A Cat and His Girl (Tana/Kazahan Moments)

[Kazahan]

The Rift was not one of Kazahan's usual haunts in Skyrim. Trolls and bears were plentiful in the forests, especially closer to the sloping white sides of the mountains where snow fell soft and silent and slow enough to make one think the flakes were suspended on little strings. In addition to the wildlife, the Jarl and her people were staunchly supportive of Ulfric and his Stormcloaks; Khajiit were not looked upon with anything less than suspicion. They were little more than Thalmor spies or agents. In nearly every city in Skyrim Kazahan was barred entry unless he had business with someone already inside and the paperwork to show for it, and he knew he would have to send in Tana to buy supplies if a caravan was not nearby, if only to save himself the trouble of having prices hiked and goods withheld from him.

Tana Little-Bear was enthusiastic and young; two things that did not endear her to the thirty year old Khajiit. She needed experience and knowledge before she could be useful. Innocence was a flaw.

"Before Khajiit will send you into a city with my gold, especially one with a reputation like Riften," Kazahan said lowly to the Nord girl, "you will learn the value of the most important items to travellers: food, potions, and metal worked items. Nothing else."

Ahkari watched them with muted interest and amusement, and nodded to Kazahan as he sat across from the Caravan leader.

"It has been some moons since Khajiit has laid eyes upon you, Kazahan," she said. "Not nearly enough time for you to become a father of so old a child, especially one without a tail."

"Of course she is not my child," Kazahan hissed, cutting off Ahkari. "But as long as she is with me, I will make her useful. She has her own vengeance, and in return I will make her able to visit it upon whatever unlucky soldiers or mercenaries have so stirred her ire. But she has no real skills. So now she will learn how to buy and sell things."

"One of the most crucial of skills is to estimate value," Ahkari nodded, and turned to look at the girl. "How much will you pay Khajiit for this time and lesson?"

Kazahan snorted.

"How much gold could you have fleeced from such a child? And certainly you could not have done so to me."

Ahkari glanced over to Kazahan, who pushed over a thick Saber Cat pelt, folded over. Within was an assortment of objects and potions to be sold. The Caravan leaders eyes once more took in Tana.

"Speak, child. Kazahan will not speak for you."

[Tana Little-Bear]

Tana Little-Bear didn't pout, but she certainly did look crossways to Kazahan with a well-practiced scowl. Her short time with him had been hard, and she was beginning to take on certain habits and behaviors that her much older caretaker demonstrated on a daily basis. She certainly didn't hate him, even if there had been a few instances that she'd voiced the sentiment in the heat of some form of admonishment from him. Her words were normally ignored, and it was usually not a very long time before she grudgingly admitted that no, she did not hate him.

Now though, as she turned her sour disposition to Ahkari.

"I know that," she snapped out of instinct.

A deep breath, but her guard was still up, and her next words nearly accusatory.

"How do I know that your lessons are worth anything."

[Kazahan]

"I would not have brought you to her if she was worthless," Kazahan said, but there was a slight tone of amusement in his usually humourless voice.

"She has your cutting tongue, Kazahan," Ahkari said, annoyance flitting over her ears. She kept her eyes on Tana though. "Allow me to show you why he brought you to me."

She flipped open the sabercat pelt and looked down at the assortment of goods.

"If you want to make real money, you should sell food. Fresh food, travelling food, any sort of food. All people are your captive audience then," the Caravan leader said, picking up and eyeing an orcish war axe. She looked up at Kazahan, who returned her gaze lazily.

"I will give you five gold pieces for this," she said. Kazahan snorted.

"Ridiculous. It is an Orc weapon. Well balanced, not dull. You would charge me well over one hundred gold pieces for such a thing. Fifty."

"That's almost half it's value, Kazahan. No no no. Fifteen."

"This one can drop to thirty."

"Make it twenty five and we will agree."

