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yarti · 4 years

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[ Fanar ] - [The Carriage of Life ]

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"Three days yet by foot. We probably should have taken a carriage. This road is a fair bit less scenic than most we've put behind us."

I took a puff from my pipe, eyes set far out into the fields for even in that vastness, I knew precisely where to look.

"Unless horse and carriage were to leap out from behind a boulder, we'd best grow accustomed to walking."

Gili strode ahead of me, darting behind a roadside stone. "It could happen. A carriage, that is. It could? Could it not? More perplexing things have happened." She yelled, skipping to the next largest rock and peering behind it. "No horse here!"

It had became something of a game. A way to pass the time on such a walk. We had long-since exhausted the easy conversations. "Things that were and those yet to be." We had discussed those at-length. We neared Blackmore, but would not stray that far south just yet. Our path was to be a more direct one. The lights of Whiterun could be seen on the horizon on those darker nights. As fireflies over distant fields, signs above, ever honest, or the freckles on her then wind-whipped cheeks. It was just a matter of closing the distance.

The day we left town, Gili took it upon herself to part with some of her hair. I offered to trim it for her, but she is as thickheaded as ever. With one wrong snip of her scissors, half of her hair was gone in an instant. What remained hung off to one side, nearly covering an eye. Distracting at times, I'm certain, but it fit her. This style was something of a rebellious look. Not quite the image she had wished to project. She often worried that Mother and Father would disapprove of her in one way or another, her new hairstyle being another worry to add to the list. Each day brought about another worry. At times I wondered if I should have kept our destination a secret. We had discussed it earlier that morning in fact. "They are good folk, as good as they come. Once they see that you are likewise good company, they will welcome you with open arms. Father will be easy to win over, just be yourself. He is a man of Mara, a family man despite his work. You will see a great deal of me in him. Mother will be difficult. We can only hope that she will be too busy with Fiolette to give you much ire. Though, if she were to turn her wrath on you, I could do little to help. Especially if Fannah has visited or been in touch lately. Fannah thinks you to be a witch. That you've bewitched me and that this journey is some complex nefarious plot." I let out a hearty chuckle then shut my eyes as warm memories flowed over me. "They certainly have a..." I stopped myself to have another draw of the elves ears. "Most peculiar view of women." I burst out, half between a cough and a laugh. Far from a new topic, this. She knew to expect interrogation, harsh words, perhaps harsher looks. But I assured her, she would warm up to her. She had my word on that.

Boredom begat boredom, the long road tiring and draining. Sore soles and pained souls, with every step, I felt my tone grew more annoyed and hers more desperate for stimulation. She never stops talking. At times, quiet can do a man good. I can see why Father would set aside time for mead or the lake. Idle-chatter and stress do not play well with budding relationships. Rather than have one of us eventually lose our temper, I elected that we surrender to the road. A serious campsite would be fine medicine. We set up camp at the nearest opportunity, a Nordic ruin, or what was left of one. No interior to speak of but flat stone floors would do plenty. The following two days were spent in camp. We found much time to mend body and soul, and time aside to write. It was good to put quill to paper and get some of this off of my chest. The result became a letter to Fannah. As much distaste as I may seem to have for Gili on paper, in truth, I do love her. Most dearly. I would have her no other way.

The next night, we were beset upon by the most terrible of storms. The heavens would glow like the broad of day for but a moment, then crash into blackest night. I feared the wind might carry Gili away if not for the urgency with which her fingers dug into my cloak and about my arm. She looked to my grimacing face as the sharp beads pelted my jaw and brow, hair drenched and dripping beneath a hood long darkened by the downpour. She would find no solace there, so my cloak and embrace would have to suffice. My hood did little more than dull the wet arrows as they came swift and many from all directions. The road was likened to a warzone with us in the crossfire.

