Postcards from Tamriel, Stories and such that fall somewhere between a snippet and a thread Options

[Grits]

(Still adding to this...)

.

Appendix Five: A Timeline for Jerric’s World Stories

3E403

Spring, Sonstra and Kjelling

20 Sun’s Dusk, Jerric is born


3E414

Summer, Jerric and Rhano’s Tides


3E432

Evening Star, Abiene’s Home for the Holidays


3E433

Sun’s Height, Jerric’s Story Chapter One

25 Last Seed, Chapter Three, Imperial City

28 Last Seed, Chapter Four, Aleswell

3 Hearthfire, Chapter Five, Chorrol

4 Hearthfire, Chapter Six part 1, Odiil Farm

7 Hearthfire, Chapter Six part 2, Weye

12 Hearthfire, Chapter Six part 4, Skingrad

15 Hearthfire, Chapter Seven, Kvatch

28 Hearthfire, Chapter Eight part 4, Weynon Priory

6 Frostfall, Chapter Eight part 5, Cloud Ruler Temple

11 Frostfall, Chapter Eight part 6, Jerric begins to wander

20 Sun’s Dusk, Jerric turns 30

4 Evening Star, Chapter Nine, Anvil




For quick reference, the Tamrielic Months and their Gregorian Equivalents
Morning Star / January
Sun’s Dawn / February
First Seed / March
Rain’s Hand / April
Second Seed / May
Midyear / June
Sun’s Height / July
Last Seed /August
Hearthfire / September
Frostfall / October
Sun’s Dusk / November
Evening Star / December

.

This post has been edited by Grits: Jul 24 2014, 06:11 PM

[Acadian]

As soon as I saw Jerric's birthday, I raced to the wikilore page to translate it to 20 November and put in in my calendar. Then I got to the end of your post and saw that you had already anticipated what I would do. Then I did a face palm.

Thanks for posting this little slice of JerricLore!

[Grits]

Thank you for being such a wonderful and supportive friend!

[SubRosa]

And if you want a quick reference of which birthsign corresponds to which month:

CODE

Morning Star    January        The Ritual
Sun's Dawn    February         The Lover
First Seed        March         The Lord
Rain's Hand    April            The Mage
Second Seed    May             The Shadow
Midyear        June             The Steed
Sun's Height    July            The Apprentice
Last Seed        August         The Warrior
Hearthfire        September     The Lady
Frostfall        October        The Tower
Sun's Dusk    November        The Atronach
Evening Star    December        The Thief

bah, it refuses to keep the formatting no matter what I try. If you quote the post you will see it all formatted.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Jul 24 2014, 06:52 PM

[Acadian]

Oh I completely forgot about the birth signs. Jerric's an Astronaut of course so naturally he was born in Sun's Dusk. Just like Buffy = Mage/Rains Hand. And that means, I guess, that Methie (at least in TF) was born in Second Seed.

[Darkness Eternal]

Great stuff Grits. Peaked my curiosity.

Subrosa, are those birth signs and months correspondence Lin lore? Just curious.

[SubRosa]

Great stuff Grits. Peaked my curiosity.

Subrosa, are those birth signs and months correspondence Lin lore? Just curious.

Yep. I got it all off I the Imperial Library and the UESP Wiki. The wiki had the TES months and their Gregorian counterparts, and I think it was the IL that had the birthsigns by month.

Of course there is the Serpent sign too, which doesn't have a regular month. It can pop up at any time.

[ghastley]

Signs to months is in the in-game book The Firmament - you can't get any more canon than that. It's been in the game since Morrowind at least.

This post has been edited by ghastley: Aug 11 2014, 06:12 PM

[Darkness Eternal]

Hmmm. Can't believe I missed that. I've read it before. Thanks.

[Acadian]

* * *

My dear Jerric,

As Sun’s Dusk the 20th will soon herald the anniversary of your birth, I hope the courier carrying this letter and gift is able to find you for a timely delivery.

