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The Orange Road held no shortage of dense vegetation, located near the fringes of the Great Forest of Cyrodiil; nor did it lack an abundance of caves, lying near the roots of the Jerall Mountains. The northern Cyrodiil packs of the Lykaios knew these woods and caves well, enough that it was rare to find trolls or ogres wandering within- for the most part, they kept the area well-maintained for travelers and merchants, ensuring the city of Bruma was not bereft of trade and supplies.

The wilds were still clear, even today- yet nobody walked the roads. The only two who might have were now skulking in the shadows nearby.

"Nearly there," Sirroc told Lobo, stopping short and kneeling as he kept his ears alert for any sound. The pair scanned the road from east to west, heeding the noise around them, the birds and insects still chirping. Any lack of noise would be enough of a clue of danger nearby, yet as long as the birds were audible the older wolf's nerves held steady.

They had spent the entire morning at a cautious pace, staying no closer than fifty feet from the northern edge of the road. It was the long way around, where they could have attempted to scale the tougher terrain up into Bruma, yet both of them agreed it would be best if they kept track of who was using the road from Chorrol to Bruma, certain that they would run into a Thalmor patrol. Whether due to good luck or just the incompetence of magic-users unused to tracking in unknown terrain, they had not seen hide nor hair of High Elf; but as they'd not come across any other travelers or merchants either, both wolves were not about to relax.

It was in this pause that Lobo reached into his satchel, pulling out a mortar and pestle. "Give me a few minutes, I can get this done."

Sirroc nodded, keeping his eyes on the road. "We're making good time. It's not even midday yet." His brow creased as he cast his gaze to the other side of the path. "Now where is everybody?"

"We know the Imperial Legion isn't patrolling the roads anymore," Lobo pointed out, as he pulled a patch of moss and a handful of blue butterfly wings from his satchel. "If we'd seen any wildlife or ogres at this point I'd say that the lack of ranger-work is making the roads unsafe for travel, but..."

They both looked around- the woods were still active with the sound of fauna.

"The birds wouldn't be noisy if there were ogres nearby," Sirroc nodded.

"Either people in Cyrodiil know what the Thalmor are doing," Lobo sighed, "or they're setting their checkpoints near the cities themselves." He started crushing the materials together under his pestle, twisting it around and stopping to trade a look at Sirroc. "Last night the patrol we killed said they had three more patrols around Bruma- if they've set up a checkpoint there, we'll be in for a hard time."

"They won't have." He looked to the north. "Bruma is mostly made of a Nordic population, like I said last night- a static Thalmor presence would just rile them up. It's more likely they'll be checking the woods and Silver Road for any refugees. And the patrol we killed didn't mention checkpoints, either."

"Hopefully," Lobo sighed, stirring the mix a bit more. "Alright... I'll have to melt some snow for water later, but I've got a good mix here. It should be enough for five full poisons."

"Not potions?" Sirroc asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Hanging moss and blue butterfly wings- it'll weaken the victim's connection to magicka. I have to imagine the Nords in the area would want some around to handle the Thalmor," he grinned.

"Why Lobo, if I didn't know any better I'd accuse you of trying to aid a rebellion," the older wolf chuckled.

They both laughed, quietly as they could- only for the moment of levity to pass when they both heard a noise in the distance. At the same moment their ear pricked up, both staring down the western part of the Orange Road before crouching down low behind the bushes and grass.

Very faintly, perceptible only to the ears of a Lykaios, there was a voice.

"... Keep down," Sirroc said in as quiet a whisper as possible.

The pair waited, ears straining to hear more through the air. Though the fauna overhead did not cease, neither were going to take any chances. In the course of a minute the voices increased in volume; now the sound a quiet, heavy cart could be heard, its wheels clacking against the cobblestone and rolling through patches of dirt and grass. They turned their eyes to the west, peering into the late morning fog, as no fewer than twelve forms wandered slowly out of the mists. Each of them, save two, bore varying feline visages, hair braided or tied in different manners of style. At the head was a small man, almost human but for the slight feline features on his pointed face.

"This one only means to say that nothing has been done to arouse suspicion," the Khajiit at the front said with a thick accent. "There is no fairness--"

"Or compassion," a taller female Khajiit cut in.

"-- in what the Thalmor do. One would think that they have better things to do than burn out the wolf-men and harass our caravans," he sighed irritably.