The flashes of lightning silhouetted a high house, a manor just off the road. These were empty lands, naught more than fields barren and unkempt road. A house was a welcome sight, be it owned or abandoned. I envisioned a porch or awning above the doorway, the mere thought of it made me smile. If it were abandoned, we would make it our own until the storm passed. Lay out a bedroll and enjoy our time while the world above poured itself dry. If it were owned by unsavory folk, even the briefest respite under an awning would have done well to soothe our troubles. Best yet, I envisioned us met with the open arms of some kind strangers, an elderly couple. An old Nord lady, clutching at her shawl, lurching around the barely-opened door, extending a rusted lantern to illuminate our downtrodden faces. The relief on those faces as she welcomed us inside to warm ourselves by the fire and partake of a meal far past dinner-time. At the dinner table we would meet her husband, a Dunmer noble, a face untouched by his years but obviously of similar age to his mate. The table was long with many chairs. They would regale us of their sire, little ones come and gone and of their adventures in places and ages long since passed. Gili and I would sit together, my arm across her shoulder, listening to their tales until the coming morn. I shook myself from my thoughts, only to find Gili peaking at me from beneath her hood. She nodded, acknowledging my daydreaming or nightdreaming as it were and nestled against my chest. Knowing her as I do, we likely shared that dream. The amulet of Mara around her neck jingled loudly as we quickened our pace.

In an hour's time, we came upon the once-majestic outline of our shelter to-be. Rotted and disheveled, a shade of what it may once have been. I cleared my throat and stepped up to the door, a hand curling into a loose fist. It rose then fell upon the door softly as Gili brought about some light. Far too soft, given the intensity of the storm. "Louder." She urged with her palm on my back. My fist rose again, this time coming down much harder. The door boomed and splintered, echoing through what lay beyond it.

"Hello?" I called out. "I know it is dreadfully late, but this storm. It came out of nowhere and nearly blew us away." Gili added, with hardened voice.

Aside from the storm and our sighs, we were met with silence. Again, harder still, a fist met the door. With that, the bolt gave way, allowing the door to roll open. It squealed on hinges long since oiled as a cloud of dust struck our faces. Inside, a long dark abyss.

"Is there anyone inside?"

No reply. Wind howled through the doorway, slicing at our exposed faces and hands. The house snored like a long-slumbered beast. "We're coming inside." Once inside, we tried to fasten the door behind us but the lock had crumbled from the impact. Gili held it shut by light of palm then inched a small table in front of it to keep the storm out.

"Well, either our hosts are sound sleepers, or the house is to be ours." she mumbled, following me into the unknown.

Hastily, we cleared each room, settling into a comfortable bedroom once all was deemed safe. A fireplace, some wine. There will of course be no written record of our private time, it was intended to be ours and ours alone but someone felt otherwise. In the midst of it all, a peculiar sound caught my long ears. I grew still, listening. Eyes scouting the room between hush breaths. On the other side of the door, boards bowed under the strain of someone or something. I rose and eased my way over, wrapping a sheet around my bareness. Taking sword, my crimson eyes seared through the slit of the door, scanning low to high. Without moment's notice, I drove the sword through the door to it's hilt. A curdled cry, like that of a dying animal, it shrieked then bolted down the hall. The sword groaned sickly as I pulled it from it's splintered sheathe, blackened blood clinging to the edge. "Vampire", I whispered, taking Gili by the hand. We burst through the door, sliding to a stop in the slickness behind it.

The path of upturned tables and clutter lead through halls we had already cleared, with a blood trail ending at the opening to a once-lit room. The monster had snuffed out the candles. I pointed to a candle, my voice but a notion in the air. "Berne." In the mists and moonlight beaming through those stained glass windows, we could make out a figure just head and above and to our right, a shuffling high along the cathedral wall. The hiss of a beast on the attack. Before Gili could turn toward the sound, I had already smote it with fire. A cloaked figure howled and fell to the floor, writhing as another stirred at our backs. I spun, giving it unto the flames likewise. As they passed, the hall fell silent but for the pains of the now lone figure.

