“We need a higher point to camp,” Katla said. She pointed up to a cliff across from Rorikstead. “Let’s look up there.”

Tara looked up at the cliff, then back at the farm. The spot Lemkil had pointed out they could camp for the night would be cozy, protect them from the wind blowing across the plains. This area of Skyrim was lush, prairie, and farmland as far as the eye could see. Wind coming off the distant mountains blew steady, with nothing to stop it.

“Lot of wind up there,” Tara said. “You sure you wouldn’t rather we stay out of the wind?”

“I want a high point. Safer,” Katla said. There was a firmness to her voice. She wasn’t going to compromise.

“Let’s check it out,” Tara acquiesced.

They’d arrived in Rorikstead early in the day and inquired about work. The innkeeper, Mralki, had given them a note about a bounty for bandits at a local cave the jarl wanted cleared out. They were in Whiterun Hold now, so the Jarl of Whiterun had authorized it. A Jarl Balgruuf.

Tara and Katla hadn’t discussed the bounty yet. Earning gold would be good, but Tara had never done such a thing. It was one thing to defend yourself against attacking bandits, but to actively go look for them? Plus, she and Katla hardly knew each other. What kind of fighter was Katla? Did they have enough trust to go into battle together? It was something to consider, and a far different task than any she and Freta had taken on in Cyrodiil.

They’d met the farmer, Lemkil, who desperately needed help with his crops. He had two young daughters running around, but they clearly didn’t help. Tara bit her tongue as Lemkil complained about his girls not helping. Let kids be kids and not free labor, she’d thought.

Katla and Tara had agreed to help him with the crops he still needed harvested at this time of year. It’d take them a few days, and they could plan out their next move while here. Tara didn’t much care for Lemkil, but it was a simple job for some coin.

They climbed the hill next to the town, hamlet, really, and made their way to the edge overlooking Rorikstead. They were above the farm, with the rest of the town sitting split across the road that cut through it.

Tara turned from the view and paced the ground, thinking about angles of attack. They were in the wide open, no bushes or trees came anywhere close. The slope up to the edge came from just the one side, the rest too steep for anyone to climb. They could be rushed by a small group of people, and would be backed to the edge, where the drop down would kill them, but, anyone trying to rush up would be at a disadvantage, especially to an archer. There was nothing to hide behind for anyone trying to sneak. If they took turns keeping watch, they’d be okay.

“Why don’t you setup your tent over there,” Tara pointed to a corner she thought would be safest. “I’ll setup here, to give you extra protection and have a good line of sight.”

Katla nodded and they both started working on the camp.

Tara wasn’t sure why she’d felt the need to protect Katla. They’d camped one night in the forest on their way to Rorikstead. She’d instantly wanted to be the protector, the one prepared to take the brunt of any attack. Planning had gone much the same way; Katla insisting on a high point that was easily defensible. They’d found a wooded area on a small outcrop that had been perfect. Without discussion, Tara had done the same, setting up her tent in the lookout, protector position. It felt natural. Opposite of her and Freta’s setups.

Maybe this is my true state of being, Tara thought. To be the one protecting, and more in charge. Freta had helped her come into her own as an adult, but had also had a domineering effect, as the older, experienced one between them.

Tara was a couple of months older than Katla. Conversation on their first full day traveling together had revealed they were both twenty and had been on their own from parents for a couple of years. She hadn’t gotten much out of Katla on that first day about anything else. She was hoping to tonight. The first day’s conversation had been kept non-personal, Katla explaining the geography and layout of Skyrim to Tara, explaining some of the politics and noble setups here.

“I lived in Cyrodiil for a while. Skyrim is in more turmoil, and in ways a more dangerous land,” Katla had said. “The roads are a lot less safe. Bandits are a bigger problem here, and always have been. Don’t even get me started on the Reachmen. That’s not a dig at Bretons, just to be clear.”

Tara had shrugged. “I don’t really think of Reachmen as Bretons. They split off from Breton society a long time ago.”

Tara had then asked her first prying question. “Where in Cyrodiil did you live?”

Katla had looked at her, thought for a moment, and then winked. “I’ll tell you some other time.”

So private. So hiding something.

As they finished setting up camp, Tara decided she’d have to be the one to open up first. Katla had a shell, a wall up. Maybe the way through it was to be the one who was completely honest. Tell her the things she’d never told Freta. She’d hidden so much from Freta. Always waiting for the right time, trying to avoid any push back, or judgement. Always thinking there would be time to open up more. Then, there wasn’t.

“Want to head back down to the inn for dinner?” Tara asked.

“I think I’ve had enough of Mralki and his son, Erik, arguing for one day,” Katla laughed. “Maybe we should’ve given him that bounty letter.”

Tara laughed. “He’d get himself killed. I can’t believe he asked to come along with us to prove himself.”

“At least he didn’t say he wanted to come along to protect us.”

Tara laughed louder at that. “Gods, right.” Katla made her laugh. There was a tone and timing to her words that clicked. Humor had been missing from her life for too long.

They prepared dinner, preserved rabbit, leeks, and carrots thrown into a pot to stew, and chatted lightly. Katla dug out some Nord meads from her backpack.

“What do you think of the bounty letter,” Tara asked her. “Ever done bounty hunting?”

Katla studied the fire. “No. I’ve had to defend myself from bandits and…others. Not actively sought any out.” She took a gulp of mead. “Who’ve you used those pretty little axes on?”

Tara sipped her mead. “Bandits and a bear.” She pointed to her shoulder and arm scars. “The bear started it.”

“And you finished it, I bet,”

“No choice.”

Katla stood and checked the stew. “It’s ready.”

They ate silently for a bit, stealing glances at each other. Tara laughed to herself. She wasn’t sure who was worse at being coy about stealing looks.

“Let’s do it,” Katla said. “The bounty, I mean,” she quickly added.

Tara spit out the mead she’d been about to swallow. “I…wasn’t…uh…thanks for clarifying.”

Katla gave her a sly smile. “Well, other things take time. Just to be clear.”

Tara nodded and returned the smile. “Agreed. So, we help with crops for a few days, then have our first real adventure with the bounty letter.”

“Yes.”

“I get to see if you can hit anything with that bow.”

Katla raised an eyebrow at her. “I get to see if you do more than wear those axes well.”

Tara nodded and gave her a purposely cocky tilt of her head. “I can.”

“I look forward to you proving it.”

Tara smiled softly at that. The teasing, flirting, was fun, but it felt like avoidance. She wanted at least another nugget of information.

“Who taught you to use a bow?” she asked.

“You first,” Katla said. “The axes.”

You’ll have to be the open, honest one.

“Spent my childhood working our farm. Got really good at chopping wood and chickens’ heads off.” Tara sipped her mead and stretched. She’d finished off her stew. “When I was in Anvil, I joined the Fighter’s Guild for a few months…”

“Not the Mage’s…or, whatever, the Synod Conclave…whatever they call themselves?”

“I’d been kicked out of there,” Tara said. Katla raised an eyebrow.

“I’ll…there’s a lot to that. A story for another day?”

Katla nodded. “Fair enough.”

“So, Fighter’s Guild. Was learning some things, mostly sword and archery. Broke someone’s nose and hands, so they weren’t letting me near axes yet.”

Katla’s eyebrow shot up again.

Honesty. She needs it.

Tara swallowed. “I can have a temper. Be impatient. It’s cost me things.”

Katla nodded and stayed silent.

Tara continued. “Then, I met Freta. She asked me to travel with her. Showed me how to use axes as weapons. I was a natural with them.” Tara’s voice dropped. “All the credit to her for my skills.”

Katla studied Tara for several minutes. “How long ago did she die?”

“Come Spring, it’ll be two years.”

“Thank you for sharing,” Katla said. She finished her mead.

“My father taught me most of what I know about archery,” she said. “He fought in the Great War as an archer. He owned a few bows. He gave me this one just before I came of age.”

“You still in touch with your family?” Tara asked.

“They…died.”

“I’m sorry…” Tara started.

“Who takes the first watch?” Katla asked. She stood up and stretched.

“I will,” Tara stood. Softly, she said, “You get a good rest. I’ll watch over you.”

Katla nodded. She seemed to struggle for a moment, as if wanting to throw out one joke, but simply said, “Thank you. Good night.”

Tara spent the night studying the stars. The air was cool, the wind had settled into a calm breeze. Masser rose alone and kept her company. She didn’t wake Katla for her shift. Instead, Tara listened to her breathing and wondered about the stories we all carry.

Tara knelt down in front of Freta’s gravestone. It was simple, like all the others Tara could see in the cemetery. So many others. Falkreath buried a lot of dead. A few citizens she’d met spoke nearly with pride over their suffering, how many they lost to war, or other great events.

Placing her left hand on the gravestone and right around the Talos amulet, Tara said, “Talos guide you.”

Was Freta in Sovngarde? Was she drinking and feasting with legendary Nord heroes? Was this old life nothing to her anymore? Tara hoped so.

The Snow-Shields no longer lived in Falkreath. The innkeeper, an apparent source of gossip, had told her that morning when she inquired where they lived.

“Think they went to Windhelm. A proper Nord city,” he’d said while sweeping up before morning patrons arrived. “Left a couple months after Freta came home. Don’t think they could stand it, you know. Second child in that cemetery.” He’d shaken his head.