My gift to you is a small pale blue aetherial fragment that I have named ‘Jerric’s Stone’. It fully recharges your magicka – but unlike a welkynd stone, is not destroyed in the process. After use, however, the stone requires a full day to refill itself with magicka before it can be used again. You don’t want to know how I came by it, but the stone is a byproduct from the creation of Azura’s Star ages ago. Happily, an aspect of the reusable nature of the Star lingers within this fragment. My hope is that, as an atronach battlemage, you will find it useful. If Jerric’s Stone turns the tide of even one battle for you, then I shall know I chose wisely.

Superian and I are still traveling Skyrim. As I’m sure you know, winter arrives early and rides a harsh wind in this Nordic land. With every snowfall, I am grateful for the resist frost toe ring you so thoughtfully gifted to me several years ago.

Please convey my warmest regards to Darnand, Abiene, Lildereth and your stable of wonderful animals.

With great affection, Buffy

[Grits]

,

20 Sun’s Dusk
Whiterun


Jerric breezed through the Bannered Mare’s front door and headed straight to the bar. Hulda glanced up from her mopping. She did not look surprised to see him. “Hungry, tired, or just plain thirsty?” she asked.

“I’m two out of three, and you can guess which, I’ll wager.” Jerric shouldered in between two patrons and leaned on the bar.

“The usual, then?”

“Yep. A pitcher of ale and beef with bread and a side of horker loaf, with mead and venison stew while we’re waiting. And some Honnigbrew mead. And an apple. Two apples. Better make that three apples.”

Hulda raised a brow. “We? It’s not all for you this time?”

“Well, yeah. But I’m going to sit over there with my friends. They likely ate hours ago.” He gestured to where Lildereth sat at a table, a wine goblet at her elbow. The elf’s scowl seemed to be working. In the crowded tavern no one had managed to steal her extra chairs. “So we’ll be waiting for me to get my dinner,” Jerric finished.

Hulda started to turn away.

“Hold on a moment. I need to write a letter. Do you have some parchment I could borrow?”

Now Hulda’s other brow went up. “Borrow ? Write?”

“Uh, and some ink and a quill?”

The innkeeper gathered the materials and walked off to arrange his meal.

Jerric viewed the bar top. Crumbs swam in a sea of spilled mead and wine. Hulda’s efforts at cleaning could not keep up with the locals’ excesses tonight. This town knew how to celebrate Warrior’s Festival. He cleared the clutter off of a nearby side table and smoothed the parchment sheet.

Be careful, he told himself. Take your time so she can read it. He doubted that Hulda’s good graces would extend to more supplies if he made too many mistakes.

Jerric reached into his pocket for the gift Buffy had sent to him. Jerric’s Stone rested on his palm like a chip of pure sky. Magicka tickled his hand as it flowed steadily into the stone, refilling it. The tavern’s sounds and smells faded to the background as he thought of the little elf with dazzling blue eyes who had been so thoughtful and remembered his birthday.

He set the stone beside his hand and carefully dipped the quill.

Dearest Buffy,

Next time I see you get ready, because I’m going to hug you off your feet. The courier found me this morning right by the bridge over the White River. I got a chance to try your gift out right away because I was on my way to a job and as usual had about enough magicka left to heal a hangnail. I guess you know that spot’s a good place to find bandits. You would not enjoy the noise and mess my frost runes make, but they sure got the job done today. The road’s a little safer now at least for a few days and I didn’t even get my blade wet thanks to the magicka from Jerric’s Stone.

Buffy, this is the part that may sound womanish. You know how it is with the days like birthdays when some of the ones you love can’t ever be there with you again. I started off this morning fighting back that feeling. Then you remembered my magicka problems and thought of me on my birthday, and I don’t have the words for how much that means. I will use Jerric’s Stone every day even when something’s not trying to end my life, and each time I will think of you with thanks for your gift which is a true treasure. Even more precious is your kind heart and your friendship.

Now I think that’s enough of that kind of talk. I’m glad to hear you’re keeping warm. We’re staying in a little house in Whiterun this winter next to Adrienne and Ulfberth’s shop. You should come stay with us when you and Superian are passing through. There’s plenty of fresh air even with all of us in there breathing it on account of the gaps between the walls and the roof, and the gaps in the walls, and I’d guess also the gaps in the roof. Maybe that’s how the house got its name. But it has a big fireplace and we have piles of furs so it works out all right.