"I apologize for your comrades, but I know what you are. Berne. By holding to the shadows, they left me no choice. I could not risk it. But you. You may have intruded on our intimacies, but you have yet made no move. Am I assume that you are to be civil? " I lowered my sword and quelled the warmth in my palm.

The monster fidgeted just out of the light but said naught. It turned to face us slowly. A flowing dark robe, a thin and tall man. Beneath his hood, two hot coals surrounded by pitch black paint. Paint flowed like waterfalls from his eye sockets, down his cheeks and out from his mouth like bile. Where paint lied not, his skin was as old milk, leaning toward the green hue of decay, he clutched at his wound and stared on. Black lips firmly shut.

Gili brushed past me. "Is this your home? You have surely heard this storm and I pray that you had not the misfortune of being caught out in it. We came inside to take shelter from it, not to disturb you and your ilk."

Putting myself between her and the Berne, I began again.

"Regardless, I am in no mood to fight further." I sighed, leaning against a nearby pew.

"Must you feed or perish tonight? Look to your clan." I gestured toward those that still sizzled in the dark.

"Can there be no third option? What if we come to an agreement. You let us be, we let you be. Tend to your wound, perhaps speak with us, if you are capable. I have need of information and perhaps you have what I seek. Come morn, we part ways. I ask only that you remember the mercy we would give you, and to give it in return in the future. Seek cure for that which ails you. It is an offer few would extend." In the soft moonglow, a smile raced across my cheeks, eyes shut to envision the words.

"I see a future in which we may again cross paths. A bright summer day. I with my wife, children in tow. I introduce you to little ones as an acquaintance from some near-forgotten night. Friends. Living Man and living Mer sharing a handshake, with warm palms under warm skies. This life will be but a nightmare eagerly forgotten. This could very-well be. Can you see it so clearly as I?"

"Thank you", the cloaked figure groaned.

"Ah, I feared you too far gone for speech. Honor my words, friend. Tell me, what brings three Berne to Skyrim?"

The monster trudged over to one of his fallen companions, kneeling before it as he spoke. His voice was deep, Cyrodyllic, with the accent of native Dunmer. It was obvious that he had not spoken in common tongue for quite some time. Centuries perhaps.

"There is no place for ours in Morrowind. Others make public their takings and if they find one of us, we are taken as well. Blame falls on ours. Every street, every home, every eye seeks ours. Suspicious," he hissed the word. "Suspicious glances and suspicious thoughts. We were chased from our homes and now we go hungry." The word "hungry" trailed off, the depths from which he pulled the word gave truth to it.

"And why so far west, if I may?"

"They are here too. It is hard to seek prey as prey."

"Yours have been growing in number as of late. I came across a band of Aundae some weeks ago. In Solitude itself no less. A regrettable meeting. A couple, I assumed. I slew them, then laid them together under Mara. I thought it the right thing to do." Pausing, I peered down to my feet in condolence.

"Regrettable" the Berne whispered, turning his attention to the other comrade.

"Who are these others?" I chimed in.

"They are as us, but not of us. They are like..." He paused, seemingly searching for the proper term. "Dwemeri, but in our skin. Brass bones."

"We came across one of those. You speak true, friend." I hesitated, unsure how much I should share with a stranger. Grandfather was always careful to speak of him, as though mere mention could bring him back.

"I thought them to be of Assut, or rather, leftovers of his plights. Perhaps imitations of it? Mingling Dwemeri machinations with illusion was his craft. Though that all ended some time ago as far as I know. My grandfather had many a dealing with him. Do you know the name?"

The thing fell hush, pondering deeply.

"No."

Not of Assut. An imitator then. Certainly Grandfather will know more. Knowing him, I doubt he has sat idle these long years. If Assut still lives, I can be certain that he knows his whereabouts by now. My thoughts turned to the owners of this manor.

"Did you kill the owners of this fine house or were you likewise uninvited guests?"