Freta had told Tara of her younger brother. Killed by a troll high up in the mountains when he was only fifteen. Tara looked at the gravestone next to Freta and saw his. Would she stay in a town where her children were buried? She didn’t know.

A branch snapped behind her. Tara whirled around to see Katla Hammerheart standing at the edge of the cemetery, near a large, ancient oak. Her face glowed in the morning light. She wore hide armor, sleeveless and hugging her curves. A bow made of dark, carved wood, with blue steel tips rested on her back along with a quiver of steel arrows. So she was an archer.

“Visiting your friend?” she asked, sheepishly.

Tara slowly stood. She looked down at Freta’s gravestone one more time. Perhaps Talos was guiding. Or Dibella.

Smiling at Katla, she said, “It seemed a better answer than ‘visiting my dead girlfriend’s grave’.”

Katla studied her with a somber look. She nodded. “Understood.” She stepped closer. “I didn’t mean to intrude. Was passing nearby and saw you. Curiosity got the better of me.”

Tara shrugged. “It’s okay. I was finished.” She tilted her head at Katla. “Hunting and fishing in these parts?”

Katla reached back and lightly touched her bow. She chuckled. “Don’t trust leaving it at the inn when I’m not there.” She nodded at Tara’s axes. “Same for you?”

Tara smiled and nodded. “Finished with your errands for the day?”

Katla’s eyes dropped to the ground for a moment. “Not yet. We still on for this evening?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll see you then,” Katla winked and headed off towards the center of town. Tara considered following her, then thought better of it. Katla was hiding something. But, why not? They’d just met. Neither owed the other anything.

Tara spent the day visiting the blacksmith, Lod. He let her sharpen her axes on his grindstone while he repaired some minor damage to her leather armor from the bear attack. She stopped in the alchemist shop, Grave Concoctions, for a few more healing potions.

When Katla came back to the inn later that day, Tara was already sitting at a quiet table in the corner, nursing an ale. Tara had changed out of her armor into one of her new shirts. She wore a soft gray merchant’s shirt with black leather pants, and soft leather boots. She’d found a belt with a wolf’s head buckle in Bruma before leaving and thought it set off the pants well.

Katla emerged from her room wearing a dark green Imperial style dress, similar to the one the day before. Her hair was the same as yesterday, the rich brown reached past her shoulders, framing her face and neck. She approached the table just as Tara was saying no to the second man who’d asked her to dance.

Katla watched the dejected Nord leave and raised an eyebrow at Tara as she sat down.

Tara slid an ale towards her and smiled. “At least they take no for an answer here. I’d hate to have to break someone’s nose.”

Katla laughed and sipped her ale. “Many Nords don’t take no for an answer. Perhaps the intense look in your eyes scared them.”

Tara laughed and shrugged. “Whatever works.”

“And if I asked you for a dance?” There was a mischievous grin on Katla’s face.

Tara stood, grabbed Katla’s hand, and pulled her towards the center of the inn. The bard was playing an upbeat tune on his lute. Tara led Katla in a simple dance she’d learned as a child, as part of her father trying to prepare her for meeting a noble boy. She’d been taught to follow, of course, but had memorized the lead’s steps instead. Katla laughed as they twirled and moved smoothly around the inn. She followed well, seemed a fast learner.

Several patrons joined in dancing as well. The mood in the tavern brightened instantly. The bard took the hint and continued with a few more peppy songs on his lute.

After the third song, Katla said, “Oh my, I need a break.” She pulled Tara back to their table and they drained their ales. Tara ordered another round and they sat in happy silence while they waited.

After the fresh ales arrived, they crowd watched for a while, keeping the conversation light. Tara realized she was staring at Katla. Katla caught her gaze and held it. Her eyes mesmerized. There was a seriousness in them, tempered by genuine curiosity and humor.

Tara cleared her throat. “I’m finished with my business in Falkreath. Ready to leave at any time. Will you be in town much longer?”

“I need a few more days to finish up my business.”

“If you like,” Tara said. She was nervous. “I can hang around until you’re ready to leave.”

Katla smiled. “I’d like that.” Her voice was soft, with a warmth matching the fire in the hearth. She sipped her ale and gave Tara a long look. “Where are you off to next?”

“I’m not sure. Need to go to Winterhold. For the College. But, there’s no real hurry. Thought I’d explore Skyrim and see where adventure takes me as I make my way there. I haven’t even decided what direction to go yet. Maybe towards the town of Rorikstead. Seems the closest, with Helgen destroyed.”

“That’s a good path,” Katla said. “One can make their way to Whiterun from there. You’d probably want to go that way before heading towards Winterhold.”

Katla sat back, sipped her ale a few times. She studied Tara, then grew thoughtful. Tara watched her and waited. Katla finally leaned forward.

“Would you like company? A…traveling companion?” she asked.

“Yes!” Tara realized she’d shouted, as several patrons looked their way. “That would be wonderful,” she said, much quieter.

Katla smiled. “Take your time. Think it over…”

They both laughed.

“I need to make my way to Whiterun,” Katla said. “Your company would be quite welcome.”

Two days later, when they headed out from Falkreath, on a road that led to Rorikstead, Tara still hadn’t decided if Talos or Dibella was doing the guiding.

“I saw it with my own eyes,” Tara said. A mix of shock and anger danced across her face.

She stood in front of Jarl Siddgeir of Falkreath. She imagined she looked a fright, having run directly from Helgen to Falkreath and then burst into the Jarl’s Longhouse with news of the dragon attack. Sweat was pouring from everywhere.

When she’d first come in, she’d been adamant, and animated, insisting she speak to the jarl.

Jarl Siddgeir was sitting on the throne, talking to an Altmer woman Tara assumed was his steward. The guards had quickly blocked her, startled by her sudden arrival. The jarl seemed intrigued, though, and called her forward.

“Speak,” he’d said. His condescending tone reminded Tara of Mira. He finished off the image with the lazy way he’d strewn himself on his throne. Tara wasn’t impressed. It suddenly made sense why bandits had parked themselves on a major road in his hold. This jarl wasn’t trustworthy. By Dibella, let him not be representative of all the jarls in Skyrim.

Tara had told him about Helgen. How it’d been attacked by a dragon and destroyed. She hadn’t seen any survivors.

Two of the guards had burst out laughing. The steward looked unsure. Jarl Siddgeir had remained sitting in his lazy manner, one hand casually rubbed his stubbly chin.

“Dragon, you say?” he’d asked. His beady eyes studied her.

“I saw it with my own eyes.”

His steward spoke up. “You can’t seriously believe this girl, my jarl. A dragon? They’ve been dead for hundreds of years.”

Siddgeir briefly look over at her. “Nenya, dear, why would she lie?”

“I’m not…” Tara started.

“Don’t interrupt me,” Siddgeir said. He sat up on his throne. “You’d speak to a jarl in this manner?”

Tara bit her tongue. Right. Nobles. Protocol.

“My apologies, sir,” she said and bowed her head slightly.

“You really saw a dragon?” Siddgeir assumed his lazy posture again, as if his spine had limited strength.

“I…” Tara started.

“Think someone’s had a bit too much skooma,” one of the guards muttered.

Siddgeir chuckled. Tara tried to keep a calm face. Why wasn’t he taking this seriously?

“I suppose I can send a guard over to check on Helgen,” he finally said. “But, surely, you saw something else? A troll, perhaps?”

By Dibella, this man.

“I know it was a dragon. Sir. Exactly as legends describe them,” Tara said.

“Sir,” one of the guards said. “We can escort her out. Maybe to the jail, so she can sleep off whatever mead she’s had too much of.”

“I KNOW WHAT I SAW!” Tara yelled. She couldn’t help it. This was ridiculous.

She heard a guard draw his sword. The jarl, though, still sat on the throne lazily, as if her outburst was the most fascinating new toy someone had brought in.

The doors to the longhouse burst open, again, and a guard came running in. Everyone turned to him.

“Sir! Helgen’s been attacked! Saw it on my patrol,” he panted. “Everything’s destroyed. Whole town.”

On this, Jarl Siddgeir sat up, finally looking like a man of importance and power.

“Gather a garrison of men and have them head to Helgen now,” he said to Nenya.

He turned his gaze back to Tara. “I guess we owe you a reward. Nenya, be a dear, and pay our guest here a reward for bringing us this news. Thank you for your service. Now, run along.”

An hour later, Tara was ordering a mead at Dead Man’s Drink, the inn and tavern of Falkreath. She’d left the jarl’s presence and headed for the inn to rent a room and drink. She’d glimpsed the cemetery on her way to the inn. Freta was in there, somewhere. A task for tomorrow. Not today, not after seeing the dragon, the destruction, and the jarl’s attitude. How had Freta grown up in such a place?

Perhaps previous jarls were better, she thought. She had to wonder, though, with such a large cemetery, and an inn called Dead Man’s Drink. There was a sadness here. A long running sorrow.

Tara turned away from the bar to find some place to sit. She almost dropped her drink.

…long, luscious brown hair. The kind you couldn’t help but run your fingers through. And her eyes. The eyes are what drew you in. Her eyes were a golden brown, hazel, with the depth of someone who’d overcome a great loss…

The girl in her…no, not her. Not the woman from her premonition. Not Rigmor.