Everyone says hello right back to you. Darnand had a lot of questions he wanted me to ask you about Jerric’s Stone but I think we can skip all that and let him figure things out himself. We’ll raise a glass to you tonight, and I’ll drink a beer for Superian.

Thank you, Buffy. You made me grin so much it hurts.

Love from your friend,

Jerric

[SubRosa]

Happy birthday to Jerric, and his stones. When I was at the grocery story today I noticed that People Magazine voted him sexiest man alive.

[Acadian]

I'm simply delighted that Jerric both enjoyed the thought and is able to make good use of Buffy's gift. Our hope was to reduce the amount of Jerric Juice the big Nord has to schlep around all the time without making a gift that was overpowered.

I hope no one else made the mistake I almost did. You see, when I saw Jerric's signature on his letter in bold, I just took that as a way to make his sig stand out. For some reason, it didn't occur to me straightaway that it was a link. Happily I got myself sorted out. Buffy and I were treated to not only a fabulous shot of the sexiest man alive, but I am in awe of your skill with poses, photoshoot setup and especially that you actually crafted Jerric's Stone for your game!

It is wonderful to know that Jerric and Co spent his birthday safe and sound at the Bannered Mare - one of the very nicest taverns one could ask for.

As far as Buffy's reaction to Jerric's letter and picture. . .

[Grits]

Here is a postcard from Valdi in Rorikstead at the dawn of the Fourth Era. It doesn’t go anywhere or do anything, it just is. ESTROGEN WARNING: There are no werewolves in this story. If you are squeamish about female bodily functions, you might just give this one a miss.


Blood Moons

The sun went down behind the mountain before I heard his feet on the porch stairs. I could tell because the back windows had gone dark. He shouldered the door open with boots in one hand and grocery sack in the other. I felt my face get warm, and that tight feeling came into my chest.

“Hello, my love,” and he gave me that smile.

My tongue still got tied up in knots whenever we saw each other, whether it was first thing in the morning or after a time apart. Today it had only been a few hours. I’d tried not to think about him all afternoon, which made it seem like forever.

“Did you get some rest?” he asked. “It’s gonna be a late night. Pa says Jouane told him be ready for a raid. Don’t know how he knows, but he knows.” He dropped the sack on the side table and shoved his boots underneath. His axe went on the rack by the door.

Harvest time meant raiders until the crops had all been carried to market by the caravans. No matter how far he roamed, Erik liked to be home by autumn to defend his village. Our village, I kept telling myself.

My fingers were tangled up in work, cheesecloth and string and little wads of tundra cotton all arranged at one end of our big kitchen table. I emptied my hands and climbed over the bench, my eyes full of him. I didn’t say I missed you, or I want you, or any of the love talk that you hear on a Loredas night at the Frostfruit Inn. I just walked into his arms and kissed every bit of skin I could reach, and then I pulled his face down to mine and kissed him some more.

He tasted like Mralki’s Autumnfest ale and smelled of woodsmoke. I ran my hands up under his tunic and he yanked my collar to get at that spot on my neck. Next thing I knew I was laid on the table with my work scattered everywhere and both of us fighting with my belt. I should have learned by then not to wear trousers around the house.

There was a thump downstairs and something rolled. We froze. Then there was a noise like someone kicking at a door frame. Which was probably exactly what was happening down there.

“Dammit,” Erik muttered. “I forgot She was here.”

She was my friend, hadn’t been for long but we’d been through the kinds of things together that make you invite her to stay with you as long as she likes, as long as she needs. And then you remember that you should have checked first with your husband. Erik has my back in this like he has in everything else that has happened since the first day we set eyes on each other. That only makes me feel worse when my choices pain him.

Also, until recently, She had been a vampire.

Erik put me back on my feet as easily as he’d stack a bundle of kindling. I watched him toss tufts and string back into the basket while I straightened my shirt. I had been making little pouches of cheesecloth stuffed with tundra cotton. They’re good for soaking up blood.

