Riften was big, but above all it was cramped. The dusty alleys had to give way to a cobbled central market before Kat stopped fearing the houses would fall over on her. Passing over a bridge, she peered through the cracked railing to get greeted with murky water at most thirty palms below. The stench was that of pure cliff-fodder. She retreated in shivers and slid on around the locals. Endelle was taking the brunt of the puzzled looks, something Kat was grateful for.

The Bee and the Barb, on the other hand, smelled far less threateningly of salt and and fish and mead, and there was that cut to the nose again. What was it? Where was it? Aching muscles weren't helping. Kat tried to channel the perverse metallic air through her mouth instead - and ended up vividly reminding herself of a panting dog. The image was such a hit to the gut that she would prefer not breathing altogether.

She couldn't falter on the decision for long because Endelle's claws took her wrist and moved her into a corner with the care and softness of a rockslide.

A dagger? Force that woman? Was she mad? But this was Endelle, Kat's thought echoed again. No demand was too mad. One more sickeningly playful gesture, and the other was gone from the room. Another person might exit with a swirl of cloak or hair. Endelle just ceased to be there.

The room seemed darker now. Kat's limbs were tensing up. Was she just now in a nest of murderers, ready to receive another dagger somewhere else any instant? The monstrous innkeeper just handed her a mug for her gold without a second glance. Shortly some boy with a grin too wide swiveled toward her on his stool, but didn't insist on coming closer. Kat thanked the aethers for her tangly hair and draugry eyes.

Studying the bottom of her tankard let Kat ignore her knotted inside and noisy outside for a moment. Could she just run from this town of terror, abandon all hope, and go lonely again? Unlikely. Endelle might as well have eyes everywhere. She couldn't trust Arra to be safe either - the dragon in her wake probably had orders to bring her back or kill trying. Her mind weaved back and forth like a bleeding buck in the bushes. Each new thought struck the shrubs close by, sending it zipping again through lashing branches and tearing thorns. Not one managed to nail it down. Kat's whole self felt unreal.

Unreal. If this really was unreal, how would she do it? In the stories Ventus had used to tell, a knife to a bandit's throat was a common tool when bargaining for one's life. A person could be snuck up on like a beast, wasn't that right? Kat swept the tavern with her gaze, avoiding sudden movements as if the patrons were easily startled deer. Her target's tablemate was out of sight! The burly warrior rested alone in her chair, barely moving a muscle. If this was how Kat would go, she would take it. It was what father would have wanted.

Kat made her way to a nearby table behind the stranger, wishing she had Endelle's carefree gait. No one moved a toe. For what seemed an hour, she crawled up to her unfortunate target. The woman, it was painful to note, just would not turn. On the last steps Kat's blood foamed with the knowledge that everyone in the room was watching and she was about to die, but just at that breath her arm sailed around the woman's neck, putting the edge in place. She could see the skin slide a little from the touch.

"Huzrah, kendov. Hi fen kos ko..."

Kat was part of the floorboards with a searing pain in her wrist and her lungs had forgotten how lungs worked. Portraits of upside-down men loomed over her. One held what she thought a knife, but the woman's unseen voice sent them away into the noise of the tavern, chortling and throwing glances under their shoulders. After a season in hibernation, an arm pulled her up. It placed her limp form on a chair.

"Praal, kon. Zu'u drey hon nol gut. Wen kredmalur los hi? Pruzaan gelaar wahzaal."

The commanding tone shoved a spear into Kat's already melting mind and suddenly it all came flowing free. Words she didn't know she had assembled themselves to tell the tale of an evil huntress who killed without looking and had her and another as hostages on a terrifying journey from old Whiterun to the tattered edge of the known province. She stumbled all over the story, the realisation brought blood to her face in droves, but somehow managed to avoid the dragons and wolf blood - in the letter if not the sentiment. They weren't important anyway. Endelle was a danger, she was scared, and everything else could go get the black cough.

While the parts of Kat that she couldn't hold back sobbed and rambled on, the woman's face would furrow and melt and furrow again. She asked but never interrupted. Mjoll, she identified herself - in the thickest Nordic turns of tongue Kat had heard on this side of the Jeralls. Kat flinched as she handed her Endelle's dagger, hilt first. The two walked to a gaunt robed man hunched by the door.

"Curio! Mein lost vuld. Mu gon daar sul."
"Orin nalkun? Zu'u lost ko lor tol hi neh lahvraan muliil..."
The man flinched the very same amount as Mjoll's elbow stopped just short of his belly.
"Min'raan, min'raan!" He noticed Kat. "Wo rek?"
"Gein mu spaan. Dein vonuz. Ahrk ter wah sinne: suldsevahlut, hi vis lif."

Mjoll led the way out, speaking kindly as if Kat hadn't almost joined the murderers a while ago. How could one person be this firm and this warm? And what had gone wrong with Kat herself?