#with arrows

♐

Celria sighed with impatience as she paced back and forth inside her father’s office, arms folded across her chest and fingers playing with the belt of her quiver, a nervous tic she had had since she was young girl. When she first got her bow. Not two feet away, her father, Manarion, leaned against the wall, contently smoking his pipe and puffing out smoke rings occasionally as they waited for the third member of their group to arrive. 

Near Manarion’s booted feet, there were two knapsacks, of elvish make, crafted from soft doeskin and enchanted to repel the affects of the elements, whether they be rain, snow, or sleet. Cel resisted the urge to rummage through them and inspect what she was to bring along with her, and instead settled for pacing back and forth like a caged tigress, alternating between fiddling with her hair and armor, and then with her quiver strap once more as she waited.

♐

“May I help you?” The womer watched the other approach, emerald eyes glinting as she studied him intently. 

♐

The womer kneeled along a snow-covered road, brushing her fingers against an imprint in the trail to brush an errant leaf away so that she could see it more clearly. Her crimson hair was toyed with by the wind, however Celria was too intent on tracking her prey to brush the strands away. 

A group of Stormcloaks had passed by, judging by the prints. All on foot, and with no horses. Perhaps a patrol. Celria smiled and got to her feet, before silently prowling after, going over the snow without a noise and following the trail that the Nords had left. Her bow was in one hand, but the other remained free, in case she needed it to cast a spell.

♐

Words failed her and the womer instead gazed at the strange being with a confused expression, her brows furrowed somewhat and one of her hands ready to draw an arrow, just in case. 

♐

The womer grumbled to herself as she sat on a low boulder, several health potions and a roll of bandages littered around her. The red-haired Altmer selected one vial, a Cure Disease, and pulled the cork out of the bottle with her teeth, downing the liquid within before setting the empty bottle down. 

A recent Vampire attack had left her injured and alone, and while she had managed to fend off the Vampires, she was now hurt and possibly infected. Quite rotten luck, really. Fortunately, being a potions master she carried along several antidotes and cures with her at all times. It was merely a matter of making sure to take care of everything before Sanguine Vampiris took a permanent hold.

Lifting her arm, Celria opened another bottle, this one a health potion, before she began to clean her wounds, biting back a hiss as the salve stung the injuries. However, she was not so engrossed in her work that she did not hear someone approach, and the sound of footsteps drawing closer saw the womer jumping to her feet, grabbing her daggers.