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She awoke slowly. In fact, she wasn't sure she ever awoke at all. Everything was blurry and there was a noise in her ears that sounded like rushing water. She was vaguely aware of a shape that occasionally came into view, then disappeared. And she smelled something terrible. If she could move, she didn't have enough conscious thought to try.

Someone was holding her up once or twice. Or something. Water was poured into her mouth, but she couldn't quite figure out how to swallow it right. Then she went away again for a while.

The second time she woke up, the noise in her ears was still there. She saw a face, but it faded in and out of view. She tried to talk, but nothing seemed to come. She pissed herself. More than once. She felt like she should be ashamed of that, but she didn't really care. And then she went away again.

Suddenly she awoke with a start. She was in water. Very cold water! She thrashed but she was held tight by something. But her head wasn't underwater, so eventually she stopped fighting it and let the water flow past her. Something was jostling her, and she turned to see what it was. A hand was stroking her under the water. At first she thought it was nice, feeling a warm hand against her skin and fur. But slowly she realized it wasn't soothing. It was harsh. It was scrubbing her. It began to annoy her.

"Stop that," she said. She heard something behind the sound of the water in her ears, but she couldn't make it out. She repeated herself. "Stop that!"

She tried to turn her head, and this time it worked. Her eyes saw a face, a human face. Bearded and grizzled. She felt like she should know this person. It was talking, but it wasn't talking right.

She shook her head. Something was wrong with her head. She tried to concentrate on the voice.

Then suddenly she knew who it was.

"Honest John?" she said, switching to the Common tongue. She had to fight the fuzziness in her head to comprehend the language.

"Welcome back Ra'Jirra," he said.

She looked around, trying to understand where she was. She sat in a stream, and she was soaked. But the water wasn't as cold as she'd first thought. And this brigand was bathing her.

"You're... giving me a bath?"

"That's right, kitten. You were getting pretty ripe in there."

"Kitten. Don't..."

"I'll call you whatever I damn well please. That goddamned Skooma cost me a good chunk of what I got from you. Not to mention the time and effort I've had to put into saving your mangy ass!"

"I... Wait. You called me..."

"Ra'Jirra. That's your name, isn't it?"

She nodded and tried to sit up on her own. Suddenly a wave of nausea came over her and she heaved up nothing but bile.

"Here," he said, offering her a small jug. "Drink this. It's just water."

She took a short pull and rinsed her mouth out, then spat the vile taste into the stream. Then she took another drink and swallowed it. Immediately another wave came over her and she brought up what she had swallowed, so again she rinsed her mouth out.

"I," she said once she'd recovered. "I don't think I can hold anything right now."

"Probably not. Come on, let's get you dried off. You're clothes are still drying off too. They were pretty bad," he explained. "Can you stand?"

She tried. It didn't work.

"Well hell, I carried you this far," he said, and picked her up bodily. She felt his muscles bunch and she managed to wrap an arm around his neck and shoulders at least. Thick.

"You're... pretty strong for an old guy," she said.

He didn't answer but set her down on an outcropping where the sun was shining warmly.

"Sorry Doll, I haven't got a towel. You'll have to dry off the old-fashioned way.

She lay back and closed her eyes. No skull was there. It was nice, even if she felt weak as a... kitten.

Finally she opened her eyes and turned to where he sat with his back to her, sharpening a knife with a stone. Her knife she realized.

"Why?" she said.

He turned and looked at her. "Damned if I know. I guess I'm just a milk drinker at heart. Had a cat once. It died."

"I'm not a cat," she said, but without the offended tone she'd used before.

"No. Never wanted to fuck my cat."

She thought about that for a minute. She owed this man her life, she was sure. "You... want to fuck me?"

He laughed. "No thanks, Doll. To be honest, the damn thing doesn't work anymore anyway. But no. I kinda like you. I guess I miss being a father a little."

She knew better than to ask him about his past. "I bet you were a fine father."

"Lousy. But she turned out alright anyway."

"You know, you can like someone and want to fuck them too," she said, rolling over on her stomach and closing her eyes again.