A gorgeous, tall Nord woman stood near the central hearth fire. She was looking around the inn, as if also looking for a place to sit. Her eyes fell on Tara, and they stared at each other for a few seconds; an eternity.

Talk to her.

Tara quickly grabbed another mead from the innkeeper and approached her. She wore a simple, yet elegant Imperial style dress. A rich blue that suited her. Like every Nord compared to Tara, the woman was tall, though she was more slender than most Nords. Not the muscled physique of Freta, or, well, herself. This woman was trimmer, athletic looking, but not a warrior.

An archer, Tara thought. She was built like an archer.

They locked eyes again as Tara approached. Tara sensed a curiosity from her. She put on her widest smile.

“There’s a small table in the corner, over there,” she said, nodding to the far corner of the inn. “Share a drink with me?” She held up the second mead.

The woman smiled back.

“Now that’s how you approach a woman. Have the drink already in hand.” She gave Tara a mischievous grin. “Offer accepted.” Her voice was rich, yet light. As feminine as her dress.

The hum of the inn died down a bit in the corner. The woman sat in the chair which gave her a clear view of the inn’s entrance. She seemed to scan the room as she took a sip of the offered mead. Tara matched her sip.

“Might I know the name of the woman who has bought me this fine mead,” she asked, letting her gaze fall back on Tara.

“Tara Blaton. And might I know the name of the woman I bought a fine mead for?”

A sly smile spread across her face. “Katla Hammerheart,” she said simply. She seemed to be studying Tara, both physically, as if taking in the sights, and…scanning her like the room, as if looking for something.

“What brings a Breton to Falkreath, of all places?” Katla asked.

Tara paused. Ugh, why did that question hit hard? To visit my dead girlfriend’s grave was a bit heavy to start off the conversation. She fiddled with the Talos amulet around her neck. Freta’s amulet.

“To visit a friend,” she answered.

“To friends,” Katla toasted. “New and old.”

Tara smiled and toasted with her.

“Did you hear about Helgen?” Katla nodded out towards the crowded inn. The constant hum included nothing but talk of Helgen.

Tara swallowed. “I saw it. Saw the dragon. And destruction.” Her voice had dropped low, as close to a whisper as she could get. She didn’t want anyone to bother her with questions about Helgen. That’s what the mead was for…to drive the memory of the dead bodies out of her mind.

Katla’s face grew serious. “I’m sorry. That must have been terrible to see.” The empathy surprised Tara.

“Thank you,” she said. Wanting to change the topic, she asked, “What brings a Nord to Falkre…ah nevermind.” They both burst out laughing.

“I am passing through,” Katla said. “I don’t live here.”

“Adventuring in Skyrim?”

“You could say that,” Katla said. “You?”

A lie. She’s hiding something.

“A brief stop here to visit that friend. Then, off to the College of Winterhold. To learn magic.”

“Going to become the greatest mage there ever was?” The sly grin was back on Katla’s face.

Tara smiled, woefully. “No. That honor might go to my older sister.”

Katla gave her a long look. “I can’t seem to avoid sad conversations with you.”

Tara smiled again. “Sorry. You have any siblings?”

Katla shook her head slightly, and took a big gulp of her mead. “Only child.”

Katla finished off her mead. “Next round is on me.” She stood up and headed for the bar before Tara could respond.

Tara watched Katla. Yes, she had the moves of a fighter skilled in…something. Had to be archery. Or something sneaky. Katla scanned the room again, too. Either looking for someone, or to avoid someone.

As Katla approached with fresh drinks their eyes locked, and both smiled. They drank slowly and people watched, chatting about the antics of others they observed. The bard was good, and they both gave tips and healthy applause after every performance. Tara made a mental note to look up some of the songs she’d never heard before.

The night wore on and Tara grabbed the next round. She’d rented a room already, so she wasn’t worried about getting drunk, but she did want to stay coherent enough. She could feel a healthy warmth in her face, and knew she’d need to stop after this round. What she didn’t know what to do yet was how to see Katla again.

“Are you staying with your friend? Or here at the inn?” Katla asked.

“At the inn. Room already rented,” Tara said.

“Me, too.”

The tavern had quieted down, as most patrons had left, presumably wandering home. The length of the day was starting to sink in. The 17^th of Last Seed. So much had happened in one day.

Katla stood. Tara stood as well.

“I am off to my rented room and a comfy bed,” Katla said. She smiled. “One last question for you.”

Tara held her gaze and waited.

“What made a beauty such as you offer me a drink and excellent company?”

Tara blushed. Compliments were so different when offered by women.

“I turned around from the bar and you took my breath away.”

Katla now blushed.

Before she missed the chance, Tara asked, “May I see you again?”

“I would be delighted.” Katla’s smile was wide and her eyes twinkled with a touch of mischief. “I have some…errands in the morning. Perhaps we can meet here again in the evening? I will be in town for a few more days.”

Tara nodded. “Perfect.” She bowed, reached out and lightly grabbed Katla’s hand. She kissed her knuckles as gently as a breeze.

“Until tomorrow,” she said, and headed to her room.

What a day to remember.

Tara crouched in the shrubbery and studied the bandits.

People had said Skyrim wasn’t civilized, but bandits, with a rock trap right along a major road? Truly uncivilized. Weren’t there patrols to keep these things in check? Tara shook her head. Now, she had to decide if she would try to go around them, or take them out by herself.

The bandits had situated themselves on small cliffs above the road. On each side were wooden platforms, with a bridge running between them. She could make out the rocks held high, ready to be unleashed by a lever onto the road. They could drop the rocks and kill, or block the road with them.

Tara watched for a few more minutes. There seemed to be only two bandits, one on each platform. Ready to release the trap and shoot arrows down on a surprised caravan, no doubt.

That was the big problem. They were both archers. Taking on one would leave her vulnerable to the other’s arrows. And she didn’t have a bow of her own. Just the axes and a dagger.

She didn’t like the idea of leaving them here, where they could attack innocents, but she didn’t see a way to handle them herself.

Get around them, then report them when you arrive in Falkreath, she thought. Surely, the jarl there would do something about them. That was the safe thing to do. Let guards handle the bandit problem.

She studied the area behind the bandit on the same side of the road as her. Thick pines, and the ground seemed flat enough. Plenty of ground foliage to use as cover. She was about make her way deeper and get far behind, and around, the bandits when she first heard it.

Roar was the only word to describe it. A roar of a type she’d never heard before came from somewhere above. Tara looked up immediately.

What was that?!

Like a reflex, her body tensed and she held her breath, as if a scared rabbit hiding from wolves.

The sky was a stunning blue. The day had dawned blue and bright, with few clouds to decorate it. It could not have been a more perfect autumn day.

Nothing. Nothing in the sky. Just blue and the distant clouds near the mountain tops.

She heard it again. A roar like nothing else in this world. Bears, tigers, nothing sounded like it. It dug into your bones and shook them. It was the roar of terror. The roar of death. The roar of a world’s end.

Then, she saw it.

That’s not possible. They’re long dead.

A thing of legend; something she’d read about in history books.

A dragon.

A huge, black dragon was flying above, headed northeast.

The size of it. By the Gods, Tara didn’t even know what to compare it to. Giants, orgres? They were nothing compared to the winged beast overhead.

A sense of dread hit her as it roared again, still heading northeast.

Helgen.

It was heading to Helgen. Where she’d just been this morning.

Tara took off running, heading back to Helgen. She gave no thought to whether the bandits might see her. She needed to get to Helgen, to warn them. Somehow.

---

Tara had arrived in Helgen early in the morning. Half the shops were still closed at that early hour. She’d wanted to get her tasks finished and make it to Falkreath by midday.

Helgen, more fort than town, had been strangely busy. Imperial soldiers were everywhere. Murmurs and talk seemed around every corner. She’d seen the telltale wood block being setup. An execution was happening today. She did not want to stick around for that.

Selling the bear hide, she’d chatted with the shopkeeper. He told her General Tullius himself would be arriving. That a bunch of Stormcloaks had been captured.

“I’m sorry. I’m new to Skyrim,” Tara had said. “Stormcloaks?”

“Nords who follow Ulfric Stormcloak. Think we should leave the Empire.”

“Oh, wow.” Tara didn’t know what to say. What a time to come to Skyrim.

“He killed the High King. Shouted him to death.”

“Shouted?” Tara had blinked.

“The Way of the Voice. Using your voice as a power. A Thu’um,” the shopkeeper had said. “Have to train with the Greybeards to learn it.”

Voice as power. Right. Tara had read something about it in one of the Nord history books. The Dragonborns of legend supposedly had the ability naturally. More abilities, like premonitions, she didn’t understand. Was it another type of magic? Divine wizardry?

“Thank you,” Tara had said. She’d finished up her sale, then headed to the nearby general goods shop. She’d bought more healing potions, and found a couple of simple shirts, to replace the bear ruined one. She’d taken note of the town as she headed out towards Falkreath. Besides the Imperial soldiers, almost everyone else was a Nord. She had spied another red haired Breton, chatting with someone, right before she left the town’s edge.

Well, there you go, she’d laughed to herself. Skyrim is a little more cosmopolitan than Cyrodiil would have anyone believe.