Ahkari counted out twenty five gold pieces and Kazahan handed over the war axe. With the axe in hand, Ahkari turned to look at Tana.

"How much would you charge for this weapon, girl?"

[Tana Little-Bear]

"Seventy five."

Her arms crossed over her chest as punctuation to her answer.

"It wasn't easy getting that thing, and I'd charge for the effort in getting it on top of what it's worth on its' own."

Tana pursed her lips, giving a little bit more thought.

"I would also have taken fifty, and two healing potions, though."

The girl gave a scrutinizing look to Ahkari then. It was not a look of prejudice or distrust, but more a look of a studious nature. She watched and tried to learn from facial expressions. A sniff, and the girl nodded to herself.

Yes, she was satisfied with her answer.

[Kazahan]

"There are three problems with the price you are asking," Ahkari said. "First, you assume that your effort directly effects the price of your wares. Time and effort only effect value when a service is ongoing. Protection and magic are the most expensive. If Khajiit had asked you to retrieve certain items, then you can charge for time and effort. But if you come to sell and trade, an item's value is linked only to the value others will place in its usefulness. A waraxe, for example."

The Khajiit lifted the weapon.

"There are many weapons like this. That diminishes its value. It is Orc made, which increases its value. It is used, which diminishes its value. It is in good condition, which increases its value." Ahkari set the axe down. "Who will buy it? How big is that market? How much are they willing to spend? How long will this one need to hold on to this before it is sold? I ask myself these questions. I must pay and feed and water the others in the caravan, I must pay for other merchandise, and often this one must bribe guards to set up nearer to the city. I must pay Ri'saad for the money he has loaned me to start this caravan. Buying goods at so close to actual value will leave me without a single coin. And this is a business. At the end of the day, I must have coin left over, or for what purpose am I running this venture?"

She fixed Tana with an inscrutable slit eye.

"One should know, and do not share this information or the caravans upon learning of it will never do business with you again, that merchants will usually not go above a third of the item's value. Sell your wares with this in mind: if an item is valued at thirty septims, this one will sell it for thirty five and buy it for no more than ten."

[Tana Little-Bear]

She would never dream of divulging the information that Ahkari offered, but it would be silly to voice that fact. Instead, she let only a simple nod drive home the point.

Still though, Tana couldn't help but try to claw for as many credits as she could, and biting her lower lip, the girl made a face.

"I shall find an amulet of Zenithar, then. And people will pay what I want them to."

[Kazahan]

There was a swift beat of silence where Ahkari said nothing but just looked at the girl wryly, but her retort was lost by Kazahan starting to laugh. At first it was just a few huffs through his nose, but within moments he was full on laughing and slapping his knee.

"Amulet of Zenithar!" he gasped in Ahkari's direction. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"I wish you luck, girl," Ahkari gritted out underneath Kazahan's laughter. "They are rare and hard to find unless perhaps the gods favour you. But perhaps they do."

The merchant leaned forward.

"Khajiit does not remember ever hearing Kazahan laugh. Have him tell you the story sometime. But this one's pride can only take so much right now and he will not quiet. The lesson is over."

[Tana Little-Bear]

At that, Tana rocked back on her heels a bit, looking questioningly to Kazahan.

"I don't get what's so funny about it," she finally grumped, her eyes narrowing.

[Kazahan]

"No," Kazahan gasped as his laughter finally died down. "You would not."

He didn't explain any further, shaking his head and standing up.

"If the lesson is over, then let us stop wasting time, yes? The shop keepers await you."

[Tana Little-Bear]

Her first day in the marketplace hadn't been bad, but it hadn't been great either. Her haggling skills were less than impressive, but Tana found a slight edge in making herself seem just a little bit more pitiable than she really was. A few 'inconsequential' sniffs, a slight bite to her lip in some cases, and she was able to at least talk a few people down by a septim or two. Not much, but it was a start. Her wanderings through the city weren't in any way limited to the market, and she found herself meandering around the docks for a short while, watching as the fishermen went about sorting their daily catch.