He picked one up by the dangling string. “You’re making moon mice already? Didn’t you just..?” His eyes rolled up as he counted days. Erik is no scholar, but I ain’t either.

“Yes,” I said, holding out the basket. “I won’t have my time again for six weeks or so. Not until Masser is waning. These aren’t for me.”

He dropped the moon mouse into my basket, face blank.

“They’re for Serana,” I told him.

“Oh gods,” said Erik.

“She hasn’t had her cycle in a thousand years, I’d wager. I don’t know what they used back then, but I’m sure she hasn’t thought about what she’ll use now.”

“Oh gods,” he said again. “What makes you think..?”

Erik has a way of not saying the lady words but still getting the message out. I can’t blame him. His Ma died when he was born, and he grew up without a sister to torment.

“Women tend to cycle close together when they’re under the same roof for long,” I explained. “I just finished mine. I guessed that hers would start back up some day. And she’s been so snippy and tense. I mean, more than usual.” Serana’s transition from vampire back to Nord had not been easy on her.

Something broke against the stone floor downstairs. Something that had been glass.

“Oh gods,” said Erik. “Sweet Mother Mara.”

Folk always want to pin lady troubles on Mara, even though it’s Kyne who made us. The way it works with women and elven lasses I’ve always thought a male must have come up with it. The elves are lucky and don’t get theirs as often, but that means fewer elves. Some Nords say that’s also lucky. The elves seem to suffer more with it, though. At least Lildereth does. But then I don’t know a lot of elves, so maybe it’s just her. And once I think on it, it’s mostly the rest of us that she makes suffer.

“She might want a length of sheepskin instead,” I thought aloud, “with the fleece boiled clean and the hide side oiled against leaking through.”

Erik’s scars and freckles stood out like ink, his face had gone so white.

“Sorry,” I said, sort of surprised. Erik wasn’t shy about anything at all once the clothes came off, and a little moon blood had never slowed him down before. Probably because he wasn’t the one who washed the linens.

He sat down hard on one of the chairs we had drawn up to the fireplace. I don’t think he planned to. “Don’t be sorry,” he told me. “You’re the one who thinks of things and I’m the one who’s sorry. What if we have a little girl some day? We could have a pack of girls. You’ll be the best Ma there ever was, strong and kind, teaching them your way with sun-fire and a shield. And I’ll just be there to… What do I know about girls? I’ll be there to chop wood and scare the boyfriends.”

I sat down in the other chair before my knees gave out. What kind of Ma will I be? The kind who drags her brats through hideout and cave, always ahead of the law but always looking over her shoulder? I’d grown up wild. That was all I knew. I couldn’t even tell him he was wonderful, my mind was so full of how I was nothing.

We’d never had this talk before. I was still making my teas the way Abiene showed me to keep my womb empty, still counting the days in fear when my time was due, terrified it hadn’t worked. Had he been counting days too, hoping we’d made us a child?

“Erik,” I croaked. My throat was all funny. “Love.”

He took my hand and squeezed it. I could see he remembered about my family. “We’ll figure it out,” he said. His face was strong again. “When you’re ready, when we’re ready. Or when the time comes and surprises us. We’ll figure it out together.”

I could hear Serana’s hard heels coming up the stairs. It bothered Erik that she wore boots in the house, and now it bothered me, too. But I felt awkward saying something, and I know he never would since she was my friend. She was already breaking things. Maybe this was a good time to tell her.

Serana appeared by the shield rack. Her knuckles showed white on the stair railing. I could see that lust on her face, the same as in her vampire days when she thought I wouldn’t see her blood hunger. She had left her vampire appetites behind, but she sure was hungry for something now. And her human eyes were fixed on my man.

I was standing in between them before I knew I’d moved. What the hells is this? I drew a breath.

Serana bent her neck to look around me at Erik. First she hissed, then the words came out in a whine. “Did you go to the bakery? Did you bring back something sweet?” She paced over to the bookcase, her hands restless on her arms and lower back. “Gods, I want some iced cakes. What did you buy at the market? By Molag’s maul, I have to have something sweet!”