---

Tara sprinted back to Helgen, stopping to catch her breath when her lungs insisted. Why did it feel like it was taking forever to get back?

She heard more roars, and soon, screams.

Tara came around the final corner, the place where Helgen had first come into view to her not that long ago, what now seemed years ago.

She realized she’d stopped and dropped to her knees. What had been Helgen was black smoke, fire, and death. What if she’d lingered and visited with people this morning? She’d be in there.

You’d be dead.

Tara got up off her knees and made a final sprint to the outer walls. She could hear all the fires crackling, raging. Smoke blocked much of her view. She called out.

“Can anyone hear me?”

She realized what was missing from the crescendo of noise from the fires. The thing she’d heard while running, but now was missing in the destruction.

Screams. No one was screaming. No voices of any kind.

Tara stumbled through the smoke. The building where she’d seen the other Breton had collapsed. The shop where she’d sold her bear hide was a smoldering mound. The towers to the fort at least looked to be standing, though collapsed stones blocked the doorways. She stepped towards them, maybe she could help the injured inside. Then she saw the bodies.

Black, burned bodies. Some frozen in a final, dreadful pose. Had the dragon spewed fire at them all? Had they died instantly, obliterated before they knew what was happening? Could feel anything?

Tara realized she was crying, tears freely streaming down her face. The terror they all must have felt in those last moments. So many bodies. An entire town. All those soldiers. That shopkeeper she’d chatted with. He’d been alive just hours ago.

Anguish overwhelmed her and she felt a wave escape, radiating outward. There was nothing left for it to destroy, though. Nothing that hadn’t been destroyed already. She was standing not in a fort or town. She was standing in the middle of an ashen hell, surrounded by collapsing stone. Another reminder fire could destroy stone. At least she hadn’t caused this destruction. All she could do was bear witness. There was no one here left to help.

Calming, she looked up at the sky. Where had the dragon gone? No idea. The sky gave no clues and she couldn’t hear anything outside of the roar of the fires still burning.

She needed to tell someone. If no one had survived this, she was the only one who knew what had happened. Dragons were back.

Get to Falkreath. Tell the jarl.

Helgen was part of his…hold? That’s what they called their counties.

Yes, getting to Falkreath was urgent now. People needed to know what happened here.

Tara turned her back on Helgen and headed to Falkreath, again, for the second time in one day.

Tara leaned against the towering pine and grimaced.

Welcome to fucking Skyrim, she thought.

She looked down at her right arm to assess the damage. Ribbons. Her skin looked to be tattered ribbons. The bear’s claws had cut deep. Her shoulder was pounding in pain. She needed to heal herself fast. Blood was pouring out, a stream of loss she couldn’t survive long.

She used Healing on herself and felt tendons and muscles stitching themselves back together. She screamed with the pain. Even for her, this amount of damage was too much to stay stoic and tight-lipped.

The pounding headache from the magicka drain was intense and Tara let another scream escape, this one of frustration. She examined her arm again.

She was still bleeding profusely, but her arm, and what she could see of her shoulder, had assembled themselves back in some remnants of order. She still had deep cuts down her arm, but she could feel that it would function, the muscles were as they should be.

She needed her backpack. She had a couple of minor healing potions in them. They’d help a lot. The pack sat against a tree, a good ten meters away. She’d have to walk around the dead bear to get to it.

She stumbled to her feet, then promptly back down to her knees. Her head swam, and the world shifted sideways.

“Don’t pass out”, she muttered. She’d bleed out for sure.

Holding her right arm against her chest, she slowly crawled and half slid the ten meters to the pack. She spared a glance at the dead bear, and her axe sticking out of its skull. The other axe lay on the ground closer to the backpack, dropped when the bear tore into her arm.

Reaching the pack, she dug in, found the two potions, and drank them. The bleeding stopped and her skin finished closing. Bright pink streaks of new skin ran across her shoulder and down her arm. Great. More scars.

Tara leaned against the tree with the backpack and stared at the dead bear. No warning growl, it’d been on her before she’d heard anything. She’d been making her way to the small pond in the clearing, to refill her water skins and freshen up. She’d just put down the pack when it attacked. Luckily, she’d still had her axes on her, and not attached to the pack. A reminder her instincts were correct…keep the axes on her at all times.

How long had the battle been? Felt like forever, but time slowed down in these situations. It must have been only a minute or two. Thank Dibella she was fast on her feet and the bear had landed only the one swipe.

No time for rest, she thought. She needed to get her axe out of its head, clean them both, skin the bear, take some of its meat, and then clean herself up. She looked down at her clothes. She was soaked in drying blood, her sleeveless leather armor coated, and she could feel the cloth underneath drenched as well. Skinning the bear would be messy, but its hide would be valuable, and she could use the money. She knew not to let good meat go to waste, either. Take what she needed, and leave the rest to the forest and other hungry creatures.

She also needed to get moving. A dead animal would attract scavengers.

Two hours later, the job was done. Tara stripped naked and slipped into the pond that had been the cause of it all. As she removed blood from what felt like everywhere, she thought about the past weeks.

After Mira left, she’d lasted less than a week with the College of Whispers. Algar had questioned her relentlessly, but Tara kept telling him it was a family matter and would not discuss it.

Rumors flew, though, and Tara could tell she was blamed for everyone’s favorite new person having left so suddenly.

Then, Mira punched her in the gut by letter. Algar received it three days after Mira left. He brought Tara up to the side balcony, the one level with his lab and confronted her.

“I can’t let you continue to study magic here. Not with what I know now,” he said, waving the letter at her.

“What is it you know?” Tara asked. She gave up any pretense of staying calm. The murmured rumors, sideway glances, the continued denial of being able to study Destruction magic had become too much. She was angry. This, too, she could blame on Mira.

“Your sister has explained her concerns about you studying Destruction magic, and the situation overall. Your…lack of control due to childhood events.”

“Childhood events?!” Tara was incredulous. “And did she ‘explain’ her part in those ‘events’?!” She felt a wave building. Mira, again, was denying her.

Algar’s face was still as stone. “I don’t need the details to understand the danger you present,” he said, quietly. His gaze felt like he was studying an interesting gemstone. An object.

“Danger. That’s all I’m told I am,” Tara said. She knew she sounded bitter. “Through no fault of my own, you all refuse to teach me what I want to know. You tell me I’m dangerous.”

She then said what had been eating at her. “No one trusts me to learn to control myself.”

Algar seemed thoughtful for a moment, then glanced back at the letter. He gaze returned to stone.

“I know many things about magic. What happens to you is something I’ve never witnessed, nor heard of. I will not risk this cynosure, or any mages within, to these uncontrollable ‘waves’, as you call them. Your sister is your best bet for assistance with them.”

So, Mira had told him about them.

She should’ve made an effort to stop it, though Tara doubted it would have made a difference.

A wave emanated from her and knocked Algar back. It forced him to sit down on the bench he was next to. Shock, awe, and fear took over his face. He seemed briefly torn with fascination at what had happened. He then stood back up, defiant.

“You proved your sister’s point,” he said, letting anger enter his tone. “You need to leave. Now.”

“I…I shouldn’t have allowed that,” Tara started.

Algar cut her off. “You’ve assaulted me. That wave is no less than a punch to my face, a fireball aimed at my head. And proof of what first happened when you arrived here. You can’t control yourself. You are no longer welcome here.” He went back inside and left her on the balcony.

Packing up to leave, the stares from everyone only intensified. As Tara made her way out the front entrance of the spire, she let tears freely flow down her face. She had proven Algar right in that small moment. She knew it.

Outside, at the bottom of spire, just as she was about to turn onto the path and make her way down the mountain, a hand gently touched her shoulder. She turned around to see Shara. The one person who had not stared, gawked, or muttered things behind her back.

“College of Winterhold,” she said.

“What?” Tara asked.

Shara gave her a quick smile. “The College of Winterhold. It’s in Skyrim.”

“I…thank you,” she said. They hugged, briefly.

“Follow your dreams, Tara. I believe in you,” Shara said. She gave one more flash of a smile, then turned and went back inside.

Tara had made her way to Bruma and spent a few days at the Tap & Tack. It’d been good to see Colin and Eris again. She bought a map of Skyrim from a local merchant and studied it. She made a plan. Winterhold was across the province from where she’d cross the border. It could take weeks to get there. She’d stop in Falkreath first. Visit Freta’s grave, and parents. Maybe.

I’m finally going to Skyim, Freta, she’d thought. It felt good. She was ready to pay respects, then start this next adventure in life. Cyrodiil had been a bust, in so many ways. Maybe a college of magic so far away from any others was the perfect place to learn. And grow.

She’d gathered supplies and headed for the border.

Tara climbed out of the pond and shook off as much water as she could. She laughed for a moment, a real laugh for the first time in a while. If anyone wandered by this instant, they’d get quite a show, she thought. Thank Dibella she’d maintained her fitness. If she hadn’t kept up axe practice in between lessons at the College of Whispers, the bear would have been even more of a problem.

Tara dressed, packed, and laughed at herself again. Should have filled up the water skins before bathing, she thought. She wasn’t about to use the pond right now as a source. She listened to the forest, closing her eyes.

