh all over her. As soon as she'd gotten close enough for the mare to smell it, a misplaced crag of a twig somewhere in the woods and the strange odor sent the horse's eyes to rolling back. She took off into the woods at a nervous gallop.

Acting fast, Kyris stripped her bloodied gloves and quickly smeared herself in handfuls of snow to hide the scent a little. Slowly, senses still buzzing with the rush of the incident, she crept towards the mare and softly called her name. The brown evaded her for a few minutes, anxiously skirting this way and that, but finally she managed to get her hands on the horse's reins and settle her down once more. Only then did her high begin to fade, replaced instead by tears rolling down her cheeks and a hand clasped over her mouth to stifle her gasps.

What had she gotten herself into?

She felt like a little girl standing there weeping, and desperately tried to contain the urge to sob. She was a Nord woman, and she had asked for this, there was no business in getting upset about killing a highway robber. And yet, and yet...

"Kyris..."

She was a healer, she was supposed to preserve life, not take it away. That had been somebody's son she'd just killed. He'd had a mother, once, maybe a family, maybe he'd eaten honey and biscuits for breakfast the same as her. Maybe...

"Kyris"

She came out of her shock with a start. Farouq was standing before her, if just barely, his hands on her shoulders and eyes peering into hers. He was wavering, but alive.

When had she told him her name?

"Are you alright?"

She nodded numbly. Now was not the time to lose her mind and appear weak. "Are... are you?" She stammered, taking stock of him. He seemed weak but otherwise seemed intact. She tried to ignore the blood around his lips as he nodded.

"Just so. A few cuts and bruises only."

Her gaze spanned down to the gruesome scene. They had to get moving, maybe in hopes of catching the gelding, but her hands were still shaking. Farouq followed her glance, settling his attention on the man she'd killed. He looked to the tears slowly freezing on her face, and his expression softened.

"Your first?"

She nodded numbly.

"It is so easy, isn't it?"

She hesitated, then nodded again. The killing had not been the hard part, but the aftermath.

He started to reach a hand for her cheek, then noticed his claws still red from the ambush, and thought the better of it. Instead, he tugged her into a loose, surprising embrace. Too confused and tired to protest, she leaned automatically into him, burying her face in the soft fur of his neck and inhaling his crisp scent of snow and leather. Only when she felt his knees begin to wobble and give did she hastily straighten back up, grabbing to keep him from collapsing.

"Farouq! You're sure you're not hurt?"

He nodded blearily again, but seemed to appreciate the sudden exchange of support. "That was... the last of Farouq's energy, he thinks."

"W-well, we have to keep moving, get on my horse, I'll walk for a while."

He sagged heavy as a ton of bricks, wanting to collapse to the snow.

"No, you go. Where we are stopping... is just a few miles from here. Send someone back for Farouq, he will just wait here in the snow," he groaned, "Sleep... sounds so good."

She refused to let him drop, instead jogging him sharply and hoping she wasn't tweaking his prior injury any more than he had in the fight. "No, stand up! You're getting hypothermic. If you sleep here, you'll die."

The khajiit only groaned-growled and tried to pull away again. She held fast, and worried how to bring him out of his own state of sickness, exertion, and temperature-induced shock. She could make him sneeze, but that might exhaust him to the point of collapse. He'd been wounded and smacked around enough already...

Wrapping her arms more securely about him, she pressed reassuring kisses to his ears and brow and the bridge of his nose. His skin still felt hot, under the fur, and she hoped it was just in contrast to the frigid air. If he was still running a fever, she was going to cry.

"Come on, cat, just a little farther, like you said. Where are we stopping, an inn? A campsite? I'll even take a cave, if there are no bears," she tried to jest, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, where he'd shorn his mane off. Shifting her grip, she pressed her thumb to the cut on his cheek then, a small golden glow of energy emerging from beneath her hand speed the healing of the small wound. "You can sleep all you want when we get there, I'll keep you warm."

Either her words or the luminance of this tiny bit of magic seemed to slowly, grudgingly drag the cat from his stupor. As it turned out, she didn't need to induce him to sneezing either. Scrunching his eyes shut, he pulled away from her once more, just enough to hastily redirect a sudden expulsion.

"Ah-h--KTSH!"

He looked dazed in the aftermath, but came to as she wiped his nose carelessly on the edge of her sleeve. "Excuse..."

"Bless," she corrected, grimaced at the corpses over his shoulder, and again jostled him towards the horse. "Now, up. Please."

He grumbled, but this time complied, employing the last of his stength to haul himself up into the mare's saddle. The cat slouched forward, head dropping, but managed to stay upright. Small miracles.

The next came half a mile down the road, when they stumbled upon the grey running in frightened loops through a clearing. He was a bit scratched from plowing headlong through the trees, but settled down for a few handfuls of oats and a soft voice. Breathing a sigh of relief, Kyris fumbled her half-frozen fingers together, wishing she hadn't dropped her gloves, and managed to get herself mounted on the gelding with one hand still on her mare's reins.

They rode like that, slow and awkward, for those last few miles which seemed longer than any they'd conquered yet. Farouq was frustratingly quiet, though she kept talking to him anyway, as much for his sake as hers.

"Am I going the right way?"

"Just so..."

"And this stop, how much further?"

A vague side-to-side motion of his hand.

"Some assassin you are, I think I've saved your life at least once today."

"This one thinks so too. He will thank you properly when he is warm."

She fell quiet after that, chagrined. Even blistering with fever, he could ride and kill, sneak and steal. Traveling alone, he might have survived, while she was sure that she would have died in the bandit raid. She had no business in poking fun at him now.

Some minutes later, however, the woods finally seemed to thin, the road growing more convoluted, but gently sloping downward into a vast valley below. As they rounded the bend and got the full scope of what lay below, however, she breathed a sigh of relief that was nearly a sob.

There, sheltered in the lee of the mountains below, sprawled a khajiit trading caravan at least fifty or sixty strong. Hide tents and flickering torches tempted her like golden, wintery will-o-the-wisps even from here, and she could just make out the dark bodies of guards at their posts. Shelter. Food. Medical supplies. Beds.

"We're stopping there? Are they your people?"

Farouq sniffled mildly. "All khajiit are one people, in Skyrim. Brothers in circumstance, if not by blood."

She considered how his other 'brothers' had fared, but pressed onward down the ridge, eager for warmth. "And what about me, will they accept a Nord?"

The cat swayed dazedly in the saddle, but managed a weak smile. "We shall see."

February 1, 2012

I honestly don't know what else I can say, except that I love this soooo much!!! This is truly an excellent piece, Garnet, and I am SO looking forward to reading the rest!!!!

Fresh Perspective (parts 5/5) - updated 4/8

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