Erik was out the door before his chair finished tipping over. His boots still sat by the door.

“He’s going now,” I told her. “He’ll bring back something salty, too, I’ll wager.” I motioned for Serana to join me at the table so we could talk.

I wasn’t much for hugs and touching, but Serana relaxed as soon as I put my hands on her back. I wasn’t much of a smiler, either, but I couldn’t help it when I thought of Erik running barefoot down the street. He’ll be the best Pa there ever was, strong and kind, teaching them his way with an axe and bow. When the time comes we’ll figure it out together. And we’re going to be just fine.

[SubRosa]

Looks like I guess the meaning of Blood Moons had nothing to do with Werewolves!

She was not too hard to guess at either. I love how she is She. At least its not Valdi's reanimated sister in the basement (though an ex-vampire is close).

I don't have to guess what the tundra-cotton cloths are for either.

Hope they have plenty of chocolate at the market!

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Nov 4 2015, 12:33 AM

[Acadian]

Gosh there was so much to like here as you explored a perhaps overlooked consequence of transitioning from Daughter of Coldharbour to Nordic woman with more than a thousand or so years of possibly pent up hormones.

The aspects of fertility that Valdi shared with us dovetail perfectly with previous glimpses into this area shared by Abiene, Teresa and Buffy. The elven implications were particularly close to home – fertility comes infrequently and more harshly. I also loved Valdi’s observation of what Buffy has experienced; indeed, every spring and autumn, she and her almost constant companion Superian come into ‘heat’ on the same internal clock.

Moon mice! Poor Erik!

*

And finally, let me comment on your current ‘Distracted’ screenshot of the month. I don’t know whether I envy Jerric or Lil more.

[mALX]

Aw, nice screen! ("Distracted") I didn't know you were doing that too! (like Acadian)

[Grits]

SubRosa: Yikes, no Clarissa in this basement! Serana may have been demoted to mortal, but She will always be a bit larger than life. Thank you!

Acadian: Thank you, Acadian! I love spending time with Jerric and Lil. Each seems to make the other even more who they are. How sweet that Buffy and Superian share a cycle.

mALX: Thanks, mALX!

This post has been edited by Grits: Nov 19 2015, 04:43 PM

[Grits]

.

Svanja and the Ghost Fox

As told by her brother Jerric

Once upon a time about thirty years ago there was a lass called Svanja. She lived in Kvatch with her sister and two brothers, five cats and three dogs, and Ma and Pa who loved them. Svanja was the youngest because this was before I was born.

This lass had a kind heart, a strong will, and a mouth full of sass. She also had a fair amount of energy, even for a Nord child. Sometimes her loving Ma and Pa and two brothers and sister could use a break from Svanja. At those times if school was out and she was willing, Svanja got to stay with Ongve and Shasana in Anvil. She loved them as family.

Shasana and Ongve were hand-fasted in the old Nord way as Ongve did not care for priests and their chapel weddings. Still childless at the time, they possessed the patience that comes of restful sleep. They lived in Anvil’s Harborside district where houses were small and close together. Folk grew flowers in pots and kept their windows clean. Shasana and Ongve did not have to keep a close eye on Svanja.

One of Svanja’s visits took place during a particularly hot and dry summer. County Anvil summers are always hot and dry, so you can imagine that if it was memorable, it was rutting hot. Svanja had passed her ninth winter. Back home in Kvatch she had been given an axe and begun to learn how to use it. She had a good pack, sturdy boots, and an excellent sense of direction. Svanja had also become a decent shot, but she left her bow behind when she wandered. Svanja loved animals, even the mean ones, and had no taste for hunting.

Shasana had a friend who lived in Brina’s Crossing, a village straight north of Anvil but farther by road. On this day Shasana gave Svanja a basket to carry to her friend. Whatever was in the basket is long forgotten. Maybe Svanja never knew. Anyway, who cares why one lady sends a lass with something to another lady? Only the two ladies, that’s who.

Svanja had half the day to get there and half the day to return by nightfall. Few folk traveled after dark when all manner of miscreant and beast came out to hunt. The occasional Legion patrol could not be counted on to save someone foolish enough to walk alone at night.