What little of Skyrim she’d seen was majestic. She was off the first road that had split away from the border road. Rich, deep pines surrounded her. She could hear the wind swaying the tops of the pines. A hawk called out somewhere high above. Then, she heard it. A bit distant, but she heard the rushing of a stream somewhere nearby. She could fill up the water skins there, and maybe camp for the night.

She’d been headed to Falkreath, but being unsure of the distance she’d decided to take that break and detour to the pond. Now, it was late afternoon and she didn’t want to be on the roads in this new land, alone, at night. She still wasn’t sure how safe the roads were for a single, little Breton woman.

The stream sounds brought her more northeast, away from Falkreath. She found it after a short hike, bubbling happily with cold, fresh water. Filling the skins, she looked around for a good place to camp. She found a flat area, at the edge of where the trees gave way to an outcropping of stones. It was a defendable position and not an area anyone would pass through, she figured.

As she setup camp, she looked at the map. She wasn’t too far from Helgen, a fort and town noted on the map. Perfect. She could stop there in the morning, get more supplies, including more healing potions, sell the bear hide, and then head to Falkreath. Maybe splurge and get another set of clothes. She was doubtful she’d ever get all the blood out of her cloth shirt. And she didn’t have much spare clothing. Hide armor, leather armor…which needed a deeper cleaning, and her mage robes, which she had no intention of wearing until she got to the College of Winterhold.

Yes, Helgen would be good. She could meet some local Nords, get refreshed for the journey, and feel more presentable when she got to Falkreath to visit Freta’s grave and find her parents.

As night came on, Tara studied the stars. She could make out the constellation of The Warrior. Appropriate for Last Seed, she thought.

The night was quiet and Tara had no dreams.

“What?! Why?” Tara asked Mira.

They stood on the top-most balcony, away from the ears and eyes of everyone else in the spire. Mira had asked Tara to meet her there.

Despite summer being in full swing in Cyrodiil, the balcony remained cold. This high in the mountains, seasons changed the view below, but not the frigid wind that constantly blew.

It was late in the month of Sun’s Height and Cyrodiil was in its full color glory as far as the eye could see. Greens and reds dominated the landscape, with the exception of Bruma and the surrounding county. A little less snow, but plenty of it remained to beat back the greens of fertile farmland.

Mira had been at the College of Whispers since last Sun’s Dusk. So many months together. Tara couldn’t have asked for anything better, or more rewarding. She’d always been in awe of her sister. Time together had replaced it with respect and renewed love for the person she saw, not the reputation that preceded her.

Mira was confident and serious, and she had a genuine passion for magic and everyone trying to learn and understand it. Her presence here had brought an excitement to learning and exploration. She was still researching the teleportation pads with Algar, but she’d carved out time to assist everyone with lessons.

When Tara had confessed, and released, her guilt over Freta’s death those months ago, it’d brought them closer. Mira had reinforced the bandits were the ones to blame for Freta. That even with the Heal Other scroll, Freta probably would have died.

“Magic cannot truly stop death,” she’d said.

Now, eight months later, and Tara felt more healed from that grief and guilt than ever. Times of sadness still landed, and she thought of Freta daily, but the crushing guilt had left. If there were stages of grief, she was past whatever that one was.

The peace, and happiness, of these past months was being threatened now.

“I don’t think you should continue studying Destruction. Switch to something else,” Mira repeated. “Alteration would be an excellent school.”

This would explain why suddenly Algar had her divert to Alteration lessons. He’d said something about “waiting until you finish grieving”, but Mira’s influence was now obvious.

“You didn’t answer me,” Tara said, her voice low. “Why?”

Mira looked out past the balcony, seeing, but not seeing, the view. Tara watched her face run through emotions…anger, fear, determination…guilt? Mira turned back to Tara.

“I…” she paused. She crossed her arms and closed her eyes for a moment, then aimed those intense pale blue eyes at Tara. “I think it’s dangerous for you to study Destruction.”

Tara stared at her. She felt her anger building. Why did she know this conversation was coming?

It’s her fault.

“Why is it dangerous?” She tried to keep her voice steady.

Mara pursed her lips and looked down at the ground. Her arms remained crossed. The cold wind blew her raven hair around her face, obscuring it for seconds at a time.

“Little Tara,” she said. “There are things you don’t understand about magic. Things I didn’t…don’t…understand myself.”

Tara had never seen Mira like this. There was a pleading sound to her voice. She kept looking away.

“What did you do?” Tara asked. She didn’t want to hear the answer.

Mira looked at her for a long time.

“I…I don’t fully understand what happened,” she said.

“What did you do?” Tara’s voice was raised. She couldn’t help it. She needed to know.

“I was only thirteen when it started. You were barely a year old.” Mira wasn’t looking at her. “I had no idea. None of us did.” She paused, still staring at the ground. “Tara. I’m so sorry.”

“Maybe look at me when you apologize.” Tara heard the anger in her voice. She felt heat rising in her face. “And tell me what in Oblivion you’re apologizing for.”

Mira looked up at her. There was a sudden determination in her face.

“I came here to do more than research the teleportation pads,” she said. Her voice was serious, steady and strong. “I also came to study you. To see how well you were learning magic.”

Tara blinked. “Study me?”

“I wanted to see you,” Mira said. “But, also, I needed to observe you. I needed to understand how…everything had affected you.”

Tara felt tears sprout. She blinked them back, then walked to the railing, turning her back on Mira.

“I’m not an object, you know.” she muttered.

Mira came and stood next to her. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

Tara pushed away from the railing and stood in the middle of the balcony. She felt more tears form. Mira still hadn’t answered the question. She didn’t want to hear the answer, but it was beyond time she did.

“You still haven’t answered me,” she said. “What did you do? To me?”

Mira crossed her arms again. She was struggling to stay serious and focused. Tara could tell she wanted to cry.

“Father insisted,” she said. “I don’t think he understood any of it. And Mom was no help. You know that.”

“Mira…” Tara said. She wanted to cry, but anger was creeping back. Why wouldn’t she just answer her?

“When you had your…fit while trying to learn Heal Other, I knew I’d have to stay and study more. Read every book here. Try and find something.”

“I call them ‘waves’,” Tara said.

Mira looked at her, then cast her eyes away. “Good description,” she nodded.

“I need you to answer me,” Tara said.

Mira looked at her again and set her jaw.

“I thought if I saw which schools of magic you struggled with, and found something in a book I hadn’t read yet…there are so many here…it all might point me in a direction to help you.”

“Did you find anything in all these books?” Tara couldn’t keep the bitter tone out.

“No.”

“So.” Tara crossed her arms. “You study me like a…what, strange new plant you’ve found…”

“Tara…” Mira interrupted.

“I’m not finished!” She embraced her anger. No more games and avoidance.

“You study me like I’m one of these teleportation pads. Claim that you want to help me. And won’t tell me what the fuck it is you’re going to help me with!”

Tara clenched her fists. “You want to ‘help’ me? Tell me what you did to me!”

“Tara…” Mira started.

“You’re the reason I’m terrible at magic. Right? That’s what all this is? All this avoidance. All this ‘don’t study that, little Tara’. All the times you wouldn’t teach me any magic when I was a kid. Writing to the Synod about my temper. Coming here now and encouraging Algar to keep me away from Destruction.”

Tara swept her arms out. “Here, with the Whispers, I’m finally learning magic. Making progress. That scares you.”

“I’m here to help you…”

“You’re here to stop me from learning Destruction magic. Out of all the magic, it’s always the one you wanted me to avoid the most. Why?”

 “You know why,” Mira said. She was angry now. “It’s right there on your nose. Those scars.”

“These scars are because you wouldn’t teach me anything. With a family history of strong mages, with you being such a natural. And no one would teach me! I had to try and figure it out on my own.”

“I was trying to protect you!”

“No, you weren’t,” Tara said. “It’s something else. Don’t lie to me.”

Now it was her time to plead. “Tell me what this is all about. Tell me why I struggle so much with magic. Please.”

Mira started crying. How long since Tara had seen that? The day Mira had left home for good, when Tara was eight.

“It’s my fault,” Mira said as tears streamed. Like so much about Mira, her crying was reserved, calmer. Not the intense outbursts Tara had. “I should’ve stopped when I realized the harm it was causing. But I didn’t.”

The top-most balcony had one small bench to sit on. Mira sat down, clasping her hands, alternately looking at the ground, then Tara.

Tara found she couldn’t move.

“When you were barely one year old,” Mira said. “You produced flames, right out of your hands. You almost burned the house down.”

Tara blinked. She had no memory, of course. Too young.

“Father didn’t know what to do. None of us did. So, he had me use Calm on you. It immediately put you to sleep and, of course, extinguished the flames from your hands.” Mira straightened up; her tears had slowed.

“He met with Arkan, who said a child producing magic so young had massive potential, the likes not seen in an era or more.” Mira sighed. “He also warned, it could be a dangerous sign. That you might turn out like our ancestor, Tara Geonette. That regardless, you were too young to control it, so best for all involved that he either take care of raising you, or we find ways to keep you calm. Until you were old enough to study magic.”

The world was coming in and out of focus, shifting on Tara. She felt unsteady, and sat down on the spot, on the ground.

