In retrospect, attempting the three-hundred mile journey to Riften on eleven septims, unescorted and unarmed save for a blunt, rusty knife she found discarded in a corner of the alley, may not have been the wisest choice Sloan had made in her short life. But if the night had taught her anything, it was that a life as a street whore would get her nothing but suffering and a probable early death from exposure to the frigid Skyrim nights. So she shoved herself to her feet, wiped off her disheveled and torn dress as well as she could, spent her last septims on crusty bread and cheese, filled her accidently-stolen wineskin with water, wrapped the cloak she had taken from Aventus' house around her shoulders, and headed for the gates.

 

She had some vague notion that she would find others traveling the same direction and could, if not travel with them exactly, at least keep pace close enough that if danger showed itself, they might help her. But luck was not with her in this regard - everyone seemed intent on going to Windhelm, not away. She passed a group of Stormcloak soldiers, who paid her no attention, and a traveling merchant, who gave her a dismissive glance, and his bodyguards, who watched her with wary eyes and hands close to weapons, but the road ahead stayed empty for as far as she could see.

 

The first day of travel brought her to Kynesgrove, where she traded a blow job for enough coin to sleep on the floor in the common room. It was comforting, in a way, surrounded as she was by other sleeping bodies. It reminded her of her childhood in the orphanage, and she felt a small pang of…well, not homesickness, exactly. Nostalgia, perhaps, for a simpler time. A terrible time, thanks to Grelod, but certainly simpler. The thought of Grelod reminded her of her purpose and she was back on the road as the sun broke over the distant mountains.

 

The second day brought her out of the foothills and into an undulating plain that flattened with gradual progression into the Steamcrag salt flats. The air hung heavy, thick with a sulfuric stench, and she was glad she had refilled her water skin when she got her first close look at the water in the sluggish lakes that dotted the region. She felt relieved when the sun began to peter out behind the other distant mountains, casting long shadows across the road but at least giving her surcease from its direct heat, though the baked ground emanated heat as if trying to vie with the sun.

 

It was after she crested the last hill and nothing but flat, packed ground stretched into what seemed an infinite distance into growing darkness that she saw the dragon. She froze in place, casting eyes to each side in desperation, but there were no trees to hide behind, just jagged rocks. She eased off the road and huddled behind the nearest one she could find and studied the valley below.

 

Nothing stirred. The dragon lay on the ground near a small stone building as if guarding it. Sloan knew nothing about dragons, aside from the fantastical tales her clients had sometimes tried to impress her with, but something about this didn’t seem…natural. Shouldn’t it be flying around? And didn’t dragons live in mountains? There were plenty of mountains surrounding this vast plain – had it come from one of those? It didn’t seem like dragons would need to set up ambushes on the sides of roads and, even if they did, it’s not like it was hidden from view. It didn’t seem to make sense.

 

A light flared, a pinpoint of yellow, as someone opened the door of the building and Sloan cried out a warning before covering her mouth and ducking further behind the rock. The building and the dragon were a good half mile away, so it seemed unlikely she had been heard, but her heart beat a million times a second as she waited for the sounds of the dragon stirring, those giant wings beating the air, some sort of vicious growl, or so she imagined.

 

Instead, the silence continued. After her heart had slowed to something that less resembled complete panic, she eased around the rock again and peeked toward the house.

 

The figure had walked right up to the dragon’s body and was doing…something indiscernible in the ever-shifting gloom. Whatever it was, it did not seem to be rousing the dragon. Sloan eased out from behind the rock. Could it be…dead? Was that even possible? Her legs carried her forward but she kept her eyes locked on the giant lizard’s form, waiting for any movement, any twitch, and signal to dive back into the dubious protection of the boulders that were the only cover in the region.

 

But her fears turned out to be for naught – she arrived at the building and, from this distance, even in the dark of late twilight, it was clear the dragon was, indeed, dead. Its eyes were gaping holes and it had a myriad of lacerations and cuts, and not some few broken arrows still lodged in it. And that didn’t even count the long strips of scaly hide that the figure she had seen, which turned out to be a grey Khajiit, was busy skinning off the corpse.

 

The Khajiit looked up as she approached. “Well, hello! This one welcomes you.”

