I pulled myself up, gasping, and swept the plateau for shelter. A cracked dolmen jutted from the snow nearby, its shadow deep enough to hide us from the wind. I dragged Aela there, her limp weight heavy as iron, and began peeling away her armor piece by piece.

  The sight beneath worried me deeply. Bruises blackened her ribs, deep cuts marked her arms and shoulders, and worst of all, an arrow of strange design had slipped through the joint of her mail gorget, lodging cruelly beneath the neck. With effort, I broke the shaft, keeping the fletching for later, cleaned the wounds as best I could, sprinkling with healing powder, and bandaged them.

  Aela stirred, her face contorted with pain, yet she gritted her teeth, brave as ever. I stroked her tangled hair and whispered, "Scream if you must, friend. There's no one to hear."

  "Except you..." she murmured, her voice ragged.

  "Ah, me... Please, don't mind me—I'm nobody. Truly," I said, forcing a smile as I rummaged through my belt. My hand closed around a small flask—the milk of the poppy, though not the simple draught priests of Arkay brewed. This was a stronger tincture, alchemically refined while dark incantations were spoken under the full Secunda's light, its vapors already sweet and heavy as I uncorked it. It could heal flesh quickly, especially mild wounds, yes—but only for men and mer.

  It worked on me, though, and I was neither. I was a hybrid, caught between woman and cat, with dreadful retractable claws, light steps on the tips of my toes, and a stomach that could digest carrion without complaint. Nocturnal had molded me so, always watching over me with patience, love, and care. Yet I doubted Hircine would show the same mercy to Aela; on the contrary, He might savor her pain as one savors the cries of the prey.

  The flask shimmered in the dawn light, seemingly mocking me. 'Risky...The wolf inside could heal sure and faster,' I thought grimly. So I bent close and whispered, "Can you turn, Aela? If you try with all your strength?"

  "No," she gasped. "Too much blood lost... and the sun's above us..."

  Indeed, her skin was pale, her strength bleeding away into the snow. If she lingered like this, she would not last the day. I sighed, pressed the flask into her trembling hand, and said, "Here, friend. Drink. Drink hard."

  And she did.

  "Eww! Disgusting... what in Oblivion is this?" she gasped, gagging as she tried to spit the bitter draught out. But I pressed her mouth shut, lips curling into a smile.

  "Now, now... be a good girl, Aela, and don't you dare waste the medicine mama gave to you."

  Her glare could have pierced plate armor, but I welcomed it—better for her fury to burn than her pain! Soon enough, her body slackened, her features softened, and the mist stole into her eyes. Then she drifted away into a deep, merciful sleep. For now, Aela was in her Fate's embrace. There was nothing more I could do.

  I wrapped her snugly in her cloak, then spread mine over her, a double shell against the cold. Only then did I rise and stride to the edge of the ravine. Southward, the valley opened beneath me. There—Riverwood, a scatter of roofs huddled on the silver ribbon of water that wound toward Lake Ilinalta. A narrow trail snaked down through the snow, half-buried but visible enough.

  I didn't hesitate. I plunged forward, through slush and ice, tumbling, rolling, bruising myself against frozen earth. But the speed mattered more than the pain. I ran until my chest burned with fire, slowed for breath, then ran again.

  Two gaunt wolves appeared on the path ahead, ribs sharp beneath mangy fur, their eyes glinting with hunger. I met their gaze and let my will unfurl, raw and terrible. Terror spilled from me like a shadow tide. They faltered, whined. I roared—a sound not wholly human, not wholly feline, but something darker, something primal that froze their marrow. They broke, tails tucked, and fled as fast as they could down onto the trail.

  I laughed and gave chase, snatching a stone from the ground and hurling it after them. One yelped, staggering, but did not fall. The scent of fear and sweat maddened me. I longed to sink my claws into their haunches, to taste hot blood on my tongue, to drink until the terrible thirst that burned me would be finally quenched.

  But the forest swallowed them, and the frenzy ebbed, leaving me trembling on the path. Ahead, the trees parted. The bridge to Riverwood waited, across the shimmering stream.

  I went straight to the mill, where Hod was busy cutting logs, and told him that I desperately needed his help. My appearance must have been something worth remembering: soaked to the bone, spattered with mud and blood, hair tangled and clinging to my face, and my eyes still burning—not with fever, but with the thirst and fury of an undone hunt. Because every time I cast that shielding spell, Elena's supreme ward, it drains me to the marrow, consuming not only strength but essence. And this time was worse—the dragon's fire had been no common flame conjured by some two-copper hedge-mage, but a torrent fierce enough to melt stone, a storm of heat that hammered the dome until my very bones rang with the strain. To hold it, I poured out more of myself than I thought I owned. And when the barrier finally broke, what remained of me was no longer wholly human but a beast barely bridled by reason, trembling with a terrible hunger—not for bread nor wine but for raw, pulsing meat, and for warmth, searing warmth, hot enough to cauterize the void clawing inside me.