Mira looked at her with pleading. “I…I was jealous, Tara.” She started crying again. “Father did make me use Calm on you too much. Every day, he insisted I calm you when I first woke up. He seemed to think that would keep you settled, and there would be no chance you’d set anything on fire.”

“And I…I went along with it because…” Mira swallowed hard. “I was jealous and scared.”

She did something Tara had never seen her do before. She bit her lower lip.

“If you were this powerful, naturally, as a small child,” she continued. “Where did that leave me? Father would have pulled me out of magic training with Arkan, and had you learning. You would’ve been incredible. I would’ve seemed ordinary. Not so special, after all. And Father would’ve insisted I marry some arrogant noble boy.”

Tara stared at her. She was numb, the cold wind couldn’t touch her. All that her body could focus on were Mira’s words.

“I really didn’t know at first that the Calm spells were doing any lasting harm. No one did. But then, when you were five, you had your first fit…sorry, waves. That day we picked flowers when Mom and Father were fighting.”

Tara felt herself nod. She remembered that day. Like so many, an intense sadness surrounded the memory.

“Now, instead of being afraid of flames, we were scared of any emotional outburst from you. By then, Father had been lying to Arkan. I was gone so much, he did need scrolls for the days I wasn’t there. But, he didn’t tell Arkan they were using them daily. And having me calm you on the days I was home.”

Mira swallowed hard. “When Arkan would ask about you coming to learn, Father would lie and say you weren’t creating magic anymore. It’d seemed to be a fluke.” Mira wiped tears from her face. “And I went along with the lies.” She whispered that last part.

Tara spoke. She almost didn’t recognize her own voice. It was as cold as the wind.

“I had more magical potential than you.”

Mira looked at her cautiously.

“Yes.”

“But you all suppressed it. And my emotions. For my entire childhood.”

“Tara…”

“And put me to working the farm, hard labor, as soon as you could.”

“Tara, please…”

“Father kept trying to marry me off. Even when he knew I didn’t like men that way.”

“Tara. I didn’t know…”

“But you did.” Tara fixed her eyes on Mira. “You were afraid you’d be stuck with the life you all forced on me. You all knew as soon as I had that first wave, that you were hurting me. When I was only five, you already knew it was causing damage.”

Mira remained still.

Tara stood. “But you kept using that spell on me. Every day, all of you. For my entire childhood.”

The wind caught Tara’s hair, tossing strands of deep red across her face. With her intense green eyes, she momentarily looked like a Divine goddess, ready to pass judgement.

“You ruined me.”

“Tara. No…”

“You’ve ruined my ability to learn magic. You’ve made it so hard for me to control my temper. And these waves. I destroy things when they happen. I can’t control them. I scare myself with them.”

“Let me help you with them. I’m sure we could find a way to…”

“STAY AWAY FROM ME!”

A wave escaped from Tara, and knocked Mira off the bench. In that moment, it gave her a sense of joy to watch.

“I could destroy this entire tower, tear down this building and kill everyone inside it,” she said, bitter. “All because of you, Mom, and Father.”

Mira slowly stood up. She looked scared and ashamed. Shame. Finally, the emotion that was long overdue for Mira to express.

“You are my family. You were all the ones I was supposed to be able to trust the most,” Tara said. She felt fresh tears form. She was tired. So very tired.

“I was your little sister. You should have protected me. Now, I can’t trust my own emotions. I can’t trust I won’t kill someone I love because I can’t control fire. Or these waves.”

“Please let me help,” Mira said.

“Stay away from me. You’ve ‘helped’ enough. You need to be gone by morning.” Tara left the balcony. She couldn’t look at Mira anymore.

The next morning, Mira was gone.

Skyrim

Tara startled awake. She sat up and looked around. Frostcrag Spire was dead quiet. Everyone was still asleep. What woke her? The dream. She’d had that dream again.

No, premonition.

She laid back down on her bed; finally, all of them had beds to sleep in now, no more sleeping cot. She stared up at the high, round ceiling. She could hear Rahi’s steady breathing somewhere nearby. The only sound on the entire floor.

Go to Skyrim.

That was different. It was the same premonition. Of the woman, Rigmor. As before, Tara had a sense she was protecting her, along with someone else. There was fighting, she remembered the sound of swords clashing against each other.

She wasn’t going to Skyrim. Not yet. She wasn’t ready to visit Freta’s grave. Besides, Mira was here now.

Mira had been here for three weeks. Tara thought back to the last time they’d spent so much time together. When she was, what, eight? Mira had left home for good when she was twenty, Tara eight. Since then, she’d only seen her sister for a week or two, once, maybe twice a year. That had stopped when Tara was fourteen.

Things here at the spire had been awkward at first. As children, they really hadn’t spent enough time together to bond. The age difference, Mira always off to lessons in town, Tara working the farm as soon as they could put a rake in her hands.

And the waves. You remember what happened.

Tara pushed that thought away. They’d warmed back up to each other, and Tara was enjoying the stories of Mira’s travels. In a way, they were now bonding for the first time.

Later in the morning, Mira came down from Algar’s laboratory, where she’d been spending most of her time.

Mira smiled at her. “I’m finished with my primary research on the teleportation pads. I have some spare time now. Mind if I work with you on your lessons?”

Tara’s face lit up in a smile, broad and radiant, contrasting the subtle, cautious one Mira had expressed.

“That would be fantastic!” Tara exclaimed. “I’ve been practicing cold spells and…”

“I want to work with you on Restoration,” Mira interrupted.

“Oh,” Tara said, confused. “I…”

“Algar told me you struggled with it,” Mira interrupted again. “I believe I can help your Healing improve, and help you learn Heal Other, plus get your ward spells started.”

Tara was confused. “Algar said I didn’t need to study that anymore. I’m clearly not cut out for it.”

Mira tilted her head. Her gaze was steady. Her mouth in a firm line.

“Little Tara, you can learn. Restoration is important for anyone studying Destruction. I know what I’m doing. Let me help.”

Maybe Mira could help her. Maybe this was Mira trying to make up for refusing to teach her when they were kids.

She did more than refuse.

Tara nodded. “Okay. I would like to learn…” her voice caught. It still caught these months later. “I’d like to learn Heal Other. It’d mean a lot.” Her voice faded on the last sentence.

Mira gave a slight nod. Tara had told her about Freta. Not everything. Not the burned scrolls. Not yet.

Mira did know what she was doing.

Within two hours, Tara was better with Healing. Mira’s teaching style clicked for her. Stern, steady, and quick to the point, she passed on information and small tips that helped Tara understand the spell in a way Banris’ efforts, and no book, had. She could now save herself if seriously injured.

After lunch, Mira helped her with Lesser Ward. Again, small tips led the way and Tara was able to produce a small ward. It wouldn’t really protect her from any magic, but being able to see the small, bluish circle of symbols in front of her had been exhilarating.

They sat together on a bench while Tara’s magicka recovered. The headaches from the draining were still ferocious and quick to arrive.

“You’re doing well,” Mira said. “I’m proud of you.”

Tara nodded. There was a touch of amazement to her voice. “I’d given up any Restoration. What you said made sense, though.” She smiled. “Thank you. Truly.”

Mira stood up. “Let’s get Heal Other off the list, then.”

They went outside to the practice courtyard.

“Now,” Mira said. “I find no one can learn Heal Other unless there’s an actual injury to heal.” From her belt Mira pulled out a dagger, a simple iron one. Tara hadn’t even noticed it, the folds of Mira’s mage robes had hidden it well.

“I’m going to make a small cut on the top of my hand,” Mira said. “Just do your best.”

Tara felt her lungs cinch as Mira drew the dagger across the top of her hand. The cut was as minor as one could be, a thin line of blood ran from the cut, but it was no more than a cut one might get cutting up vegetables for dinner.

Tara stretched out her right hand, hovering it over the cut. She couldn’t take a deep breath, her lungs remained tight. Just try, she thought. She knew the words, had the knowledge from the spell tome she’d read before. Nothing happened.

“Keep trying,” Mira said. “Imagine the cut closing.”

Tara found her eyes focused on the thin line of blood. So thin, almost harmless. So like the thin line of blood that had run from Freta’s mouth as she died.

Tara dropped her arm and stepped back. Tears were forming. She blinked them back.

“I can’t,” she muttered.

Mira hovered her hand over the cut and it healed instantly. “We’ll give it a moment and try again,” she said.

Tara listened as Mira gave some tips, about how to focus differently for Heal Other versus Healing, how to imagine taking away someone’s pain, the importance of staying calm under stress. Tara felt herself twitch on that last part. Calm.

Always trying to calm you. Always suppressing you.

“Ready to try again?” Mira asked.

Tara nodded silently and took a deep breath. She did want this. She could do it.

Mira cut her hand again. Tara reached out with her right hand. Her lungs cinched again. The thin line of blood on Mira’s hand became Freta’s. Now, Tara could see all the blood pouring from Freta. The river of blood from the neck wound. The river of blood that was too much for anyone to lose. Tears rushed her eyes and Tara couldn’t stop them.

“I can’t.”

“Just concentrate…” Mira started.

“I. Can’t.” Tara felt herself tremble.

Mira’s face was flat, watching. “Little Tara, you…”

“Don’t call me that!” Angry. She was suddenly angry. “I can’t do this.” She felt herself tremble again.