An hour later found her passing through the small cemetery, behind the Jarl's longhouse, and even into the company of a few of the city guards. One of them, a woman, told her some stories. Nothing long, but they were interesting all the same. The other, a great big burly man, was leaning against the stone wall, his helmet off and resting in the crook of his arm as he bit into a sweetroll. He chewed, swallowed, then pinched off a small portion before handing it down to her.

"You look like my little one," was the simple explanation for his unexpected generosity.

"Oh."

But she accepted the gift none-the-less, and it had been a long time since she'd last had a sweetroll.

The woman only smiled as she knelt down.

"Well, don't stay out too late, girl. When it starts gettin' dark, it's best to be home."


And as the evening sun dipped low in the sky, the girl took the woman's words to heart, passing through the city gates once more and out to the small encampment of Khajiit. She could already see Kazahan, sitting at a small fire, two small silverfish and a bit of venison roasting on a makeshift spit.

[Kazahan]

Sometimes life was humorous.

An orc-maiden, barely five years older than the Girl, challenging him to single combat, for instance.

'I will die before going back to Larak!' She'd said, drawing her sword, ignoring her male companion's dying wheezes while his blood stained the stones of the road.

"You are too slow," he grunted to the prisoner, nudging her ungently with the hilt of his sword. She snorted even as she tripped and barely kept her feet. "We will arrive at Mor Khazgur either way. Dragging your feet will not save you."

"They will take me, but not allow you entrance to the stronghold," she said. Kazahan hummed.

"If that is true, then this one will simply take you elsewhere and free you. Or kill you. Khajiit has not decided yet. Which would you prefer?"

Morag the orcess looked at him with no small amount of fear. She glanced down at the little Nord girl who seemed to be the Khajiit's companion.

"Is... is he serious?" she asked.

The day was bright and shining, and Kazahan and Tana were on their way to return an Orc who'd thought to escape her lot in life.

[Tana Little-Bear]

She'd walked in silence during a majority of their trek, her thoughts far away and very much not on the prisoner that Kazahan intended to return to her fate. Only when the Orc woman addressed her did Tana blink, finally looking up and over to meet dark, fearful eyes. Musings over where they would be headed to next vanished in a split second, and with a grumbled curse, the girl eventually let out a muttered prayer to Talos beneath her breath, asking for patience.

"He's always serious," came her answer after a long moment of locked eyes.

Blue gaze narrowing, Tana Little-Bear frowned as she looked from the Orc to Kazahan.

"I bet we'll get at least enough septims to buy more potions," a thought, "... or at least some ingredients to make our own."

Of all the things that her Khajiit mentor had taken upon himself to teach her, perhaps the strangest thing that she'd found a keen interest in was potions, and the myriad of ingredients that could be combined to concoct such magical elixirs.

[Kazahan]

Morag glanced between the two of them and frowned.

"It figures," she spat to the side. "Listen, maybe we can make a deal."

Kazahan ignored the young orc. Instead, he focused on the Girl.

"Are we already low on supplies?" he asked. The Girl was already his superior in alchemy; though to be fair his interest waned beyond simple healing elixirs and potions that loosened traders' pouchstrings.

Morag fumed.

"Listen, I can —" Kazahan shoved her forward with the hilt of his sword once more.

"Quiet, or perhaps you may not make it back to the stronghold alive."

[Tana Little-Bear]

For now, she ignored the Orc's protestations and Kazahan's dutifully rough treatment. Instead she focused on the running tally that she was putting together in her head.

"Well, a few of the healing potions were used the other day after we ran into those frost spiders... " An involuntary shiver at the memory. Frost spiders were the more terrifying creatures to find in Skyrim; not because of the danger, but... well, they were spiders. Big spiders.

"And I used the last of the defense potions when that pack of thieves tried to rob us."