"I do not kill. I feed on cattle, not kill. I have not killed since before. Before this life." He gestured to his still-bleeding chest as he spoke. "My brothers, they found this place and sent for the rest. We were to stay here. They may have killed the owners. I do not know. They cannot speak as I."

"Could not, speak as I." The Berne corrected himself.

The conversation slowed to a crawl. The three of us sat in near-silence, Gili traced her fingers through my hair as she often does, coming to rest upon my chiseled brow. At once her fingers stopped, suspicious. "Is something the matter?"

She fired off with one of her spur of the moment questions. "Do Dunmer men always have such a brow? Or is it because of your father? Not the ridge, yours is not too noticeable. But the sheer size of it. You have a massive forehead. Muscular, bulbous even. I have not had many dealing with your kind, much less had them at my fingertips. So I am genuinely curious." As the words left her mouth, she recoiled. I suppose she thought I would be offended by her choice of words, though no harm was done. I was well accustomed and enamored by to her to-the-point word choice.

"Hmm."

I drew long of mind, eyes shut, lost to all but myself. The good, the bad. I swam through the waters of my life in search of a related story. Finding the words, I spoke loudly enough that our guest could hear.

"In days long past, as golden days lay at my back heel and new horizons at my toes. As twins grew into their own. Near-mirrored forms twisted by the peculiarities of this world The fairer side of the coin, my sister, she grew into her beauties, elegant and graceful as the night. But I? I tumbled awkwardly into lanky ruggedness. Adulthood is rough on Dunmer men. As children, we are much alike in face and form. Our brows are light, though heavier than you would see on a Nord child, certainly. But as boys become men, our features diverge so heavily. The blood of my Father and Grandfather made my awkward years a bit more awkward in comparison, I am sure, as I so swiftly grew muscular and bold featured. Forested, top to bottom. The body of a true Nord. I shed my childhood like a cocoon. Sparring had left me lean but toned. My face long, chin and brow more prominent. The jaws and nose of my Father, as though you had molded the likeness by hand."

Her question answered, I saw fit to stop there, but my thoughts would not yield.

"We had lived a sheltered life, Fannah and I. Though we had traveled with our parents on many occasions and received an education fit for kings or queens, we were kept well out of danger. Blind to the more interesting parts of the world. Now for an ordinary Dunmer, he might be content to stay at home, enjoy childhood until it's true end, until work, love, or power finds him and whisks him away. But a Dunmer with Nord blood burning strong in his veins, it was not for me. I left home at twelve or perhaps thirteen. At first, visits were quite common. I would spend more time at home than on the road, but over time, I came to crave that road. Every second spent idle felt as though I was wasting away. In those days the bulk of my journeys lead to simple odd jobs, being of use in whatever way that I could. Be that farm work, errands, courier work, or things even more mundane. Then, as now, I rarely take pay unless forced upon me. A warm meal and place to sleep for the night, those are just rewards. A man's coin is his own, I will not deprive him of it. One thing lead to another and I became something of a local monster hunter. Not a full fledged mercenary or bountyman by any means, but I felled many a troll or intruding sabrecat. I knew of my fathers trade and saw that as my likely conclusion, my path was his. This was in the budding days of Fannah's devotion of Mara. She would often accompany me and could more than hold her own as well. The benefits of being a Snakestone did not fall to me alone. She is every bit as capable as I, just in a smaller, feistier package."

My grin slowly crumbled away, leaving a solemn frown.