Mira healed her cut quickly. “I’m sorry, Tara.” That last bit had a tone of condensation, as if she was angry for being told to drop the pet name. “But, I know you can do this.”

The image of Freta bleeding, and shaking her head that minuscule amount at Tara one last time wouldn’t leave.

“I can’t!” Tara stepped back. She felt another tremble and more tears. “I couldn’t…” She felt a sob escape.

“Couldn’t?” Mira asked. She looked confused. And scared. She’d seen the trembling.

The tears and sobs wouldn’t stop. Neither would the image of Freta, of reaching for her face and hair one last time. “I couldn’t save her. I should’ve saved her.” Tara was on her knees.

“Don’t blame yourself,” Mira’s voice was quiet, and she knelt down with Tara. “There’s nothing you could’ve done.”

“I could have saved her. The scrolls. If I hadn’t destroyed them.” The trembles were getting worse. She could so clearly picture the burning scroll of Heal Other.

“Scrolls?” Mira sounded confused. She reached out her hand and put it on her shoulder. “I don’t understand. Calm down and tell me.”

Calm.

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” Tara shouted. A small wave escaped her. Mira flinched. Or was pushed. Tara didn’t know.

She was angry, so angry. Why did Mira always tell her to calm down?

Because your rage destroyed those scrolls. Your rage killed Freta.

But Mira didn’t know that part. And Mira wasn’t who she was angry at right now. Not really.

Tara took a deep breath. “I…I had scrolls. Barlin had given me scrolls. One of them was Heal Other. I destroyed them all. I should’ve had it with me. I could’ve used it on Freta.”

She looked at Mira with imploring eyes. “Don’t you see? I could’ve saved her, if I hadn’t destroyed it. Hadn’t destroyed it when Barlin tried to give me those Calm scrolls.”

Understanding dawned on Mira’s face. “Oh, little Tara.” Her voice was soft, so rare for her. “I’m so sorry.”

Tara felt Mira’s arms envelope her. She gave up holding back any tears or sobs and released the guilt that’d been eating at her for months.

Mira held her tight. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to.

Tara steadied herself in front of the stone wall.

“I can do this,” she muttered to herself. “I don’t need their help.”

She raised her right hand and pointed it at the wall.

She stood at the edge of Wayrest’s city limits, facing an ancient, collapsing wall that had once surrounded this part of the city. She was as far away from the farm, and merchant district, as she could get. Now, to hope no one came by, especially anyone who might recognize her.

Tara closed her eyes and imagined a fireball, like the kind she’d seen Mira create over the years.

Growing up, it was rare she could watch Mira practice. Mom and Father always tried to keep her busy and away from Mira’s practice sessions, but she’d snuck away enough times to admire Mira’s magic skills. She hadn’t seen Mira in three years, but memories of her big sister’s practices were engraved in her memories. She could do this.

Mira created magic spells with such ease. Surely, Tara could create them, too, with a little more effort. Considering no one would teach her, she’d figure this out on her own.

“Concentrate,” she clenched her jaw in effort. “You can do this.”

A warmth enveloped her right hand. Tara opened her eyes long enough to see a small flame floating in her hand. It vanished as soon as she dropped her focus.

I did it!

She’d produced fire magic! And she didn’t even feel that drain mages talked about.

Again. She could do this again. She raised her right hand again, closed her eyes, and felt warmth again in a few seconds. When she opened her eyes, the flame was a little bigger and lasted a little longer.

The day’s light changed as time lost meaning to Tara. Late morning light shifted to the bright, strong blue of afternoon on a cloudless day. A gentle breeze picked up at some point. Each flame was brighter, and Tara could hold them in her hand longer. She’d briefly tire, but never got those drained magicka headaches she’d heard about.

Finally, the flame became a fireball. She’d done it! She admired the spinning ball, its warmth in her hand, and its crackling hinting at its danger.

Send it to the wall. Test its power.

The fireball faded. She felt the twinge of a headache.

Yes, she thought. She needed to fire it at something. To see how well she could aim. Just point her hand, right? She wasn’t sure. It was just an old, unused wall. If she misfired, it wouldn’t hurt anything or anybody.

One more fireball, aim it, fire it, and then be done for the day. Yes, she could do this.

Tara steadied herself again, raised her right hand, pointed at the wall, closed her eyes, and felt that warmth, that intoxicating warmth that hinted at danger and power.

Release it.

Tara opened her eyes and sent the fireball at the wall. It was big, far larger than the previous one.

Too large.

The wall exploded. Fire and flames filled her vision. Pain suddenly seared her face.

Tara fell to the ground. “Ahhhh!” she screamed. She was blinded by the flash of the flames. She put her hands to her face.

The searing…it came from her nose, and under her left eye. She pulled her hands away. Her vision was blurred, but she could make out blood and black dust, pulverized stone, coating her fingers. If her eyes would just stop watering so much.

Tara lay on the ground, fighting against the lingering pain. She pressed the sleeve of her shirt against the spot under her eye. It stung, but she felt better after a few minutes. The bleeding stopped and her vision cleared. The searing pain morphed into a stinging throb.

She looked back at the wall. She’d obliterated it. At least six feet of it was now blackened stone laying around her in smoldering fragments. The explosion must have sent a piece of stone right into her face.

You’re lucky you didn’t lose your eye, she thought. She didn’t know fireballs could do that much damage. Mira had just made tiny ones the times she’d watched her. They’d been harmless to stone.

Yours was far larger. More powerful.

Tara climbed to her feet and checked that she wasn’t injured anywhere else. She needed to get away from here. Someone must have heard that explosion, and her scream. She didn’t want the attention.

She stumbled and half ran the long way through the field, towards home. How was she going to explain her face? She needed a mirror, to see what the damage was. Too bad there wasn’t a still pond nearby to look at her reflection in. She’d just have to slip into the house unnoticed, see the damage, and come up with some excuse for what had happened. She wondered if it would leave a scar.

She almost made it back into the house unseen. The chickens clucked too much, stirring loudly for their dinner when she came into the yard. It was late, too late, and they were hungry.

Fortunately, it was Mom, not Father, who was home.

“What did you do?!” she said when she saw Tara’s face.

“I…uh…when I was at…” Tara struggled to think of something. Errant dog bite? Falling tree branch?

“We’re having Sir Rodyn Masterton’s son, Tristard, over for dinner tomorrow!” Mom yelled. “For you! Now you look like…this.”

She dragged Tara over to the mirror they had in the sitting room. Tara took in the damage. The left side of her nose was burned skin, with two cuts running from the middle of her nose to just under her eye. Not bad, considering how much it still hurt. Or what it could’ve been.

“…find a healing scroll…”

Her mom was digging through the end tables in the room.

“Mom, it’ll be fine. It’ll heal…” Tara started.

“Tristard will not want to pursue you looking like that!” Mom said.

Right. Some noble son over for dinner. For her.

“I don’t care,” Tara said through suddenly clenched teeth. “I’ve told you and Father before. I don’t like men like that.”

“That’s just a phase, Tara,” Mom said. She’d walked into the kitchen, still searching for a scroll. “You’re seventeen now. We really should have had you dating nobles sooner…”

Her hands were now on her hips, scanning the room for any possible places she’d missed where a healing scroll might be. She hadn’t looked Tara’s way since dragging her in front of the mirror.

“Mom!” Tara yelled. Her mom jumped and looked at her now. Tara saw fear…real fear…on her face.

“I’m not dating any noble’s son. Or any man. I am not interested in men.” Tara set her jaw. Why did they keep ignoring her on this?

Mom stared at her for a minute, seeming at a loss of words. “Well, I’m sure the right man would look the other way, for your…interests, as long as you…”

“Mom! No!”

There was that fear again. Mom was scared of her.

“When your father gets home,” Mom said, unsure. She was averting her eyes again. “He’ll straighten this all out.” She was straightening her dress, as if unsure what to do with her hands.

“I’m going to go feed the chickens,” Tara said. Mom was going distant again. The conversation was over.

Feeding the chickens, Tara had her first thought of leaving home. The threats and fighting with Father that night sealed it.

She started planning.

“Tara!” Mira exclaimed and held out her arms for a hug.

Tara let herself be enveloped by her older sister’s embrace. She closed her eyes and felt the warmth of Mira’s love. For a moment, the world was perfect.

Separating, they held each other at arm’s length and took in the other, memories mixing with the changes in each’s appearance in the years since they’d last visited.

“How long has it been?” Mira asked, smiling. She briefly ruffled Tara’s hair, as she’d done when Tara was small.

Tara took in Mira, noting the changes in her big sister. Still tall and thin. Tall by Breton standards, anyway. Mira looked down on her, even with them both fully grown. Mira’s face was longer and thinner, always carrying a look Tara had thought of as serious. A true student of magic, Tara had once thought. That face belonged to an academic. In this moment, Tara had her first pang of that sternness, that seriousness, coming from something else. It was a tired kind of serious.

Small laugh lines had started to appear on Mira’s face, a tiny reminder of their twelve year age difference. Mira was thirty-one now. She’d always carried a weight of wisdom beyond her years. She looked to Tara both thirty-one and much older.