There were other things that she wanted as well, like a cup of milk and maybe even a pheasant thigh if she could scrounge up enough coin.

[Kazahan]

"How could you not tell where or even when they were going to spit?" the Khajiit asked crossly. "They are spiders. Not subtle creatures. Usually."

Morag grumbled to herself about it being ironic that he was criticizing another's lack of subtlety. Kazahan prodded her again.

"But if we need the supplies then this one will not kill the bargaining chip."

[Tana Little-Bear]

She wanted to retort, but bit her tongue at the last moment. It would do no one any good, especially since it was in the past. Course, still didn't make frostspiders any less creepy and nerve-wracking to face.

"I'll be happy with anything," she sighed while kicking a rock down the road. A thought, and she looked back up to Kazahan.

"Maybe I can try some of that Honningbrew mead, finally?"

[Kazahan]

"If it does not waste any gold, you may drink your fill," Kazahan answered in his usual short tone. He seemed ready to continue, but a glint of sunlight off metal in the distance caught his eyes. His pace slowed; his hand loosened the two-handed sword in its sheath on his lower back. Tana perked up, noticing his tension, but he ignored her, waiting for the distance to shorten.

But that glint held a tint to it.

A minute passed. The towering Khajiit growled, and his left hand gripped the Orc girl by the back of her neck. She cursed and spat, but he kept his attention ahead.

"Girl," he grunted. "To this side of the road. Say nothing. Look at nothing."

The glinting was now apparent to all three of them.

Thalmor.

[Tana Little-Bear]

Of course the call to look at nothing was met with wide eyes cast ahead, trying to pick out the glinting in the distance. She at least obeyed, moving to the side of that Kazahan gestured to, but curiosity held powerful sway over the young, and Tana answered its' siren call without thought.

It was when the small group came into full view that she let out a gasp, one hand falling to the pommel of her steel dagger. She didn't draw, but the knuckles of her fist turned white with the force of her grip.

For a few moments she wondered if these particular Thalmor were responsible for the deaths of her parents; the odds were high that they were not, but still. One Thalmor was just like the rest; haughty, evil, and good for nothing but pushing up purple mountain flowers. She recognized the robes of one, a judiciar no doubt. She'd seen enough of those sort to know one when she saw one. The other two wore the gleaming golden armor of soldiers. There was no doubt that one or all three of them knew magic.

A fourth person caught her attentions then, in much more shabby state than his escort. He was ragged, and wore almost nothing save for torn trousers and a stained shirt. His hands were bound before him, his head bowed. Shaggy blonde locks told her that he was Nord. Stormcloak, if she had to guess. Who else would a group of Thalmor be dragging about?

"They've a prisoner," she hissed without thinking.

[Kazahan]

"They do. And you will say nothing."

Kazahan's grip did not lessen on the Orc girl, even as the Thalmor tromped up the road to them. A mage walked at the head of the line, his robes slightly dirtied. His eyes quickly took stock of the three travelers before him: the Nord, the Orc, and the Khajiit, and his expression smoothed into a professionally superior expression.

"Move to the side of the road, and do not make any movements," he said with a loud and clear voice. "We will not hesitate to end you. If you wish to die, go ahead and try us."

"We are already to the side of the road," Kazahan replied, his voice deeper and seeming to grind rocks into dust with its tones. The mage frowned and looked at the towering Khajiit more closely.

"Do I know you?" the High Elf asked, more himself than Kazahan.

"No," Kazahan answered anyway. "You do not."

The Elf frowned but straightened. "If you find any worshippers of that pretender, Talos, you will remember to tell them the Thalmor are coming for them."

"Of course," Kazahan said, his voice betraying nothing.

[Tana Little-Bear]

Tana bristled at that, but by the graces kept her features from screwing into a look of hate. Rather, the girl bit her lip as she let her brow knit in frustration, and shifting on her feet, looked from the Thalmor to Kazahan, then back to the Thalmor. Instinct trickled through though, married to a deepset caution and a small bit of fear as she sidled closer to the Khajiit and very nearly leaning against him.

