(AN: I nearly cried trying to figure out the date, I hate time skips like this one, but it’s necessary. ): )

3rd of Suns’ Height, Fredas, 197 4E

Gray skies cover the green landscape.

A gloomy shadow hovers over a small village, up in some hills, with only a few trees.

But despite the daunting atmosphere, the townsfolk are happy, and carefree.

Small children run through the streets, laughing happily.

Small bits of sunlight occasionally break through the cloud cover.

But a dark shadow lurks among the rooftops.

A mask hides what looks to be an Argonian.

Faded black and red leather covers the lizard, making it obvious what he is.

A steel sword glints at his side, as he carefully makes his way to a large, wooden building. A large, wooden, oil covered stick sits on his back.

The assassin enters, and carefully moves around the large building, finding his next victim.

Faint shouting then catches the lizard's attention, and he turns a corner.

A few Bretons are arguing about politics, and other crap. They don’t notice the assassin as he slowly moves towards a large fireplace.

He stays in the shadows, until he reaches his target.

He pulls out his torch, and sticks it in the fire.

The Bretons turn to look at the disturbance in the merrily crackling fire, and gasp when they see the Argonian.

He smirks, and throws the torch at the wall.

A few seconds later, screaming is heard, and the lizard is escaping the building as it quickly catches fire.

The arsonist flees, relishing his victory in his mind, as the once cheerful town starts screaming, and trying to stop the fire.

–

I wake up gasping.

Annoyance quickly overcomes my terror, as I realize that yet again, I’ve woken up way too early, and have probably lost most of my sleep.

I decided I might as well give up trying to sleep, and that I should do something other than sit on a bunch of furs and straw, boring myself to death.

I grab the hunting bow I’ve been using, and carefully walk outside, relishing the cool air.

Fireflies buzz around, crickets chirp, and the faint sound of drunk Bosmer fills the night, giving off a peaceful atmosphere.

I start walking around the mostly quiet streets, trying to keep my mind off of all my worries.

‘What’s going on with Mother? She’s usually not this quiet . . .’ I think to myself, failing to relax.

‘And Frey didn’t come back tonight, did something happen to him? And what about the dream . . .’

I grumble, trying to strangle my thoughts, and failing miserably in the process.

I then stumble across a couple of guards, gossiping about the day's work.

“All this standing around is boring, I wish something would just happen,” I hear one of them say.

“Well, there was that werewolf the other day, maybe it will come back and we’ll have something to kill,” the other one says, looking thoughtful.

“No, someone chased it off, don’t you remember? Or were you too drunk that day . . .”

“Well, speaking of those travelers, what do you think they’re up to, and why do they look so weird?”

“Well, there’s that older lady, I’m assuming she’s a mother, and those two younger ones . . . You’re right, they do look very pale.”

I chuckle to myself in my mind, but quickly silence my thoughts, because they started wandering to Father.

“And they have blue eyes . . . that’s not possible for Wood Elves . . .”

A small rustling outside the gate catches my attention, and the guards quickly stiffen. They turn to look at the gate, just as Frey steps back in.

He silently nods towards them, and makes his way to the inn we’ve been staying at.

I start to follow him, trying to be quiet, but then freeze as I hear the guards talking again.

“We should do something about them . . .”

I quickly go over to Frey, and poke his shoulder.

He yelps, then turns to look at me.

“Freyja! What are you doing out here?” he hisses at me, looking uneasy.

I shrug, then shiver, remembering the strange dream.

“Come on,” I tell him. “We need to talk.”

He follows me, looking worried.

We stop near a tree, and he asks me what I want.

I tell him about Mother, and ask him if he knows what's going on.

“No,” he says, looking confused. “I mean, I’ve noticed it too, but I don’t know what’s going on with her. She’s usually a lot more comfortable around her surroundings, and she should be, especially here.”

“Well, I think we need to ask her sometime.”

We walk back to the inn, but then Frey stops me.

“Freyja, what do you think of becoming a werewolf?”

I stop, and backtrack, turning to face him.

“Why? I mean, it might be cool, but I’d probably lose more sleep than I already am.”

“Think about the afterlife, Freyja.”

I do, and realize he has a point. Hircine claims all werebeasts and other worshippers in the afterlife, and puts them in his hunting grounds. Most Daedric princes do similar things, like trapping them in their own realms to serve them forever.

I honestly think Hircine's afterlife would be more ideal, because it’s more of a challenge to stay there.

“Well,” I say slowly. “I don’t think we’ll find anything here.” He nods.

“When we go back up to Cyrodiil, or Skyrim, there might be something.

“What about Mother though?” I ask, looking uneasy.

“Father said he asked her once, and she didn’t want that future. I think she would still say no, and we have no idea how to turn anything,” Frey tells me, looking sad.

I nod, and we head back towards the inn.

I think about the strange dream as sleep begins to overcome me once more, and what the guard meant when he said, ‘do something about them.’

I also think about Mother, and her strange behavior recently.

She hardly ever acts like this, and only when she knows something bad is going to happen. Or when she thinks we’re in danger of something.

‘What could it be this time?’