Her hair had perhaps changed the most. Beautiful raven-hair, the deep black of her hair now had occasional strands of gray, a little less of the blue-black from their youth. Like Tara’s, Mira’s hair had gentle, natural waves, that Mira currently kept a bit longer than shoulder length.

One thing that hadn’t changed was her pale blue eyes, so striking against her black hair. Her eyes drew you in and held you. Tara remembered a young man, perhaps trying to court Mira, once described them as “entangling”.

“Five years,” Tara answered. “Gods, I was only fourteen.”

“I do wonder where the time goes,” Mira answered. As always, her voice had a rich quality, with a tendency to sound condescending. Tara chalked the condescension up to her big sister’s superior magical prowess, and that she didn’t suffer fools.

“Welcome!” Algar said as he stepped forward. “It’s an honor to have such an esteemed mage as yourself here to visit our little cynosure.”

Mira nodded at Algar. “I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see Frostcrag Spire for myself, considering its history. I hope my stay won’t be much of a burden to you.”

“I look forward to conversing with a mage of your talents and knowledge,” Algar said. His tone was eager, almost giddy, Tara thought.

“Did I understand your letter correctly,” he asked. “You’re interested in the teleportation pads and our study of them?”

“Yes, I am,” Mira said. “But, might I be shown my room first?”

“Forgive me. Where are my manners?” Algar said. “Shara!” They’d all been standing at the entrance, Mira greeting Tara the moment she’d stepped inside.

Shara was nearby, near one of the pillars by the entrance, as was every other mage. Tara had been peppered with questions about Mira these last few days, once everyone realized Tara was her younger sister. Tara knew her sister was well-known, and had some sway with the Synod. But the College of Whispers, too? Tara had spent the days awaiting Mira’s arrival feeling more eyes than usual studying her as she practiced. Judging her. Only Shara had been respectful with a complete lack of inquiry.

“Please,” Shara said to Mira. “Let me show you to your room on the second floor.”

Algar, Mira, Shara, and Tara walked towards the platform that would take them up one floor. As they got to it, Algar, who’d been excitedly explaining the basics of it to Mira, turned to Tara.

“Please study alchemy with Rajo down here,” he said. “You can visit your sister at dinner time.”

Tara watched them all teleport up. Mira had given her a slight nod of reassurance before disappearing from sight. Tara bit back her disappointment and went to work with Rajo.

Later, after dinner, Tara showed Mira the top-most balcony. The day’s light was fading behind the mountains. The White-Gold Tower of the Imperial City shone golden in the last light.

“What a view,” Mira said. She wrapped her mage robes around her tightly, against the cold wind, and leaned on the railing. She looked over at Tara with a warm smile.

“It is so good to see you, little sis.”

Tara smiled and stood next to her, also leaning on the railing. “We shouldn’t wait so long to see each other.”

Dinner had been a delight. Everyone’s spirits had been high. Mira’s arrival had brought a vibrancy to the day. She’d regaled them all with tales of her recent visit to Black Marsh, and her time in Elsweyr, visiting Torval and the Tenmar Forest. Tara had leaned back and admired the way Mira could command attention. Her confidence as a master wizard captivated everyone.

Mira nodded. “Yes. Five years is far too long.” Her face grew thoughtful. “Have you written to Mom and Father?”

Tara frowned. “No.”

“In the last letter I received from them, they asked me to tell you they miss you.” Mira looked at her, her eyes searching.

Tara held her gaze, letting her anger at her parents shine through. “I bet I’m missed. No one to do the chores on the farm. And Father can’t try and marry me off to some fucking noble boy anymore.”

Mira sighed and nodded. “I told them you were well. They don’t know you’re here.”

Tara smiled. “Thank you.”

“To a better subject,” Mira said. “I am here to study the teleportation pads. There are scholars everywhere who want to understand them. They may hold a key to revolutionizing travel throughout Tamriel.”

She stepped back from the railing. “But, I want us to spend time together while I’m here. I want to see how you’ve progressed. Maybe help your magic training?”

Tara felt her mouth drop open. She quickly closed it. Throughout their childhood Mira had, seemingly, gone out of her way to avoid teaching Tara any magic. She’d so avoided helping Tara, it’d led to Tara experimenting and eventually earning that scar on her nose.

“Really?” she asked. “You’ll help me?”

Mira smiled. “Yes, little Tara, I want to help.” She’d used “little” the way she had when they were kids, endearingly. “It’s the least I can do.” There was a small catch in her throat.

“Mira…that would mean so much to me.” Tara felt her own throat catch.

Mira’s smiled widened. “Come here.”

They hugged again, this time holding the embrace, letting the distance and time fade away. Once more, the world was perfect.

Tara ducked and dropped to the ground as the stone target burst and fragments flew. She didn’t need another scar on her face. She looked over in time to see Shara do the same.

Well, that didn’t go as planned, she thought.

Shara stood up and dusted off her robes. She looked at the destroyed target, then over at Tara. Her face seemed caught between fascination and anger.

Tara slowly stood up, knocking snow and dirt off her robes. Fortunately, they’d been practicing outside, in a courtyard on the backside of the ground floor. It was walled off with thick, ancient stones, near the stairs Tara had first climbed when approaching the tower.

“Tara,” Shara said, her voice had a veneer of anger and exhaustion mixed in it. “You want to explain that to me? I said a controlled fireball.”

Tara swallowed hard and looked at the smoldering, destroyed target. “I was imagining a fireball, like you said. It didn’t feel big in my hands when I released it.”

Shara stared at her and shook her head. “I’ve told you before. You need to bring forth your magic, any magic, with your eyes open. Closed eyes are for novice amateurs.”

“It’s just easier…”

“I don’t care what’s easy. You can’t control what you can’t see.” Shara barked. “Early on, for those who have a hard time calling forth magic, closed eyes works. You have no problem calling forth fire.” Shara narrowed her eyes and gave Tara an intense look. “Closing your eyes makes you dangerous. Don’t do it.”

Tara nodded and studied the ground.

“Let’s work on lightning spells,” Shara said. She stepped back from Tara, to give her room. Tara admired her smooth, confident body movements. Even under heavy mage robes, Tara could tell Shara had an abundance of curves. Curves reserved for Rajo, it seemed. Rajo was studying Conjuration, was considered adept level. He was a stocky Redguard and had come to the college a few months after Shara, a number of years back. Tara had observed them whispering together in quiet corners of the tower. She’d even heard a rare giggle from Shara.

When Tara had first come to the tower, she’d wanted to avoid Rajo. The memory of the bandits she’d killed, the ones that’d killed Freta, was too recent. She didn’t want to trust any Redguard, much less a male one.

Rajo turned out to be a gentle giant, though. He was soft-spoken and polite to the point of irritation. He and Tara had bonded over the shared childhood experience of one’s parents putting unrealistic expectations on them. In Rajo’s case, as the only son, he was supposed to become a warrior, but had displayed magic abilities early, so had gone on to study magic instead.

“Keep it to the spell Sparks,” Shara said. “Hit the target on the left three times. Eyes open, Tara.” Tara caught her serious look.

“Right.” Tara steadied herself and aimed her left hand at the target. It took more effort, far more than fire, but she managed three quick bursts of sparks at the target, before a sudden headache from low magicka hit her. She sat on the nearest bench to recover.

“Good.” Shara nodded. “Do it again when you recover enough magicka.”

“Sure,” Tara said, rubbing her forehead. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Go ahead.”

“I don’t get tired like this after fire spells. My magicka doesn’t drain the same. Any ideas why?” Tara studied Shara’s face for any reaction.

Shara was thoughtful for a minute, staring at the destroyed target. She then looked at Tara with inquisitive eyes.

“I don’t know,” she finally said. “I’ve read my share of history books of great mages. Have never heard of it. Certainly, all mages have schools they’re better at than others. Nothing like what seems to happen with you.” She turned back to study the target.

“Would you say you have a lot of rage? Old anger? From, I don’t know, some sort of injustice?” she asked.

Tara sighed and studied the destroyed target. She didn’t want to talk about her childhood in any real detail. And certainly no more about Freta’s death than she already had.

You could have saved her.

“I guess some. Wasn’t an easy childhood.” She shrugged at Shara.

Shara laughed. “You don’t lie as well as you think.”

Shara stood up. “Perhaps Algar can shed some light on the possibilities. He’s forgotten more about magic than I’ll ever learn.” She pointed to the targets. “Come on. One more set of three Sparks at the left target. Then, you can call it a day.”

As Tara stood to do just that, Algar stepped out into the courtyard.

“Tara,” he said. “I have a letter for you.” He handed her an opened letter. He stood, waiting for her to read it.

Tara scanned the letter. Note, really. There were only a few sentences on it. She folded it quickly and tried to assume a passive face. She wasn’t sure it worked.

Algar, having clearly read the letter, said, “We’ll prepare a guest room for her on the second floor. She should have plenty of comforts, for a mage of her status. She’ll have access to my laboratory, of course, as she needs.”

He turned to leave, then turned back to Tara. “Based on the date of the letter, she should be here in a few days. You’ll have some allowances on study time, of course. Keep up with your lessons, but you’ll be allowed plenty of time to visit with your sister.” He turned and left.

Tara sat back down on the bench and stared at the letter, in disbelief. Mira was coming to the college.