But then her gaze shifted, to the prisoner. He was haggard, the rags he wore as clothes offering a paltry amount of protection from the elements. He had a scruff, the beginnings of a beard that she could already tell would be streaked with grey, much like the wild mane atop his head. His ice-blue eyes never left the ground, and the fingers of his hands were clenched into fists despite the shackles he wore. But it was his features that made her look twice. The way the scar cut along his cheek... that prominent, wide nose...

And without thought, Tana let out a gasp.

"Skjor... ?"

[Kazahan]

The elf's eyes darted to Tana, and then to the prisoner.

"You know this man?" he asked, though it sounded more like an order. He glanced back to Kazahan, who simply stared at him.

"Of course she does," Morag blurted out. "She's a Talos worshipper too."

"She is my prisoner and desires to escape," Kazahan growled. "She lies."

[Tana Little-Bear]

Her mouth clamped shut in an instant, and when the Orcess spoke up, trying to level an accusation, Tana cut a sharp sideways glare to her. A pinched expression pulled her features into a scornful frown then, which soon enough turned into a scowl as she stepped just a little further behind Kazahan.

"He looks familiar," came her defiant growl.

"Being a Nord doesn't make me a follower of Talos," she couldn't help the angry rumble. Which was a new thing, admittedly. Had she picked it up from Kazahan?

By Talos, she couldn't help but inwardly flinch, Kazahan will black her eye for this.

[Kazahan]

"I can prove it," the Orc girl hissed, tearing herself away from Kazahan's clawed grip. The Thalmor smirked, before stepping forward.

"We'll take the girl," he said, his tones radiating a calm and assured superiority. Kazahan cocked his head.

"No, you will not," he rumbled. The Altmer sneered.

"Don't throw your life away so rashly, cat," he spat. "Especially not for someone like... her."

Kazahan's hand rested on the hilt of the greatsword on his back.

"One swing, and this one can split you in half," Kazahan growled. The Thalmor smiled mirthlessly.

"It will take hours to cleanse the scent of burning fur from my nose," he responded, his hands suddenly alight with flames. There was stillness for only a moment, before Kazahan drew his sword at the same time as the Thalmor soldiers did the same. His sword was longer, and one powerful thrust spit an elf through his breastplate; Kazahan pivoted and pulled the spasming soldier into the path of the Justiciar's flame spell.
'
He took only a moment to glance back and see Tana standing almost directly behind him, before placing his foot against the dying soldier's chest and kicking him off his blade and into the mage with considerable force.

[Tana Little-Bear]

She'd sought refuge for only a moment after Kazahan's blade cleared free of flesh. In the next instant she came around him like a whirling Hagraven, dagger in hand and brought to bare with wild efficency. She remembered her Khajiit guardian's lessons as though they were second nature, sweeping in before flicking her wrist and stabbing straight inward. Her target was the Justiciar, and the High Elf backpedaled quickly. Short legs ate up the distance with ease, and Tana Little-Bear looked past those flaming hands to the prize at the center. The prize of a Justiciar's blood on her hands. Perhaps it was offhand justice for her mother and father?

Either way, the girl saw only her target, and with a feral cry that she'd picked up from Kazahan, the Nord girl dove into the fray like a wild sabrecat.

[Kazahan]

Morag stumbled back, sliding down a tree as she watched the incredibly fast and brutal melee. The little girl had set her eyes on the Justiciar, who was dancing out her dagger's arcs with ease as flames sprouted around his hands. She had closed in quickly, but was unable to finish the Altmer and it was only a matter of a moment before the elf would have the positioning to cast his deadly magicks on the girl.

