The snow wrapped around Torin's boot the mont he stepped off the road, swallowing his foot halfway to the knee.
He stopped. Tested the ground ahead with his other foot. Sa result.
Turning his gaze skyward, he winced.
Dark. Heavy clouds blotting out every star, with the moons hanging just visible through a thin patch—Masser and Secunda, pale and distant, offering no help whatsoever. What should have been a half-day's journey from Riverwood to Falkreath had stretched into an entire day thanks to the sudden snowstorm that rolled in around midday.
No warning. No gradual buildup. Just one mont clear skies, the next white-out conditions that turned the world into a featureless blur.
They'd pushed through anyway. Kept moving when they could. Made progress, but not enough.
And now here they were. Still half the way to go, night falling fast, and snow already piling up faster than they could walk through it.
Torin looked back at Auri.
The Bosr was struggling. Not visibly—she was too proud for that—but Torin had spent enough ti with her to read the signs. The way she lifted her knees higher than necessary with each step. The slight hitch in her breathing.
The way she kept her eyes fixed on the ground ahead, not eting his gaze.
She was small. Light, compared to him. But snow didn't care about any of that. It grabbed at everyone the sa way, pulled at their legs, sapped their strength. And Auri had been pushing through it for hours without complaint.
He could use Alteration. Lower his own weight, breeze over the surface like he was walking on clouds. He'd done it before, plenty of tis. But applying that sa magic to both of them at once?
That would take more concentration than he could spare while navigating unfamiliar terrain in a snowstorm. And leaving her behind wasn't an option.
Torin made a decision.
"This is as far as we go today."
Auri looked up, finally eting his eyes. Sothing flickered in her expression—relief, quickly hidden—but she didn't argue.
Torin turned, scanning the landscape. The snow blurred everything, softened edges, made distant shapes look close and close shapes look distant. But he'd traveled these roads before, years ago, back when he was smaller and the world was bigger.
There. To the east. A rise in the terrain, a cluster of trees that looked darker than the others.
"There's a shrine of Talos nearby." He pointed, making sure Auri saw the direction. "I rember passing it on my way to Falkreath last ti. We can take shelter from the wind there. Get a fire started. Wait this out."
Auri nodded, already adjusting her pack, tightening straps that had loosened during the day's hike.
"Very well." Her voice was steady, controlled, like she hadn't just been fighting for every step. "Point the way."
Torin smiled despite himself. Stubborn elf.
He turned and started walking, breaking a path through the snow with his larger fra. Behind him, he heard Auri fall into step, placing her feet carefully in the divots he left behind.
The wind picked up, driving snow into their faces.
Neither of them complained.
...
The stone head of the statue ca into view first—Talos, rendered in weathered rock, his features softened by centuries of wind and snow. He rose above the hill like a guardian, one hand raised in blessing, his sightless eyes scanning the horizon.
But it wasn't the statue that made Torin stop.
It was the glow.
Warm and orange, flickering at the base of the shrine. Firelight. And beneath the howl of the wind, the unmistakable crackle of burning wood.
Soone was already there.
Auri's eyes went narrow as knife blades. Her hand moved—fast, automatic—and ca back with an arrow already nocked, her bow half-raised before Torin could blink.
He sighed.
It wasn't that he disagreed with her caution. He was as paranoid as the next man—maybe more, given the life he'd lived. And the fact that soone was camping out here, in this weather, at a Talos shrine no less?
That was suspicious. Real suspicious. The kind of suspicious that usually ant trouble.
But approaching with weapons drawn was exactly how you turned a potential non-threat into a real one. If their suspicions were misplaced—if this was just so traveler or hunter caught in the sa storm—then walking in with arrows ready was the fastest way to start a fight nobody wanted.
And even if their suspicions were right? Even if this was exactly the kind of trouble they were looking for?
It wouldn't be too late to draw steel once they were sure. Not with him around.
Torin caught Auri's eye and gestured—calm down, wait, let handle this. She held his gaze for a long mont, so silent communication passing between them. Then, slowly, she lowered the bow. Kept the arrow nocked, but pointed at the ground. Ready, but not threatening.
Good enough.
Torin cleared his throat. Loudly. The kind of sound that carried through wind and snow, that announced soone's coming without actually saying a word.