A younger male Khajiit glanced at the leader, his deep blue eyes considering him for a bit. He stood taller than all but two of them, his face completely feline with a build that matched Sirroc's, with a gray pelt and black, braided hair. He was dressed differently, clad in Cyrodiilian clothing rather than the attire of Elsweyr's natives. When he spoke, his tongue and voice were almost Imperial in tone and inflection, though not uncomfortably so.

"It's likely to do with me," he sighed. "I was worried the haircut wouldn't be enough to throw them off completely."

"Do not blame yourself, Jo'reko," the female khajiit purred soothingly, squeezing his shoulder. "They did not harass us any further, and they did not take you from us either. We are, at least for another day, still together."

"Indeed," the leader said. "We have been strangely fortunate since we left home to do business. That fortunate continues with us finding you, lad- you've been a boon to our travels."

"My thanks to you, Ri'saad," Jo'reko said warmly.

At this Lobo turned to face Sirroc, frowning and speaking in a quiet whisper. "Khajiit caravan?"

Sirroc nodded, realizing Lobo did not know that native of Elsweyr were varied in size and structure. He put a finger to his lips, nodding to the group as they got close.

"Would that others were as fortunate as us," the female sighed. "It is likely they have ignored us in part so they can wage their campaign against the Lykaios- the wolf-men that roam the forests and mountains of this land. I had hoped we would be able to trade with them to expand our wares, but..."

She trailed off and Jo'reko's visage hardened. "It's an atrocity," he finished.

"That it is," Ri'saad agreed. "But do not say this within earshot of the Thalmor. They have little trust in us already with the rebellion back home."

"May the gods smile on them," the two tallest and largest Khajiit rumbled as they pulled the carts behind them.

"We can only pray that Azurah guide the Lykaios and the rebellion to safety, and judge the Thalmor as they should," the female continued, as the caravan neared the hidden wolves. "And for us to remain safe from them, as well. With planning, wit, charm, and a little luck, I'm sure we'll reach Skyrim."

"A strong sword arm doesn't hurt either," one of the heavily-armed Khajiit guards grinned. "When did you wish to stop and rest, Ri'saad?"

"It would be wise to arrive at Bruma as quickly as we can," he reasoned. "Provided we get there soon enough we can ask the locals for a safe spot to camp for the night. The people here may not wish for Khajiit to stay at their inns."

"Why is that?" the guard asked.

"Bruma is mostly made up of Nords," Jo'reko answered. "And like it or not, as Khajiit they will see us as part of the Aldmeri Dominion, even if the Thalmor don't trust us. Nords have little love for the Thalmor after the White-Gold Concordant."

"... You'll have to forgive us if we're not as learned as you are," the guard chuckled.

"Talos was the human emperor Tiber Septim, before he became a god- or so Imperials and Nords believe," he explained. "But the treaty the Empire signed forbids worship of Talos. The Nords resent this because Tiber Septim was a Nord himself, and they revere him as a hero-king."

"And... we are going to do trade in Skyrim despite this?" the guard frowned.

"There is opportunity in the north," Ri'saad smiled. "Unrest will cause them to look to other avenues of trade. I ask only that you trust me on this venture- we all stand to become very rich, Jo'reko included."

"I may have to pass," he chuckled. "I'll have to see what the College is like first, before I commit."

What they said next Sirroc did not hear, as Lobo tugged on his sleeve. "We should keep near them, try to keep quiet."

"We can't risk being seen," Sirroc started to say.

"They have no love for the Thalmor," the younger wolf countered. "It sounds like they wouldn't sell us out if they knew we were here. If there is a patrol up ahead, they'll see the caravan before they see us."

"Maybe," Sirroc sighed, glancing back at the caravan. "Alright, but we'll have to keep it very quiet, Khajiit have hearing about as good as ours. And we need to stay behind them."

They tailed along quietly, careful not to make a sound, though they were children of the forests and so such stealth came to them naturally. Where it would take years for an Imperial or Elf to learn the ways of the woods, the Lykaios knew in their hearts and minds, blessed as they were by Hircine. The Lord of the Hunt himself was in their steps as they followed the caravan, pausing only when the Khajiit slowed their steps.

With the brothers near enough to hear their voices they were able to keep track of the caravan's conversations. Ri'saad, it seemed, led the caravaneers out from Pellitine, in the jungles of Elsweyr. Word of civil unrest in Skyrim had convinced him there was profit to be made, and with the Aldmeri Dominion controlling much in the way of trade the pawnbroker had raised funding through his family to start a trade route through Cyrodiil and into the frozen north. Though it had been suggested that they seek aid and protection from the local Lykaios tribes for safe passage through the Jerall Mountains, the Thalmor had already started the pogroms and left them to resort to arming their strongest and best-trained groups members.