At the same time, the monstrous Khajiit was giving the whole combat a new sense of the word 'brutal'. Immediately after kicking the spitted soldier off his blade, his clawed hand had flashed out and grabbed one of the smaller soldiers by the throat, and simply held him while wielding the greatsword with one hand; a heave of the sword had clashed loudly against a mace-wielding Thalmor, knocking his mace off to the side and himself to the ground, where Kazahan had simply raised one booted foot and stomped down on the helmeted head.


"Ahh! Ahh!" The Thalmor soldier screamed in pain and clutched at his head, while the Khajiit moved on. The last remaining soldier stepped backwards, sweat and panic beading on his face. The Khajiit strode inexorably forward, his eyes fixed on the soldier.

"Stay back!" The Thalmor shouted. "Stay back, damn you!"

Kazahan stopped, and with a little flip of his wrist held his sword in a reverse grip. Glancing off to the side, Kazahan saw the Justiciar raise his hand to immolate the Girl. Kazahan settled his feet, and tossed the choked soldier at the mage, and with a shift of his weight back to the other foot, hefted the sword like a javelin and hurled it at the last soldier, spearing him through the neck.

[Tana Little-Bear]

She had seen the hands raise, seen the beginning of fire magic blossoming from those soft, slender fingertips. And for a moment she had seen her death. But Tana was a little bear. That was why her father had given her that name; she bulled on with fierce determination in the face of impossible odds. So it was now. Facing a very real, very fiery death, the young Nord committed herself to the battle, her white-knuckled grip on her dagger tightening more.

And then...

A body.

It seemed to materialize from behind her, sailing over her head like some flailing Azura's Star talisman, to crash into the Justiciar. Both went down in a tangle of limbs, and Tana surged forward.

She pounced on them, winding herself past the thrown soldier until one hand found the softer robes beneath, and without hesitation, Tana thrust her blade forward. She felt it cut through fabric, the the flesh beneath. A hand grabbed her wrist, and with a yelp the girl nearly recoiled at the burning sensation now engulfing her arm, but like her namesake, her cry turned into an angry shriek as she pushed her entire weight behind her killing blow.

[Kazahan]

The Justiciar's flames went out, but he did not die immediately.

He gurgled, his gloved hands pressing against Tana's face, pushing her away from his as his body arched in pain and fear, eyes wide and fixed on Tana while he tried to process the fact that he was dying.

Behind them, Kazahan stalked over to the elf with his sword spitting his throat, and reached down, pulling out the dripping blade with a wet visceral sound, which was covered mostly by the screams and gasps of agony of the Thalmor whose helmet was crushed to his head. The Khajiit took his time walking over to that one, and placed a booted foot on the mer's head. One visible eye, wide with pain and tear-filled terror, turned to regard him; his screams quieted to whimpers and small keening sounds, and his writhing became small twitches. The hands that had been occupied with trying to push the warped metal off his head went to the Khajiit's booted foot, ineffectually trying to push him off.

"Your whimpers are music to this one," Kazahan growled, dark satisfaction oozing from his low toned voice. "Khajiit revels in this. Keep fighting."

He used the tip of his sword to push the breastplate down and reveal the cloth covered neck as he spoke, and placed the blade gently in the hollow of the soldier's collarbone. A gloved hand gripped the blood-soaked blade, but Kazahan's strength kept it in position. An ugly smile opened his mouth and showed his fangs.

"No, no," the elf sobbed. "I— I don't—"

Kazahan applied the merest of pressures to the sword; blood smeared the blade where it slid against the soldier's gauntleted hand; and with a soft, muffled popping sound, it pierced the undercoat and skin, cutting off his victim's pleas to soft choking gasps. He kept the blade there, watching the Altmer weep and open his mouth in a silent agonised scream. After a short moment, he pulled the blade free and watched with ugly satisfaction as the elf coughed and choked to death.

"May Oblivion's worst plane be the only one to accept your soul," he cursed the soldier with an even gravelled tone.

[Tana Little-Bear]

Not the instant kill that she had hoped for, Tana let out a snarl that mimiced the sort she'd often enough heard from Kazahan. The hands on her face only made her angrier, and the little Nord redoubled her efforts.

