Helgen was, much to my relief, intact when we reached it on Fredas, the 15^th of Last Seed (or, in Earth terms, Friday, August 15^th – the Nirn and Earth calendars match up remarkably well. It’s as if the Nirn one was intentionally designed to be intuitive for a visitor from Earth) of the year 201. Not that the date meant much to me. I had been straining to try to match up the days with my first timeline, but I had been beyond lost then and was only marginally less lost this time. Had I already reached Helgen by this date? Apparently not, if Alduin was going to make a reappearance. But it had to be close. Probably at this point last time, I was on my way to, or was already at, Riverwood.

 

I sheared away from the dark bubble of nauseous fear that arose when I thought about that. The first time getting raped is something one does not soon forget, especially when that first time is a gang rape; Riverwood remains my second least favorite place in Skyrim (after, of course, Markarth). Actually, make that third – Falkreath can go to hell as well.

 

Anyway, we got a room at the local inn and spent an enjoyable day simply resting and eating and strolling about town. Our first stop was at a rug-maker, where I purchased a new lighter-weight rug. I paid extra to have him cut a slit in the center so I could wear it like a poncho. I was afraid adding the hole would make it recognizable as clothing but, to my great relief, it remained a rug with a hole cut in it. I turned to Kellan, narrowed my eyes, and growled, "There's money to be made in these parts." Needless to say, he did not get the joke.

 

The city itself was designed rather oddly, to my eyes – it was a big circle, split into four roughly equal quarters by walls with open gates, with a small-ish central keep at the center. Each quarter had a primary use. The inn was in the residential district, as one might expect, along with most of the homes, bracketed by the market district and the military district (which was just a large building and an even larger open area for training). The governmental district made up the last section.

 

Why am I telling you all this? Well, frankly, I am stalling to avoid talking about what happened, because it was…weird. Which, to be fair, “weird” is my normal in this stupid world.

 

*sigh* Fine. From the top, then.

 

The next morning, as I sat studying my silver eyes in the mirror on the vanity in our room at the inn (did I mention my eyes had turned silver? I hadn’t realized until Kellan mentioned how unusual they looked, which had prompted an argument since I have always had yellow eyes) and wondering what horrible implications the color change must mean because it was intuitively obvious this was part of that asshole Sanguine’s shenanigans, I heard voices. Tiny squeaky voices, but still clearly voices. I looked around but saw nothing but Kellan’s snoozing form on the bed. I figured it must some sound he was making in his sleep and shrugged it off, but the voices returned a moment later. I looked all around the room and finally found the cause.

 

Here's where it gets weird.

 

Two mice stood along the baseboard on the far side of the room. They gave me a start, but one thing I had grown at least somewhat accustomed to in my time in Skyrim was the general lax attitude toward vermin – no matter how grand the building, there were going to be rats and mice and insects, and no one seemed inclined to start an extermination business to deal with them. What I had not grown accustomed to was vermin who could talk.

 

“I am not going out there,” said one.

 

“You must. We need food,” responded the other.

 

“THEY are here again and one is moving.”

 

“There is shelter if you are quick.”

 

“Then you go.”

 

“I am not going out there. I remember what happened to Fur With Patch.”

 

“As do I.”

 

“You are fast. You…”

 

“If I get you food, will you shut up?”

 

That last was from a quickly-growing-irritated me; they were being very loud while Kellan was trying to sleep.

 

The mice froze and turned toward me.

 

“It speaks.”

 

“They can speak?”

 

I frowned. “Of course I can speak. How can you speak?”

 

“We have always spoken. You only roar.”

 

“I have always spoken. You only squeak.”

 

That seemed to ruffle their fur. “We speak, not squeak,” the second responded in what passed for a haughty tone for a mouse.

 

“You certainly do now, at least. Here.” I grabbed my pack and dug through until I found the remains of a chunk of dry cheese near the bottom. I tossed it in their direction. “Take this and go before you wake my friend.”

 

“What are you doing?”

 

Kellan’s voice, and the mice let out tiny screams and scurried away, although not without taking the cheese with them.

 

I glanced at him and gave him an apologetic grimace. “Ah, you’re awake. Sorry. I told them to keep it down.”

 

“You told who to keep it down? Are the people in the next room being loud? And why were you making squeaking noises?”

 

Squeaking? I frowned at him. “I wasn’t, I was talking to the…”

 

And that’s when a wave of…clarity, I guess we can call it, washed over me. “…um…”

 

“You were wiggling your nose and squeaking. Is that some otherworldly thing?”

 

“I…no.” My brain tried to scramble to make sense of…well, everything, but none of that everything made a lick of sense. Finally, in desperation, it resorted to the truth. “I was…talking to some mice I saw.”

 

Kellan laughed. “That is adorable! Just be worried if they talk back!”

 

He tossed in a wink as he climbed out of bed, still laughing at his own joke, and I added half-hearted laughter of my own as my brain tried to organize things into a shape I could recognize.

 

This was the second time I had been able to understand rodents. I could eschew the first time – it had been a moment of stress and confusion – but this time…

 

This time, it had definitely happened. Apparently I could talk to animals. Or, at least, rodents. Were other animals included? I thought back, but the only other animals I had seen so far had been the wolves, and there hadn’t seemed to be any attempts at communication there. Of course, I had been running for my life, so maybe I hadn’t been paying attention?

 

It bore some experimentation. Just not in public – apparently when I talked to them, it was in their…language, I guess we’ll call it. I already stood out enough in the garb I was forced to wear – no need to exacerbate the issue by publicly barking or squeaking or whatever.

 

I kept my eye out for animals as we left the inn and strolled to the market. I saw plenty – a few dogs scampering about, some cats idling on rooftops or porch rails, the occasional glance at a scurrying mouse or rat – but none seemed interested in chatting.

 

Then I saw Delphine and everything else was flushed from my mind.

 

My first instinct was to go to her and greet her, and I had even taken the first step toward doing that, but then I froze. She would almost certainly have no idea who I was and I would have no way to show her. Right now, in this version of Skyrim, she wasn’t a Blade – she was an innkeeper from Riverwood who had no inkling her former profession was about to become relevant again on the wings of a giant black dragon. I could try to explain, perhaps, but I would sound just as mad as if I told her I could talk to animals.

 

Better to wait. Better for her to learn about the dragons first. Definitely better for me to have the ability to Shout at least one word, or I would have no proof even after their return.

 

Suddenly, for reasons I could not pinpoint, I not only did not want to see Delphine, I also did not want her to see me yet. I’m not sure why that is, but I tugged at Kellan and told him I wasn’t feeling well, and we headed back to the inn.

 

As we approached, a black cat sitting on a chair near the door paused from cleaning his foot, looked right at me, and said, “There is a storm coming.”

 

I nodded. “A big one. You should gather your friends and leave this town.”

 

He unfolded himself and stretched. “I think I shall do just that.” Then he plopped down from the chair and strolled away.

 

“You are so good with animals,” Kellen remarked as he opened the door to the inn. “That’s a sign of a good person.”

 

I laughed as I stepped through the doorway, trying to dispel the uneasy feeling that had seemed to spring out of nowhere. “Is that right? I have heard it is a sign of madness.”

 

 

Don’t feed the bastards. Feed yourself instead.

 

 

 

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