"By sixteen, I had killed my first man. A Bosmer bandit. I did not take it well. At times I wake to the sounds of the battle, some seven or eight years later. For a time, I carried his hammer with me. It felt right. When my sword heft him nearly in twain, there was no thought of justice, no thought of success. I felt as though I had failed him. There should always be another option. I grieved for him. For a family he could have had or left behind, for a life he could have had if he had been on a different path. I should not have been the one to give finality to his situation. I found tht in all aspects of life, there is a lesson to be learned. If I need kill, I had best take something from it. Let that life not go in waste. If I was more persuasive, perhaps I could have talked him down. Made him atone for his ill deeds, face prison and come out a better man. I am no perfect man, nor would I ever claim to be, but I am aware of my deeds and their consequences. The what-ifs. He was the first, but he was not the last. I have tried to do things the right way but still, there is a line of ghosts at my back. Two more added this very night. They are with me. But this is not the story for today."

With the final word, I settled back against Gili's bosom and began the actual tale.

"I see myself in Dawnstar, as a painting behind my eyes. Fall of the same year I believe. Near sunset, I sought refuge from a dreadful storm. With the passing of this great storm, a beast rose from the northern waters and slowly crept upshore. A Grahl. Washed up from the northern lands I presumed. Be in in search of food or new territory, it had chosen a poor path. Cries from the shore had shaken me from a daydream. I stepped outside just in time to see the haggard form pierce the waves. It stood five men tall with tusks like spears, no, like masts. From matted white hair dripped ocean brine and foam, and from his three-clawed hands came death for any that may cross him. The fishermen fled and lawmen shuffled about in fear. With little hesitation, I darted up the hill and stared down at it. Palms aglow, I loosed a single fireball. The impact knocked him clear off of his feet and with a mighty splash he fell back-first into the tide. As he rose, angered but unharmed, his claws gave chase. Slicing the sand as my sword so did to his flesh. At the end of my lunge, the blade carved out a chunk of his thumb. It cut true and he bled into the foam. On scurrying feet I rounded his back, leaping as I lobbed another fireball at his feet. He roared and looked down at me as though I were an ant to be crushed. A bellowing cry shook the shoreline but I had no fear. He moved clumsily through the soft clay just off shore, his weight was too much for it I imagined. Seeing this, I fled into the waves myself, with a steady stream of flames ensuring that he would give chase. And so he did, and in doing so, lodged himself in the soft clay. Dodging a blow, I took hold of his gnarled fingers and hoisted myself atop them. Darting from muscle to muscle, gripping his white fur to steady myself, I moved ever higher. Until I could see a many-veined neck beneath that dripping beard. With each beat of his gargantuan heart, his neck pulsated. I had found my target. I drove the sword into the hump of his back, sending him reeling. His hulking mass fell back, exposing his engorged neck. At once I leapt from atop his back, mind racing, my perception of time came to a halt. I recall my breath, the beat of my heart dwarfed by the beat of his. The crash of waves. I found footing atop his breast and with precision, made my cut. With a torrent of blue blood, he tumbled into the mud, throwing me clear onto the shoreline. There was no cheering crowd, no boons, no feeling of greatness. I stood just off to the side, warming my hands by magick as blue blood trickled down my brow and fell from my hair. Wiping it away, I think this was the first time that I took notice of how my face had changed. This is the moment that had wormed it's way into my mind. I looked into that pearly water. Peering deep and long into my reflection, taking note of my features. As my face had grown long, forehead bulbous, the eyes were the same. In my eyes, I was the same boy that once cowered from levitating rats or mudcrabs. Now a man, felling mountains in the name of greater good. I again felt great regret in what I had done. The world is without one Grahl, and in it's place, perhaps tens of people are yet still living. Most would consider that a worthwhile trade. But the world is still without that Grahl. It continues on giving it not a thought. As it is to continue on without these two." I gestured to the fallen Berne. "As it would continue on without you." An ashen finger darted toward our guest. "As it would continue on without I, or mine. Not every life lost is taken, but in situations like these, it falls upon each of us to decide who stays on this carriage and who shall disembark early.

"If I had been more knowledgeable of Grahl back then, perhaps I could have lead it away. They have their likes or dislikes as do we all. For every beast there is a working lure. And by all of the gods above, he is a heavy beast. Now that you've been introduced to him, perhaps the both of you could help me carry him?

