When an Imperial ambush destroys everything and everyone she loves, Trendil decides to take her revenge in the only way she knows: joining the Stormcloaks.
The rushing wind rebounded off the cliffs, mimicking the sea breaking itself against the merciless rock of a shore. The acrid reek of steel, leather, blood. Everywhere, blood. Fury given form, gushing red rivers ground into paste so the soil looked like baked clay.
Then, silence. A silence so vast it could fill an ocean, yet so sharp it pierced the soul. It lasted for a heartbeat, maybe two, but felt like a lifetime. Maybe two. The kind of quiet reserved for sacred places. Or graveya