Shadow of the Woods

Trekking through deep snow was a practiced art for any equine, and thankfully Cercel had learned it in his temperate home climate. But Skryim... Ancestors, Skryim's snow was higher than thigh-deep at times, and the centaur was careful where he stepped. So far he hadn't found a patch deeper than his mid-foreleg, and though his hooves were getting very cold, the snow had blown over the normal trail at the bottom of the hill, thus trudging through was the only way to keep heading forward.

But as he pressed on, he saw a form out in the blanket of snow, nearby a tree. He stared scrutinously to make sure it wasn't a predator, and as he studied it... It appeared like a little elf. It was hardly moving, if at all, and at first, he nearly believed it a casualty of the cold. But he soon realized his eyes weren't playing tricks on him, and it was, in fact, still moving.

In the deep forests of Falkreath, Cercel had come to realize that very few people besides hunters resided there. He liked those forests; few predators, and the herds, while wary of him, accepted his movement through their midst without raising alarm. There were times, even, when the centaur would guard over a herd, resting on a nearby rocky outcropping and raising alarm himself if he saw a predator in the distance. It reminded him of home, of the herd he had lived with.

Thus, when the herd he was currently watching over became aware of something in the distance, Cercel became wary as well. From where he was resting, he could see over the undergrowth that the herd below in the valley could not, and the appearance of a tall elf, certainly not dressed like a hunter, roused his curiosity.

He stood from where he rested, threw his saddlebag over his back, and picked his way down from the outcrop toward the elf. His movement shied the herd away from where he was headed; a good thing in his mind, it meant they would stay away from the elf, just in case something would go awry.

One thing he had learned about the forests of the Rift was that it was teeming with predators—especially stupid or large ones, that didn't mind going after a large creature. Thus, when Cercel found himself in the aspen forests, he stuck to the cobbled paths. His hooves clacked against the stones that made what seemed to be a well cared-for road, possibly a main thoroughfare. Maybe he would meet with a Khajiiti caravan; he had learned they were not picky where their goods came from, and while a centaur was an oddity, he was not turned away if he wished to trade for needed items.

A walled city appeared on the horizon, and he knew he was near Riften. Half of him said to turn back, the other half telling him to press forward and brave the possible scrutiny of whichever denizens would be outside the walls, to see if the caravan had already settled down outside the gates. He grumbled a bit to himself, but decided to head on. It wasn't the looks of the citizens that deterred him, but the possible hostilities from the guards.

The winding roads up to Winterhold provided much shelter from the fierce winds, but the rocky growths and the mountain along the side of the trails made it hard to see too far ahead. Yet, Cercel cantered quickly, focusing on his footing with the icy-covered rocks that laid just out of sight beneath a dusting of snow. It was rather cold, and his cloak only gave him slight warmth, his legs shivering if he slowed. He needed some sort of warm shelter, and soon, so when his eyes weren't on the trail directly in front of him, they wandered the bluffs, searching for a cave.

Thus, rounding a corner, he very nearly collided with another hiker. His hind hooves slipped as he attempted to change his course so quickly, but thankfully his front hooves caught him, and his hindquarters merely bowed at the knees before he regained his footing, and hopped out of the person's way.

A hoof collided with bone, sending up a pained yelp and the sickening crack of the cranium breaking with the impact. Another wolf simply lept over it's fallen comrade and took it's place, only to be bucked in the ribs.

Cercel had no idea where the pack had come from; it was as though they materialized from the undergrowth, and had begun attacking the centaur. The canines couldn’t possibly have been expecting the odd ungulate to retaliate, and between bucks and rears, the centaur had pulled his bow, and was striking with arrows when he had a moment's pause to aim.

Bursting forth from the undergrowth, the clearing he blindly had began running for appeared to be a trail. It proved to be a bad idea, as the remaining wolves no longer had trees and brush stopping them from his form—as well as he could see a hiker just up the path.

[12:55:11 PM] Daski: fuuuuuuck

[12:55:20 PM] Daski: he's going to get so fed up with me LOL

[12:55:37 PM] District Nein: is he... hung like a horse?

[12:55:46 PM] Daski: SHUT UP LOL

[12:56:11 PM] District Nein: if he wants to say 'no', can he just say 'neigh'?

[12:56:15 PM] Daski: LOL

[12:56:20 PM] Daski: I'M SO TEMPTED NOW

[12:58:07 PM] District Nein: would he call his best male friend his "mane man"

[12:58:12 PM] Daski: LOL

[12:58:34 PM] District Nein: puns like this can really stirrup emotions

[12:58:43 PM] District Nein: but i wont be making them furlong

[12:58:56 PM] District Nein: have to keep the pun-making environment stable, you know

[12:59:17 PM] District Nein: but you know how much i like horse-ing around

[12:59:36 PM] Daski: LOL -D|YING-

[12:59:50 PM] District Nein: enough time and i can make puns that were the stuff night mares are made of