She hopped out of bed that morning when the first of the fish carts rumbled by. Svanja didn’t mean to go out the Dock Gate and take the long way around the city walls, but that’s where her feet went. Skipping along the harbor as the stars faded, she noticed that the tide was out. That meant tide pools on the rocky strand past the lighthouse. With such an early start she surely had time to see what gifts the sea had bestowed overnight. The breeze off the water wasn’t quite cool, but it was still a breeze. Svanja pulled off her boots and socks and was soon creeping through the tide pools.

Spider stars picked their way through the crevices, lifting their legs three at a time. Tiny fish flashed pink and silver as they darted through the salt lettuce. Delicate sea horses clung to marsh grass roots, nipping at the water strider bugs on the surface. In one pool Svanja found a baby diamond-backed skate and gently carried it to the surf.

A fish eagle’s call drew her attention out to sea. A cloud bank had formed low against the western horizon, painted all the colors of Aetherius by the rising sun. Morning was well underway, yet here she lingered far from the road to Brina’s Crossing. Svanja’s young legs made up some time, running over the dunes at an angle to meet the road. She spent the journey alternately jogging the flats and walking up the steepest parts, always staying within sight of someone.

Shasana’s friend offered Svanja a late lunch, and of course she accepted. It can be certain that Svanja thanked her hostess, carried her dishes to the scullery, and did not run while indoors. This is known because Svanja’s Ma raised her well. By the time Svanja stepped back onto the road, shadows stretched along the ground.

Home before dark, she thought. The long way by road would make her late. Svanja was a good girl, but at nine winters she was not thinking of Shasana’s and Ongve’s worry when she failed to return by nightfall. She was thinking of dire wolves prowling the hills, mountain lions slinking through the hollows, and bandits high on the outcrops over the road, all waiting for dusk to begin their hunts.

There was also the matter of ghosts. Some said that ghosts were always around us, you just couldn’t see their nature unless it was dark. Some said that ghosts would never hurt the righteous. And some said that ghosts were not to be feared unless they were angered. But if you were dead, Svanja reasoned, wouldn’t that make you angry?

Svanja crossed the road and climbed through the rocky verge until she could see Anvil’s red tiled roofs and the lighthouse peeking out between the hills far below. On a clear day she might see all the way across to the shores of Valenwood. But today was no longer clear. The cloud bank had moved over the sea toward Anvil. Now it filled the western sky, towering over a flat, dark base. This morning’s breeze had turned to a wind that hissed through the dry grass, answered by grumbling thunder. The air felt heavy and smelled of cookfires.

Svanja began her descent straight south through the hills. Her brother Petr had told her of a stone mouse that ran up his trouser leg and turned to itchy dust when he clapped a hand over it. Svanja doubted the truth of that story, but she’d seen enough serpents and lizards to be cautious with her footing. Gusts of wind blew the plants across her path, making it hard to see where she stepped. When she spotted a game trail winding slightly east across the hillside but generally down, she took it. At a level spot Svanja paused to tie the rain cover over her pack. Wet hair wouldn’t bother her, but she didn’t want her supplies to get soaked.

Kneeling in the dust she saw a flash of orange-red on the ground ahead between the waving grasses. Svanja stayed still for a moment, watching. When whatever it was didn’t move, she crept forward to investigate, wary that it may spring at her.

The grasses parted to reveal a fennec fox, its small leg caught in the cruel jaws of a foothold trap. Flesh had torn from bone in its desperate struggle, but now the little creature’s pain and fear were over. Its antics would never grace County Anvil’s golden hills again.

Svanja freed its leg, her eyes clouded with tears. She followed the chain to where a ring secured the trap under some rocks. They were too heavy for her to move, so she smashed at the links with her axe until they broke. Her last stroke cracked the axe head from its handle. With a curse, she flung the trap away down the hill. Her broken haft sailed after it.

The little fox was with Kyne now. Svanja made a soft bed so that its body wouldn’t lie twisted in the dust, then smoothed its fur from nose to tail once she laid it there. “I’m so sorry, dear one,� she whispered.

