II - Helgen

There seemed to be no end to the southern rains, wind whispering through the trees and thunder grumbling distantly overhead. Merill and Kiseen rode in silence, hoods pulled up over their faces, their horses’ hooves squelching on the muddy trail. Merill’s euphoria at their triumphant escape had faded fast ten minutes out of Markarth, when Kiseen had slumped over on her horse from an arrow in her shoulder. There had been a terrible moment of hesitation before Merill wound back around to help her, fearing that same guilt over Brelin and Nalimir that had haunted her for five years.

I - South

Years passed.

The girl found solace in a straggly gang of youths a bit older than she that nearly killed her when they caught her robbing the house they were squatting. She impressed them when she took three of them down in a heartbeat, finishing with a knife to their leader’s neck. They were ex-miners from Markarth’s brutal silver mines, not content with the abuse and misery that went into the meager jobs and instead retreating to the bridges above the city, relying on petty thievery and brawls with other street rats to survive.