  For a heartbeat that seemingly stretched into hours for my tormented mind, Hod only stared—his axe caught mid-swing and his blue eyes wide with fear. I knew what he saw: a dirty creature with eyes burning with that cold, alien fire that cats show in the dark. For that instant, I was no lady, no traveler, but something half-wild that had crawled from the forest.

  Then, the golden-haired giant blinked, his breath eased, and he forced his shoulders to loosen. A gentle smile came to his face.

  "Steady, little lady," he said softly. "Speak slowly. Tell me what troubles you."

  Breathless, I spilled it all: that a friend of mine lay grievously wounded in the mountains, that I needed her carried down to Riverwood, and that Danica's aid was required—for an arrowhead still lodged cruelly in her flesh.

  "Where in the mountains exactly, lady?" Hod asked gravely.

  "Just a few paces away from the Bleak Fallow Barrow mouth..." I whispered.

  His face darkened like a sky before a storm, and he glanced about nervously. But almost at once, he mastered himself, nodded, and said firmly: "My king has commanded me to fulfill your every wish, lady. Follow me home. I'll prepare a stretcher straightaway. Who is the friend?"

  "Aela the Huntress," I replied.

  "In that case, I need no king's command. All of Skyrim knows her name. Come quickly."

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  At his house, Gerda fluttered anxiously about. She offered me food, but I asked instead for a small parcel to take with me and begged her for hot water. While she hurried, I crouched close to the iron stove, pressing against it until the leather of my jerkin began to smoke and crackle. The heat seared me, deliciously, and I sighed with pleasure as if some great hunger were quenched. When Gerda brought the steaming bucket, I seized it with both hands and drank deep, gulp after gulp of scalding water.

  The poor woman gaped, eyes wide as plates. "I thought you wanted to wash yourself, ma'am..." she stammered, looking at me. Once again, I knew what the others could see: a wild creature who, fuming, was sipping hot water like nectar.

  "Yes," I purred, grinning at her astonishment. "From the inside, my dear Gerda."

  Then I asked for parchment, quill, and ink. "And make sure the courier to Whiterun does not leave until I give him a message." She bobbed her head and ran.

  I wrote swiftly, telling my daddy all the circumstances, assuring him I was still alive—more, safe and sound— and requesting that he speak with Kodlak, calm down the situation, lest a band of hot-headed fools march into the mountains and spoil my plans. I hesitated, then added one last line in the ancient runes he had taught me: Darkness rises when silence dies.

  I chuckled, pleased with my little audacity—until Her voice slipped through me like a blade through silk:

  "Yes... Go on, play with fire, you fool!"

  Ah, Nocturnal and Her tangled dealings with Mephala... Friends, perchance—if that word can ever be pinned to Daedra—but both great, shameless liars, never trusting each other!

  For the moment, this meant nothing, though, for Hod came striding in with little Frodnar, the brat's flea-ridden mutt Stump—who instantly set to barking at me with hateful fury until Hod slapped it over the muzzle (ah, the whining, music to my ears!)—and Embry, the drunkard, swaying at their heels.

  "Lady," Hod said, "my boy here is going to Whiterun. Please give him your message."

  "You're sending a child, good man?" I asked sharply. "There are wolves on the road—I saw two myself with these eyes!"

  Hod only smiled and shook his head. "Not so close to the main road, not in summer. And I'm sure Dorthe will go with him, bow in hand, as she always does." He laughed heartily. "That girl, lady, is worth more than many boys her age. She'll chase the wolves right out of the village. And Stump—" here the mangy cur tilted its head proudly and growled at me until Hod slapped it again "—Stump will guard them. Brave and strong, not afraid of wolves."

  "If you say so..." I murmured. Then, bending down a little, I fixed the boy with my brightest smile. "Frodnar, you'll go to Whiterun, to Leif the Sage at Breezehome—you know the house, yes?" He nodded. "Give him this parchment. Then ask him for coin to hire the carriage that will bring Priestess Danica here. You must come back with her."

  "Danica? She's coming to Riverwood? Wow! She always buys me something good from the inn!" The brat hopped on one leg, shrieking with joy. Gods, how I longed to slap that wide mouth shut! But instead, I smiled sweetly and purred: "Go, Frodnar, and be swifter than the northern wind, pretty please, my dear."

  Off he went, the mongrel at his heels. Hod lingered, clearing his throat. "Lady... Embry here asks if you might give him some coin to help us in the mountains."

  "Oh, take this, good man," I said, flipping a gleaming septim his way. The drunkard's eyes widened, and he croaked that for this, he would march right into the barrow itself.

  That nettled me beyond measure—I was already dreading that cursed ancient tomb and especially begrudging my wasted coin—but once more I wore my usual smile for men, honeyed and sly: "No need, good man. Just as far as the entrance."

  I did not let Hod and Embry set out with dry mouths. Before we left, I slipped into the inn and pressed that harpy, Delphine, for a flask of something strong—vodka, or whatever passed for it in Riverwood. Not for myself, I don't drink alcohol, but because I knew men walked more steadily with fire in their bellies. Then we went together, three figures bent against the mountain wind, dragging behind us the stretcher they had fashioned and loaded with blankets thick enough to smother even the cold breath of the Nordic winter.