An antelope leaped over her head from the rocks behind, landing in puffs of dust and springing away before she could yelp. Seven more followed, ignoring the Nord child in their panic. Svanja squinted against the wind and saw smoke low along the hills. Too much for a camp fire. The storm behind it showed angled slashes of rain. Svanja turned and began to jog along the game trail, a nameless worry nipping her heels.

Thin squeaks and chitters drew her attention to an outcrop above her track. When she held her breath to listen, the clatter of brittle wings sounded over the wind. Nixads! Svanja scrambled up to find a flutter of the aerial creatures in distress, one of their number tangled in a snare. She had never been so close to one. While a part of her shivered with delight, she approached carefully. In pictures they were drawn with sharp nails and beak-like jaws for crunching bits of the magicka-infused stone they favored.

Svanja knelt to look, gently swatting away the three that buzzed around her head, screeching and scratching. “Stop it, you!� she murmured. “I’m no mage, stealing your gem chips. I’m here to help!�

The snared nixad’s complaints rose to a shrill keen as she bent over it. An upper section of its wing had snapped at the strong edge and torn through the membrane. Ma insisted that her wandering daughter carry strips of linen for a splint, a bundle of poultices for wounds, and one healing potion for emergencies. Svanja was a good girl and listened to her Ma, but she wasn’t so good that she replaced supplies as soon as she used them. Upon unrolling her kit, Svanja found herself with only one poultice and the healing potion.

“Your wing is broken, small one� she told the nixad. “I’ll heal you.� Her clever fingers made quick work of the snare. The injured nixad thrashed and bit as she freed it, but when she pressed the poultice to its straightened wing, it stilled. Magicka heals quickly. The nixad began to trill.

The others stopped their attack immediately, joining their voices in celebration. When Svanja opened her hand the healed nixad twirled into the air. She laughed along with their bug song as they swooped up and away.

A clap of thunder drove the smile from Svanja’s face. Storm clouds had overtaken her. The campfire smell was stronger. When she stood up to look, she saw that the band of smoke reached from the foothills below to the slope above her, too far for her to escape up hill. Orange light glowed at its base. Svanja picked up her pack and began to run.

More animals dashed past her now, too many for her to count. A new noise sounded under the wind’s roar, as loud as the growling thunder. It was the voice of the fire.

A woman’s scream jerked her attention to a short distance down the hillside. Svanja’s reckless scramble toward it turned into an uncontrolled tumble. Her pack caught on something and yanked her to a stop, legs sliding over the edge of a pit. The scream came from below as Svanja hoisted herself back up, horrified at her mistake. There was no woman in the pit. That cry came from a mountain lion. When it screamed again, Svanja saw fangs as long as her hand. She knelt shaking at the edge, a lump in her throat. If she let the lion out, it could kill her.

The lion leaped up at her, clawing for the edge. Svanja lunged away as it fell back down, her own shriek lost in its cry. “No, no, no,� she moaned, first crawling and then limping away down the hill.

Something was wrong with her knee. Svanja rummaged for her healing potion. The ground was alive with small rodents and the reptiles who fed upon them, all fleeing the fire. A badger trundled past, bumping against her in its terror. A boar followed, knocking her to the ground. When the lion screamed again, Svanja’s pack slipped from numb hands. She turned back to the pit.

Smoke stung her eyes as she searched for a branch that would hold the big cat. The first she found was too heavy for her to move. The next was too short. Then she saw a sturdy sapling on the ground, perhaps cut and left unused by the trapper.

Her knee collapsed when she tried to drag it. Svanja clutched it with one arm and braced her strong leg against a rock, pushing and pulling her way along the ground. Now the wind carried ash and heat. Breathing through her tunic helped. Svanja’s world narrowed to the tree and the lion pit. One rock at a time, one push at a time, she reached the edge.

The great cat escaped as soon as the tree dropped down, so swift that Svanja missed its leap. Its golden belly flashed over her, then she was alone with the wind and fire. Lightning flashed an instant before the thunder, but the rain was not coming fast enough. She looked into the pit, empty now but for the branches and tarp that had concealed it. Should she slide down and hope that the fire would pass over? Should she try to find a rock to climb on and hope the flames didn’t reach?