The blade came free, flicking up for the briefest of moments before plunging back down into the body beneath her. Out again. Down again. Each time she felt her hands smear with the elf's blood more and more until flecks of red nearly reach her elbows. And still she stabbed into the body that had become the recipient of every ounce of vengeance she could muster. This stab was for last week's nightmare about being chased by the Orc Imperial! This stab was for not being able to wear her small Talos necklace! This stab was for having to huddle close to a fire instead of being in her old home! A litany of reasons for each and every one.

Tears had begun to flow even as the girl felt the Justiciar's hands slide down her face, down her arms, and to the ground. She didn't care, and she didn't stop.

Through ugly, angry tears she did not stop.

[Kazahan]

Morag shivered, scooting back further against the tree as the Khajiit turned from the dead Altmer soldier to look at her, before calmly viewing the Nord girl stabbing the mage continuously.

Beside them, the Thalmor soldier he'd thrown began to cough violently and gasp for air as his wits returned to him. Kazahan looked at the soldier with an opaque expression, and stalked over to him, even as the Girl stabbed the mage for the twentieth time. Kazahan stalked past them, his shadow looming over the dead mage and living Nord for a moment; Morag couldn't push herself any farther away from the specter of death that he'd become.

He reached down and grabbed the High Elf by the hair and dragged him away from the girl and her victim.

"Ah! Damn you!" the elf sputtered. "Let go!"

Kazahan let him go. The elf sprawled and quickly pushed himself to his knees.

"I'll—" He cast the Khajiit a swift glare, and his last sight was the glint of a bloody sword as it cleaved through the air and through the nape of his neck, clipping the breastplate and breaking with a loud snapping noise. The elf flopped back, his head hanging from his body by a few centimeters of skin and flesh, half the blade stuck in his spine.

Sparing the hilt in his hand a look, he dropped it and turned to regard Tana as she exhausted herself on the dead elf mage beneath her. He said nothing; he only watched inscrutably until she drove the knife into the Justiciar one last time, huffing and bloody and wet with tears and snot and drool, and looked up at him.

"We will discuss your performance on the way to the stronghold," he said shortly. "Search him for any valuables and remove his boots, and then help me remove what undamaged armor the others wear and retrieve their weapons. We now have more to bargain with than when we began."

Morag blinked, and looked around, suddenly coming to herself and swearing internally. It had been the perfect chance to escape and she only watched in terror like a soft milk-drinking babe!

Before she could stand and run, however, she found a shadow looming over her; it was Kazahan, brandishing a knife. She cowered, but the Khajiit only gripped the rope they'd used to tie her hands, and fixed shackles that one of the soldiers had been carrying around her wrists. Gripping the shackles by the chain, he lifted her arms until she was nearly but not quite lifted from the ground and stabbed the knife through a link in the chain, affixing the shackles and herself to the tree.

"What was your first mistake?"

[Tana Little-Bear]

Through the emotions and blood and tears and crying rage, Tana had at least been well enough to hear and understand Kazahan. Chest heaving as she held her blade hilt-deep into the Justiciar's chest, the Nord could only give a vague nod in answer. Her breath came out ragged, angry and filled with the immediate release of revenge and raw need. The primal call for revenge had made her see red, and the girl couldn't help herself as she answered in kind.

She coughed. She sputtered out a formless word that was more cough than anything. Her hands sprang open to release the dagger, both palms going to place flat against the Thalmor's chest as she stared into his lifeless eyes. His mouth was twisted, and she could almost still hear the rattled cry of his last breath still. Well, what she could remember of it; she'd been too taken with the rage to properly hear his last life-air escape from between his lips. But she remembered snippets. Only snippets.