"Enough of that. Let's change the subject, shall we?"

"Sure. How long was I... gone for?"

"Oh, a couple of days."

She didn't open her eyes. It wasn't a surprise. It felt like a couple of days. At least. "Sorry, Honest John."

"Eh... not like anyone's waiting for me anywhere. You needed the help."

"I did. What else did I say?"

"It was all in Ta'agra. I don't know it much. Sorry, I don't know your life story now."

"Would you like to?"

He looked at her again, and stroked her back. The fur was drying but she was still pretty wet. She probably should have been offended, the touch resembled too much the petting of an animal. But it felt good and she had no pride left in her.

"I don't think so. I can't tell you mine. Best we just leave it at this," he continued stroking her back and she let him.

They stayed there the whole afternoon while she dried off, an old highwayman and a foolish khajiit that by all rights should be dead. But it was the first peaceful moments she had had since the night she murdered Katia Managan. She didn't want it to end.

But finally he helped her to her feet which, though wobbly, finally had started responding. He half-carried her to where her clothes lay. They didn't smell bad anymore, but they were stained. Vomit and shit and piss, she had no doubt. But they were what she had, and she put them back on.

"I don't suppose..." she began.

"Sorry Doll, no. I saved your life. We both know that. But it'll have to be enough. We all have mouths to feed in our own way. Mine's a rotten one, I know. But it's what I do."

She had to have some help getting her clothes buttoned up, but considering what he must have had to do to get her cleaned up, she wasn't embarrassed.

"I understand. But I don't think I can walk on my own yet."

"Nope. Another day I expect," he agreed. "Got a little lean-to built on the other side of that hill. I had to move it. You'd messed the old site up pretty good."

She managed to walk a few steps on her own by the time they got near the camp and he started a fire to make some soup. She tasted it and, though pungent with onion and garlic, it wasn't bad really. Some bits of meat were in it, but she couldn't swallow those. So she made do with the broth.

That night she slept with the old man. True to his word, he didn't try anything, though she felt she owed him some physical comfort. But he made it clear he wasn't interested in that. They lay looking up at the stars and not speaking, and she found his hand and held it for a long time while they said nothing. Then she went to sleep against his back.

She woke up late, trembling. She was hungry. So very, very hungry. She tried some of the broth, and even managed some of the meat, but it didn't satisfy. She drank some water, but the hunger she felt was of a different sort.

Then she realized what it was she needed. She looked at the old man, but he was sleeping deeply. She crept up to him and stealthily slid a hand into one of his deep pockets. She found something there. A vial. The same. It was almost empty, but not quite. She slid it out of his pocket and opened it. The scent was both vile and enticing at the same time.

"Just a drop, mind you," he said.

She jumped, but didn't lose the vial.

"Sorry, Honest John,"

"Keep it," he said, never turning back to her. "You'll need it more than me. But it won't last long. There's only a day or two's worth left, and you're going to want more. It's going to get tough for you after that. Your ass-coins won't buy much."

Suddenly she remembered. It struck her as funny. She'd probably shat them out.

"Where are they?"

"In your backpack. Sorry, I threw away the sheep's bladder. I just put them back in your pouch. I don't advise shoving them back up there without a bladder though."

She tipped the vial slowly as she held out her tongue. A single drop fell down her throat and was gone, but instantly she felt better. She put the stopper back on and put it into her backpack.

Then she curled up behind Honest John and held him. The Skooma made her horny, but even through the buzz, she felt she owed this man more respect than to try and force him. Instead she let it wash over her and she felt... ecstasy. It was like a continuous orgasm, but more than just in her crotch. She wanted to share it with someone, but the old man wouldn't get it. He wasn't... high like her.

It felt most like a full-body orgasm that didn't stop. The stars were spinning, but not wobbly like before. It was more like she could sense their movement, and her perception had become so sharp that she could see them turning ever-so-slightly against the night sky. Finally she went back to sleep, and slept the most peaceful night of her life.

In the morning, however, she was hungry again, and not for food.