Svanja was a caravanner’s daughter and had the vocabulary to prove it. She used it now to curse the trapper who had caused such pain. She cursed the hedge mage or hunter whose careless fire raced toward her driven by the wind. And she cursed her fear when she dropped the pack with its healing potion. She would never find it in the smoke.

But this Nord was not finished yet. The branch that had been too short now helped her rise. She angled her path downhill but also across the slope to gain more distance from the fire. Even dragging a leg, Svanja was quicker than some creatures. A spine-footed tortoise marched along, soon to be cooked alive in its shell. Svanja picked it up and rolled it into her tunic. They passed an orange and black mottled jewel lizard next. She tucked it beside the tortoise. New purpose drove her forward. As she lifted a young spotted sloth to her shoulder, Svanja spied another small shape through the smoke. A fennec fox stood watching her. It trotted away a few steps and turned to look back.

Svanja limped after it, near panicked by the heat and roar at her back. When her path was blocked by a boulder, Svanja heard a sharp yap from above. The fox stood atop it, looking down at her. For a moment it disappeared, then popped back up. It barked again, ears pricked forward.

“But that’s uphill,� Svanja coughed. She turned and took a few lurching steps down.

“Arp! Arp!� The fox stood in her way, four feet firmly planted and ears pinned back. Its tail lashed the air. “Arp!�

“All right!� Svanja cried, her throat raw. “Show me!�

The fox led her back to the outcrop and around to the uphill side. By now the fire’s roar nearly drowned out the booming thunder, and lightning barely pierced the smoke. The fox yapped again, then jumped down a crack under the boulder.

Svanja knew a hundred reasons not crawl into a dark crevasse. Now she knew one in favor. She clutched the lizard and the turtle through her tunic. The sloth had such a grip on her neck that she feared it would choke her. She lay down flat and the four of them slithered after the fox.

Dark, cool, and the trickle of water. Svanja cradled the turtle and the lizard, finding them both un-squashed. She placed a soothing hand on the dusty sloth. Overhead the fire sounded like an arena on Loredas. The fox stood alert, looking up at the crack through which they had come. A soft blue-white glow surrounded it.

Svanja wondered if Ma would give her doll away, and who would get her books. Snowball would have to pick someone else’s shoes to barf in. She thought about Sigur Evinsson with his quiet ways and kind smile. They were supposed to grow up and get married and have three strong children all red-haired like their pa. Now poor Sigur would never know because Svanja hadn’t told him yet. Most of all she thought about the fire. How long would it hurt while she burned?

After the fire passed, the rain came. Svanja had to shift her position when the trickle below became a rushing stream, but the cavern did not flood. The lizard crawled away while Svanja was sleeping. When a ray of sunshine pierced the cavern’s gloom, the sloth released Svanja’s neck and began its slow journey up the rocks. The turtle waited until Svanja had climbed out and placed it on the mud before emerging from its shell.

Shasana did not scold her for being late, for breaking her axe, or for losing her pack to the fire. She simply lifted Svanja onto her back and carried her down the blackened hillside. That afternoon Ongve made his first visit to a chapel of the Divines.

Some say that when you see a ghost and a ghost sees you, a little piece of your soul travels with it. Svanja couldn’t say why she searched the hills above Anvil every time she came to stay with Ongve and Shasana. She searched over the winter holidays with her two brothers and her sister, who were for a time quite happy to put up with her sass. She searched in the spring when the grass grew back green, and in the summer when the hills turned golden again.

After Svanja finished school and took up her work, she still returned to walk the hills when she visited Anvil. In time her husband with his quiet ways and kind smile joined the search at her side. Later she brought their three strong children, two red-haired like their pa and one blonde like her mother. But Svanja never saw the ghost fox again.

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This post has been edited by Grits: Nov 20 2018, 02:29 PM

[TheCheshireKhajiit]

^
That’s a nice little story G! Very timely given the horrible fires over in Cali.

This post has been edited by TheCheshireKhajiit: Nov 20 2018, 04:10 PM