 

“Thank you.” Sloan spoke to him, though she barely gave him a glance – her eyes were glued to the dragon, which looked magnificent even in death. She had never imagined she would ever be so close to one. “Is this really a dragon?” It was a stupid question, of course, but her brain seemed to be unable to believe what her eyes were telling it.

 

The Khajiit did not even blink. “It is! Some soldiers happened to be nearby when it attacked, for which this one is grateful. Impressive, is it not?”

 

Sloan nodded. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

 

“Haha! No one has, not in centuries. But come, you look weary. Please, spend the night with us.”

 

So it was that she spent the night with Kra’aft and Holo, a Khajiit merchant and his Breton wife, who had somewhat inexplicably decided to build a town (that so far consisted of the one partially-built house/store) in the middle of the salt flats after their caravan had been destroyed by bandits.

 

“It was a sign,” Kra’aft insisted. “This one could tell.”

 

“Could tell what?” Holo shook her head. “We’ve been forced to start over a dozen times before. Why was it a sign this time? Why wasn’t it a sign when we were in Valenwood?”

 

“Valenwood? Those trees tried to eat us!”

 

“Yes, but it had trees. And fresh water. And didn’t smell of rotten eggs all the time.”

 

The Khajiit laughed. “Well. You are not wrong, this one must admit. But it could be worse – we could be in the northern part of Skyrim, freezing our tails off.”

 

“I don’t have a tail, thank you very much.”

 

“True! This one loves you despite such flaws.”

 

Holo glared. “Are you certain you wish to compare flaws? Which, by the way, not having a tail is not one.” She looked at Sloan. “Back me up on this.”

 

Sloan, who had been biting her lip to stop from laughing out loud, shook her head. “I think having a tail would be fun.”

 

Kra’aft barked out a laugh as Holo covered her face with her hand. “Why does everyone always take your side?”

 

“Because they recognize this one’s wisdom?”

 

“Nah, that can’t be it. By the way,” Holo turned back to Sloan. “Do you happen to have a sister? We met someone a few months ago who looks quite a lot like you.”

 

“A sister?” Now that was a question. A memory bubbled to the surface from whatever depths it had been hiding – Mirren, on the day of Sloan’s emancipation from the orphanage, saying something about Sloan’s family. "There was a rumor that you had relatives somewhere…"

 

Somewhere. The memory hit like a blow, as fresh as if she were hearing the news for the first time. She had family. Somewhere. Maybe. How could she have for…

 

“Sloan?”
 

Holo’s voice cut through Sloan’s reverie. She released a breath she had not realized she had been holding. “I’m…um…sorry, I…I just remembered…something. Um. I do not know if I have a sister. I grew up in an orphanage in Riften, so I didn’t think I had any family at all, but…”

 

A pause, then Kra’aft prompted, “But?”

 

“Well, they told me when I aged out that I might have relatives. Somewhere.” Had Mirren said where? Sloan wasn’t sure. Maybe when she got back to Riften, she could go there and ask. Oh, right – her other task there. Maybe it would be best to wait to ask. Or ask first. Or…

 

“I see.” Holo cast sympathetic eyes as she stood. “That must be difficult. Especially not knowing for certain.” She began clearing the table, and Sloan began to stand to help, but Holo held out a hand. “No, please. You are our guest. Relax. If you are going to Riften, you still have a long journey ahead. Rest while you can.”

 

“It is a foolish journey.” Kra’aft refilled Sloan’s cup from the wine pitcher, then sat back. “You should not go alone. Stay here with us until someone else comes by that is going the same direction. It should only be a few days, at most.”

 

Aventus’ haggard form swam into Sloan’s memory. Every fiber of him was holding on through sheer stubbornness. A few days’ delay could be the difference between…well, life and death. She shook her head. “Thank you for the concern but I need to get there as soon as possible. Any delay could be disastrous.”

 

Kra’aft gave her a long look but did not press the question, for which Sloan was grateful. They spoke of other things until the moon had crested the sky, then Holo and Kra’aft bid her good night and went to the only other completed room in the building while Sloan settled in a spot near the remains of the fire. Her mind wheeled and spun and fed itself memories and conjectures, regrets and hopes. For all the fatigue she felt after the long hours of walking, it took a long time to fall into a fitful sleep.