Then he stepped forward, erging from the darkness into the fire's glow.
The man by the fire looked up.
Torin studied him as he approached, filing away details the way he'd learned to do years ago.
Nord, definitely—the height, the bone structure, the way he held himself. But a bit too thin for a Nord, like he'd been in the wilderness too long, living off whatever he could catch. Tall, though. Almost as tall as Torin, which was saying sothing.
Long dark hair, tangled and matted, falling past his shoulders. A beard that was more patchy than full, unkempt, with bits of debris caught in it. His clothes were worn leather and fur, patched in multiple places, none of them matching.
In his hands, he held a small branch. A knife—hunting knife, nothing fancy—scraped along its length, peeling away thin curls of wood. Beside him, a stack of similar branches lay in a neat pile, each one sharpened to a wicked point at one end.
Torin's eyes swept the camp. Small, minimal, clearly temporary. A bedroll made of furs. A pack propped against the statue's base. And over the fire, turning slowly on a makeshift spit—
A hare.
Skinned. Roasting. Its small body riddled with holes.
Not cooking holes. Puncture wounds. Multiple, clustered, the kind made by sothing sharp and pointed driving into flesh over and over.
Torin's gaze moved back to the stack of sharpened branches.
Hunter, he deduced. Making stakes for a pitfall trap. The hare was either bait or today's catch.
The man stared at him with flat, wary eyes. His knife hadn't stopped moving—still scraping, still sharpening, still very much in his hand.
"Evening, kinsman," Torin said, his voice calm and easy. "Didn't expect to find company out here."
The man's eyes flicked past him, to Auri still standing at the edge of the darkness. Back to Torin. He said nothing.
Torin smiled. Friendly. Non-threatening. The smile he'd learned to use on skittish animals and nervous strangers.
"Storm caught us on the road. Looking for shelter till it passes." He gestured at the shrine, the fire, the general space. "Mind if we share the warmth for a bit?"
The hunter seed to lose interest.
His eyes dropped from Torin's face, shifting back to the branch in his hands and the knife scraping along its length. The motion was steady, practiced—the kind of repetitive work that let a man think about other things while his hands stayed busy.
"Suit yourself." His voice was flat, neither welcoming nor hostile. Just... neutral. Like he'd learned long ago that strangers ca and went, and none of them mattered much. "But don't expect a free al."
Torin chuckled softly, already shrugging his pack off one shoulder. "Wouldn't be so presumptuous."
He crouched, rummaging through the pack until his fingers found the familiar bulk of his bedroll. A quick tug freed it, and he straightened, scanning the area around the fire for a decent spot. Relatively dry. Relatively flat. Relatively free of rocks that would dig into his back all night.
Found one near the fire's edge—close enough to feel the warmth, far enough to avoid sparks. He laid the bedroll out with the practiced efficiency of soone who'd done this a thousand tis.
"I'm Torin, by the way." He nodded toward the shadow at the edge of the firelight. "And this is Auri."
The hunter didn't bother raising his eyes. Didn't acknowledge the introduction at all for a long mont. Then, just when Torin thought he might ignore them completely:
"Krovos."
One word. Flat. Uninterested. The knife kept scraping.
Auri had settled onto her own bedroll by then, her small fra folded into that compact way she had of making herself comfortable anywhere. She watched Krovos for a mont, her amber eyes missing nothing—the way he held the knife, the stack of sharpened stakes beside him, the careful distance he'd placed between himself and the fire.
Then she sighed, apparently deciding he wasn't worth the attention.
"You think we can reach Falkreath tomorrow?" She stretched her legs toward the flas, boots steaming slightly.
Torin let out a hum as he fished through his pack again, fingers closing around the wrapped bundle of road rations. "Aye, I reckon we will." He pulled out a piece of jerky, examined it briefly, and bit off a chunk. "If we're lucky, the snow might thin out overnight. We could get there before nightfall."
He chewed, swallowed, shook his head.
"I just hope this delay doesn't cost us more lives than what's already been lost."
Auri grimaced around her own mouthful of rations. She'd pulled out sothing that looked like dried fruit mixed with crushed oats—one of the College's travel provisions, less offensive than jerky but not by much.
"Dying because of a sudden shift in the weather..." She swallowed, made a face. "I would not rest in peace. That is for certain."