A lost long exhale, and her hands began to move. Fingers shifted inward to knife past the outer robes and along the corpse's side in search of whatever she could take. A small leather pouch was removed, then another. One hand traveled upward then, to rake fingernails slowly toward his lower jaw. The slender tips of her fingers hooked below his neckline then, and she grasped at an amulet that had been hidden. She pulled it free, and with a quick jerk broke the cord holding it around his neck.

Kynareth.

No doubt an amulet that had been stolen from a Nord.

And now a Nord was stealing it back.

Hurriedly she affixed the bit of jewelry around her own neck; if she could not wear Talos openly, at least she could show her reverence to Kyne.

Her blade was pulled out from the Justiciar, and with a last, bitter look, Tana slid from his lifeless body. She gathered the two pouches, then moved down the length of his body to begin removing his boots.

That was when Kazahan's voice broke into her thoughts, and for a brief moment she said nothing.

Finally.

"I let him burn me?"

The fire of the Justiciar's magic still stung her wrist.

[Kazahan]

Kazahan glanced blankly at the Girl for a moment, before continuing to remove one elf's cuirass.

"No," he replied. "You attacked as a Nord would."

He almost smiled, able to feel her affronted pride. He stood to his full height and tossed the breastplate to the side, starting a pile.

"Tell me what weapon you wield."

The boots came off, one by one. Kazahan continued to work.

[Tana Little-Bear]

She paused, one hand having just finished off prying a boot and the other still clutching her glistening red dagger with an equally bloody fist.

"I have a dagger."

Oh, she had her own little bow to be sure, but that was not for close-quarter fighting. No, for that she used the steel dagger that once belonged to her father.

The little Nord gave a wounded sniff as she swiped the back of her hand across her brow, leaving a crimson streak in its wake.

"I still killed him," was her parting grouse.

[Kazahan]

"You did," he replied. He pulled a dagger off the elf. "You do not wield the dagger as if it is a dagger. You throw it around as if it were a sword, or an axe. You wish to hear the sound of it in the wind."

He swung his arm twice, the dagger silently cleaving the air.

"The dagger, Girl, is about positioning," he growled, and stooped over another dead soldier, still looking at Tana.

"The sides, where the armor is buckled."

He thrust the dagger into the Altmer's side without once glancing at the body, finding the gap with a smoothness that spoke of long practice.

"The throat. The thigh, where the blood will flow and kill them as they fight. But you must get close enough to do so without being killed."

He hissed the last, and tossed the bloody dagger onto the growing pile of loot.

"So. Tell me. What was your mistake?"

[Tana Little-Bear]

She watched, almost entranced as he showed her the way past the armor points and in through the weak spots. It all seemed to be so simple now, that he was pointing out each area that she had missed. Tana felt equally shamed, yet bolstered. Of course, she would not let him see her hungry eyes taking in each new lesson in where to attack. Instead, she watched in silence as he went on.

It was his last question that finally broke the spell, and the little Nord bit her lower lip as she knelt down into a studious crouch, one hand reaching out to inspect the openings that Kazahan had made.

"I... "

gingerly she reached for a dropped sword. The craftsmanship was light and airy, the lines dangerous and flowing.

"... I got close, but was almost killed... ?"

She tested the blade with a thumb.

"I only sheathed my dagger in his chest."

The golden color of the sword was alluring, and she hugged the weapon close as eyes and tear-stained cheeks turned upwards to her Khajiit ward.

"He died because of that, and not a quicker, more efficient way."

[Kazahan]

"Again, you are wrong," Kazahan said, wondering if perhaps he were giving the Girl too much credit. "A chest wound, whether efficient or not, is sufficient to remove nearly anything from a fight. Ribs, heart, lungs. As long as any those are injured, it is not a waste."

He gave the Girl a long look, but her visible frustration was clouding her mind.

"A dagger is not a face to face weapon unless you are robbed of other options," he said finally. "Your error was this: you, with a dagger, charged a mage in a straight line as if you wielded a greatsword, and did not break off your attack when you did not close the distance quickly enough."