  We found Aela where I had left her, beneath the dolmen's shadow, still alive, still breathing—though it was more the deep, strange quiet of a faint than any true rest. Her skin was pale as snow, her lips cracked, yet her chest rose in slow, stubborn defiance of death. Hod and Embry moved with a gentle strength that surprised me, lifting her onto the stretcher, tucking the wool around her until she was swaddled like a child. Embry muttered prayers under his breath; Hod only tightened the straps and gave me a grave nod. Then, step by step, they began the long descent toward Riverwood, boots sinking in the mire, the stretcher swaying between them.

  I stood watching them go, my heart cloven in two—one half hopeful, the other gnawed by fear. The medicine I had forced between Aela's teeth might yet heal her, might yet kill her; even now, I could not tell which fate awaited. My throat ached with the weight of it, and at last I turned away, unable to bear the sight of her helpless form carried down the slope.

  Alone, I set out in the opposite direction, back into the narrow canyon, back toward the cave where I left the brigand. The snow was foul now, slush churned with mud and ash, clinging to my boots as if the mountain itself sought to drag me within. Each step was misery, each breath tasted of smoke and old root. Yet I pressed on, shoulders hunched, eyes sharp, driven by the hope that I would still find that wretch alive there.

  And the man was there, waiting—his eyes wide, glistening with fear the moment they fell on me. I breathed out, slow and steady, relieved he had not crawled off or some beasts found him. Tugging the rope binding his wrists, I said, dry and sharp:

  "Up. Walk, lad."

  "But... my leg, ma'am..." he stammered. Then, almost at once, his face shifted, surprise blooming in his eyes as he tested his weight.

  "Oh? How's your leg now?" I asked, tilting my head.

  "It... It's fine," he muttered. "Just a little sore." He took a few careful steps, leaning against the cave wall, astonished at his own strength.

  "You see? Fit as a wolf," I purred. "No more whimpering, or are you a little girl?"

  His gaze locked onto mine—trapped, helpless, unable to look away. Slowly, deliberately, I drew my knife and cut his bonds.

  "Well then, my sworn man," I whispered, smiling sweetly, "what will you do now?"

  His eyes betrayed him—wild joy, raw and dark, and I glimpsed the scene in his mind, the fantasy of what he longed to do to me. I let him see my grin.

  "Yes... I know." My voice dropped to velvet. "But it isn't so easy as you may believe, and it would be a pity to see you die so young, so handsome." I leaned closer, pouring honey into my words. "Besides, I could make you rich—and who knows? Perhaps we could even become... close friends."

  I filled his mind with a nice scenery containing piles of gold and... myself—on top of one of the gleaming piles, smiling and... well, you know... His shoulders loosened, the cruel light drained from his eyes, replaced by trust, even devotion. Ah, men! Always so eager, so gullible... Thank the gods for that! Women, alas, were never so simple...

  "Never mind all that," I continued briskly. "We have work to do. First, the dough! For that, we must enter the barrow. Together."

  At once, he started to tremble, and I pressed on: "Do not fear. I'll protect you. These crypts? I've walked them all my life, I know their secrets as I know the lining of my own pockets. But gold doesn't come easy, my sworn man. You must take a step if you wish to claim it. First, though—you'll eat."

  I opened Gerda's parcel and handed him the food. While he chewed greedily, I inventoried my own weapons: crossbow, perfect condition, plenty of bolts—unfortunately, quite useless against draugr, as my daddy told me, and I'd seen with my own eyes. A few darts left, far too few. My knife... I smiled and pushed it toward the man.

  "Here. Cut your meat. Stop gnawing like a wild beast."

  He seized it, and for a breath his eyes darkened again, but the shadow passed quickly, and soon he was laughing with me, crumbs in his beard. I gave him the flask of vodka.

  "Drink, lad. Warm your belly."

  While he drank, I slipped my hand into the hidden pocket and drew forth the Lucky Dagger. Its cruel edge caught the firelight, gleaming with that wrong, hungry shine. The hilt pulsed cold beneath my palm, alive, eager. Ah, the Lucky Dagger... the priceless gift my mother Alisanne gave me on that dreadful day when we both bled on its greedy, malevolent blade... and the world trembled and wept around, Mephala Herself losing her usual confidence and faltering between mistakes not allowed for someone like Her!

  'Hi, Dagger, I spoke to it, stroking the hilt. Tonight, we may kill already dead things. How does that sound?'

  The hilt warmed instantly, as if purring with delight. I grinned and slid it back into place.

  The brigand finished his meal and, wiping his mouth, returned my knife. He reached instinctively for the sword lying in the corner, but I stopped him with a sharp shake of my head.

  "No. We're not here to fight. We'll travel light. Think of the gold, lad—we'll need all our strength to carry it."

  He hesitated, then nodded, almost eagerly. And so, together, we stepped out of the cave, into the snow, toward the waiting barrow.