Torin chuckled, but there was no humor in it. "Hopefully it won't co to that. We'll catch the bastard before he kills anyone else."
The scraping stopped.
Torin felt the shift before he saw it—that subtle change in the air when soone's attention locks onto you. He looked up.
Krovos had finally raised his head. Those flat eyes were fixed on Torin now, sharp and focused in a way they hadn't been a mont ago.
"Are you here to deal with the murders in Falkreath?" His voice was different now. Still flat, but with an edge underneath. A weight.
Torin t his gaze steadily. Chewed another bite of jerky. Swallowed.
"That's right."
Krovos's eyes moved to Auri, then back to Torin. The knife twitched in his grip.
"Who are you people?"
Torin t the man's gaze steadily, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make a point.
"We're here on official business." He gestured vaguely northward with his thumb. "That's all you need to know."
Krovos's expression didn't change. Didn't flicker. But sothing in those flat eyes shifted—a tightening at the corners, there and gone.
Torin's own eyes narrowed, intrigued by the sudden interest.
"But I must ask." His voice stayed casual, almost friendly. "What's it to you? Do you know sothing about the murders?"
The knife resud scraping.
Krovos looked away, attention shifting back to his branch like the conversation was already over. For a long mont, the only sound was the wind and the scrape of tal on wood and the crackle of the fire.
Then, with a sigh that seed to carry more weight than it should:
"I just think it's about ti soone did sothing."
Torin's gaze slid to Auri. She was watching the exchange with those sharp amber eyes, missing nothing. He raised an eyebrow—what do you think?
She shrugged. Barely a movent, but he caught it. Then her eyes began to roam, scanning the camp, taking in details the way only she could.
Torin turned back to Krovos.
"Oh?" He let a note of curiosity creep into his voice. "I've been inford that the Jarl's n have been busy at work. Searching for the spineless cunt who's been preying on those innocent people."
He trailed off, studying Krovos's face with open intent now. Looking for any reaction. Any twitch, any tell, anything that would confirm the suspicion forming in his gut.
Sure enough, the hunter instantly reacted to Torin's bait. It was anger, but not the kind he was looking for.
Krovos let out a scoff—a harsh, humorless sound.
"The Jarl's n." He spat on the ground, the glob landing near the fire and sizzling. "Nothing more than fools. They've been harassing the people of the hold for days, poking into every corner, demanding answers no one has."
His lip curled. "And what do they have to show for their efforts? They caught a man cheating on his wife with a goat. That's it. That's all they've managed."
Torin rubbed his chin, processing. The disgust in the man's voice sounded genuine. The contempt, the scorn—those were hard to fake.
But not impossible.
"I'm sure they an well," Torin said mildly. "They're just... out of their depth, maybe. This kind of thing isn't what they're trained for."
He gave Krovos an up-and-down look, casual but thorough.
"But now that I think about it..." He let the words hang. "I can't help but wonder what you're doing out here in the wilderness. This late at night. In this weather."
Krovos didn't even pause in his scraping.
"What else would I be doing?" He shrugged, unconcerned. "Hunting."
Torin opened his mouth to reply—
"Hunting what, exactly?"
Auri's voice cut through the night like one of her arrows. She'd risen from her bedroll without Torin noticing—quiet as a shadow, that woman—and was now standing over a folded piece of fur near the edge of the camp.
With her boot, she nudged the fur aside.
Beneath it lay a longsword. Plain, functional, recently cleaned—but with a dark stain near the hilt that could have been oil or could have been sothing else.
Auri's eyes lifted to Krovos, sharp and cold.
"I don't know of any prey that's hunted with a sword."
The fire crackled between them, sending sparks spiraling into the darkness.
Krovos raised his gaze to et Auri's. Slowly. Deliberately. Like a man who'd decided it was finally ti to stop pretending.
"Indeed." His voice was calm, asured. "But I'm not hunting re prey."
He set down the branch and the knife. The movents were careful, unhurried—the kind of deliberate control that told Torin this man knew exactly how dangerous a sudden move could look right now.
"I'm after a predator."
His mouth smiled. His eyes continued their flat, patient watch.
"Soone needs to do sothing..."
He shrugged, the gesture almost apologetic.
"Why not ?"
...
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