My tale finished, I searched his hooded face for a sign that I had struck a cord, though found none. We spent the better part of the next hour diving from one subject to another. It was pleasant conversation, considering the guest. Shortly before morning, we retreated to our room to reconvene and find some rest before the long road. With sunrise, we found the house empty. Our acquaintance had fled, taken his fallen with him, and held true to his word.

"May he find his way."

I was quiet the next few days. Lost in thought as is to be expected of me. Gili probed for answers and feelings but received little reply. I felt sorry for her, to see her try so hard, only to be met by this wall. I found peace in my pipe, mind and in our closeness, as one-sided as it were. Quiet days make for boring days and no amount of endless chatter on her part could sway the mood. Before long, roadside rocks again became the center of attention.

To our left, she spotted a large boulder. "The game continues", she mouthed the words. With amber eye glued to the far edge of it as we made our way past, the sudden neigh of the horse startled her. Behind the stone sat a horse and carriage, as though she had willed them into existence. "Oh ello there." A voice beckoned from its backside. A little man stepped into view and tossed an overflowing sack of mushrooms into the back. "I never thought to bump into anybody else out here. Where ya heading?"

With rested feet, the following day passed quickly and as I put this quill to paper, the family homestead has came into view. As majestic a sight as ever. We near the end of this ride, with another to soon begin. My thoughts collected, I opened up. With but minutes left on the road, I gave Gili a brief lesson on the varieties of vampire and how best to deal with each. How one could likely discern the clan within seconds as they all behave differently. I spoke more of my Grandfather and of Assut. Of stories that Grandfather had told Fannah and I, and of where and how we met him. How as a boy, my extended family was scattered across Skryim and Morrowind. How under the grace of Mara, acquaintances from long forgotten days were rejoined in the end. Of the paths that brought us together, and of our long journey home.

#elder scrolls #skyrim #fanar #gili #snakestone_family #dunmer #nord #waifu #husbando #otp #couple #love #romance #story #writing #adventure #vampire #combat #storytime #modding

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yarti · 5 years

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[ Yarti/Fannah ] [ This Too ]

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Story Below:

A rusted doorbell cried out as my weight came against the oaken door. Scents of mildew and dust assaulted the nose. Not the best first impression, I thought. On our left, a Dunmer woman, garbed in hood and black. She stood behind the counter, rearranging crates before she noticed a short mother and shorter daughter stumbling into her dimly lit shop. Older than I, yet she made some attempt to take care of her skin, as much was obvious even from this distance. Atop her thin frame, fine silks that would do well with the bulk of my wardrobe. Long-faced and heavy featured. Beneath the hood rolled two bounds of long orange hair, and about her neck and chest, an assortment of silver works. She carried herself in a tired and humble way.

Her hooded head at once rose, smiling, she greeted us. "Oh, good evening".

I laid my bag by the doorframe, full to the brim with the chores of the day. "Good evening. We had just finished shopping and were about to head home, but my daughter wanted to see if you were open. I told her it was too soon but she is somewhat insistent." This building had been abandoned for months, yet today, we found a new sign upon the door. I peered down at Fannah with the last words. One glance prompted her to turn away. Perhaps in fear that I would reveal the tantrum that she had thrown just outside the door.

The woman laughed halfheartedly. "Not quite. But I could let you look at a few things." She swept her sleeve across the countertop as she spoke. "I do apologize for the mess. It has been a long week. I was just getting started honestly."

"Perhaps another time then?"

She cackled. "Nonsense!" Finishing dusting off the counter, she lugged up a crate from beneath it and proceeded to spread common necklaces and rings across it.

"Most of the stock is still in the back, unsorted." She pointed to each piece and named the price. On her finer pieces, she would bring it into the light and demonstrate it against her neck or finger. Professional. The prices were quite low, but they were mostly common goods. Fannah stood by me, tiny red eyes trying as they might to peer over the edge of the counter. At times a ring or circlet would reflect the dancing candlelight in such a way to grab her attention. I pondered as I perused the spread wares, knowing that Fannah would have another tantrum if we walked away empty-handed. An idea crossed my mind. "Do you have anything with butterflies or moths?"

