Caylene looked out over the great basin below, pulling her cloak tighter around her armored frame. The nights in Hammerfell were deathly cold, particularly as it neared Saturalia - even without snow, frostbite had claimed extremities of some of the less well traveled men who hadn’t expected it.

Footfalls trampled up the wooden steps to the ramparts, and the Breton felt Senti’s soft palm resting on her arm through the cloak. “Homesick?” The Redguard asked in a low tone, leaning in for warmth.

“In a way. I think I miss the snow. Da could trudge through it up to his waist as if he were walking on an Imperial road. He went out late to find strong wood, and stayed up all night to carve me figurines.” Caylene rummaged in her side pack for a moment before producing a small, wooden knight on horseback. He had painted it in the heraldry of Daggerfall. “He used to tell me, ‘I can only hope you learn the craft; Clan Luzgarz made half of its wealth from sculpting’ and I would only nod. He told that story so many times I could repeat it in my sleep.”

Senti’s lips curled at the corners. “Dear, you already have. You mumble for hours.” 

Caylene cleared her throat, slipping the item back into her bag. “Yes, well. There’s much on my mind.”