#hrakning

                   Mead is an instance of bliss, repeated o'er and                   o'er until one forgets himself.  Forgets everything,                   really.  Its smell is distinct, and a poison of itself.                   When he smells it, he desires it.  Desires its                   b l i s s .

                                       Mead is n o t h i n g.  It takes, and it does not                                       r e p l a c e .

                   Mead is victory.

                                                  Solace.

                                                                         An empty hearth on                                                                         solemn days.

                   Happiness should not lie at the                   bottom of a cup.

                                                And yet, he seeks it.  Yearns for its                                                taste and s m e l l .  He drinks of it,                                                and feels it take and take and t a k e .                                                In time, he will be left with nothing

✾ — The darkness of the night was a perfect cloak, a perfect way to hide without the heaviness or the heat that extra clothing afforded. The sound of her small, gentle feet picking their way through the forest was so natural and common to her that for many, many moments, Romy did not remember her new life – the one back at the inn with the wide-eyed, shaking children, and the man they called ‘father’ and she called Vater.

   The woman was walking in silence, light eyes captured by the ground, following the smell and feel of the world beneath her outstretched fingers, her hesitant feet. She could hear the sound of the wolves in the distance, could already feel their heartbeats syncing with hers once again, begging, reaching, scraping, clawing their way back to her…

   Come home, Romy. Vater’s voice echoed against her skull, even as she moved, fingers dancing across the tree barks. Come home.  

   Not yet. For the world she now lived in, while lovely in itself… 

   … was not home. 

"If you must end him, do it quickly—"

B))

             "Behind you!"

Fa'ar looked up from the book he had been reading and looked at the Nord before him. Instinct told him to reach for his weapon and strike before the other had time to react. Reason said wait until you know who this before so casually using the Hammer. Reason won this one for the Khajiit.