The shopkeep clasped her hands and spun around. "But a moment", her soft voice sang before disappearing into the backroom. Fannah had a certain suspicious look about her. A look I knew too well. Boredom, and the mischievous curiosity it brings. What was to come would be obvious to any that knew her, yet to her, it was secret and we would do nothing to dispel that notion. It was her special thing. I would let her have her fun so long as she stayed within these walls. Amidst the quiet store, finely tuned ears might pick up the sizzling of a spell, though she did well to hide the glow of her palms behind the fold of her dress. Low as it might be, nearly lost in the background sounds. The roar of the fireplace or the searching of our host in the backroom, they sought to cover it. Yet ears finely tuned, they heard her. In that instant, a subtle change in the room. The warmth felt by hand on her back, ever so different. Coils of hair gone from my fingertip, then back again. The invisible looming presence stepping behind me, upon its tiptoes to peer over our shoulders. The planks did bend, loudly even. A disembodied gasp and another spell, a soft crackle to muffle her feet once she had realized the sound. The illusion beside me smiled and in a monotone voice, asked for a snack as the real Fannah began to explore.

She went first to the adjacent room, a doorway blocked only by a draped curtain. The curtain threw itself open in the most odd way, yet I felt no draft. Struggling, I concealed my grin and wondered if perhaps someone unseen might have lifted it. Her wandering eyes likely scouted the room before finding nothing of interest. The curtain fell and across the way, a book tumbled to the floor. The Fannah beside me looked to the fallen book then back to me, shrugging as she fiddled with her treat. Oddly enough, she had not yet given it so much as a nibble.

The Fannah beside me pointed to the far wall, an attempt to keep my attention off of the book as she hoisted it back onto the shelf. Candle smoke at the edge of the counter suddenly moved as though someone had walked past it. Wood splintered and cracked, the counter bowed as though someone had clamored atop it. Rings bounded and rolled, bouncing as they struck the floor. The illusion turned me around, questioning about books on the shelf as the rings magically found their way back onto the countertop. With that, the room fell silent for a moment. Concerning, but my concern was soon lifted by voices from the backroom. "I think we have rats yet, I hear them chewing and rummaging back here. One knocked over a display, I'll be just a moment longer."

With that, hurried breaths crossed the room. Fright, like if one were caught doing something they should not. Those breaths drew closer until I felt a presence at my side again. The quick spark of a spell, then it was over. The warmth beneath my hand was as it should be. Little Fannah peered down at her treat with menacing eyes before beginning to nibble away at it. I patted her on the head and rose to greet the shopkeep who had just turned the corner. In her hands, a small chest. As we spoke, Fannah wandered off again, paying little attention to the chest and it's contents.

She found herself at the window, idly making faces at passerby. Bored again. The silent fluttering of powdered wings at last caught her eye, a moth flapped beneath the chandelier. Awestruck as always, she stood beneath it and was content. The shopkeep pried open the tiny chest to reveal a tinier hairclip. A butterfly. I took it from the chest and walked over to Fannah, clipping it into her hair.

"Perfect."

The sight of it made her eyes wide, she grinned and clutched at it. She then looked up to our host and let out a low "Thank you" before returning her attention to her new friend. "Let it be a gift. To my first customers." the woman proclaimed, turning away the coin before her. A moment of joy, interrupted by a soaring jar.

Fannah levitated the jar between us then let it drop to the counter with a thud. I knelt to peer through the glass. Inside, the moth. Addled and confused but seemingly unharmed.

"I want this too"

#elder scrolls #skyrim #yarti #fannah #story #writing #snakestone_family #mom #mother #daughter #shopping #jewelry #modding #screenshots #magic

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