It was information the caravan gave freely among themselves, complaints for the pressure the High Elf faction had put on the whole of Tamriel. It was not, however, without hopeful musings.

"I suspect the patrol we were stopped by yesterday were only so tense because they have lost control of the situation," a female named Ahkari had mused. "One of them muttered something about not knowing where the wolves had gone. Perhaps they found safety in the hills."

"They would go to the north and west, more than likely," Ri'saad agreed. "Those who would go south would need to contend with Khajiit aligned with the Aldmeri Dominion; tribal though they may be, the Lykaios are not unintelligent. They would weigh the risks carefully."

"I'm certain our brothers in arms in Pellitine would welcome their aid, should they lend their bows and spears to their rebellion," a guard named Kharjo replied. "The elves did not have the scent of blood upon them, and nor did the last two patrols we saw."

"We should talk of happier things," Ri'saad suggested. "A heavy heart leads to heavier steps, and I already ache for the warm sands of home. Have any of you been to Skyrim?"

"I know only that it is a place of ice, the only reservation I have for going," Ahkari told him. "The cold does not agree with Khajiit. Already I am chilled, and we've not even arrived at Bruma yet. Is there more to it than that?"

"There is much beauty in it," Ri'saad sighed. "I came once as a boy with my father to learn the trade. Trees as tall as mountains, lakes of crystal-clear water, forests teeming with life and green to rival the jungles of Elsweyr; and the grandest of peaks, one of the Towers of Nirn, the Snow Throat. A place that touches the sky, from which one can hear the voice of Khenarthi." He chuckled. "If one could stand the bitter cold throughout the land, it would be a fine place to live."

"Don't forget the bitter attitudes," Jo'reko added with a wan smile. "I've heard they don't care much for outsiders."

At that, Sirroc paused, glancing to Lobo. A wordless question passed between them, neither of them having ever once been as far north as Bruma. It was Kharjo who said it aloud.

"Should we expect Bruma to be the same, then?" he asked.

"The city is mainly Nord, but I visited only last year," Ri'saad replied, gesturing to the road ahead. "They are more open-minded and kind. I expect they will receive us with little concern, though we may be better served setting up camp outside of their walls all the same."

"Then we'd best get the tents ready," Ahkari suggested, hanging back until the cart passed her by before climbing onto it and sliding a crate cover off. "How are you both with pulling the cart?" she asked.

Both the large Khajiit spared her a look and shrugged. "Neither of us need a break yet. Are we close to Bruma?"

"About three miles away," Ri'saad informed them.

"We can make it, then," said the other. "Best we not lose our pace, or it will make the cart harder to move." The two wolves slowed down and traded looks.

"Should we pass up Bruma, make for the road to Skyrim instead?" Lobo asked.

"Bruma is still our best bet," Sirroc said quietly. "You need more arrows, and we may need extra rations and equipment for the road into Skyrim. I could get you maybe ten arrows from bone if I had a few hours to stay put, but that's only if we can hunt some game before then- we're better off getting what we need and going."

"They might not want us there," the younger wolf pointed out.

"They'll want the Thalmor there less than us," he replied. "We're not looking for a night at the inn."

It was not difficult to keep in step with the caravan even with the woods nearby, and the Khajiit did not seem to hear the wolves over their conversation and the moderate volume of their cart. Every so often, though, Sirroc noticed the gray, spotted Khajiit named Jo'Reko glancing in their direction idly- until Kharjo pressed him for more answers.

"Why do you suppose the Thalmor decided to attack the tribes here?" he asked. "I was told they prefer having simple lives; they do not, if going only by the account of others, seem the type to wage war against anyone."

"You've never met a Lykaios?" Jo'reko asked.

"A couple, but not personally, and not within Cyrodiil."

"They are nomadic, when they need to be, and you used to be able to find them in any forest in Tamriel," Jo'reko told him. "Excellent scouts, brave fighters when they need to be, but you're right- they don't like to fight if they can help it. The Thalmor didn't give them much choice during the Great War, though- they advanced through Lykaios lands when they marched to Hammerfell. The Thalmor got overconfident when the Redguards didn't immediately unite to fight them, to the point that they thought the Empire was weak. So once they had most of southern Hammerfell under their control, they divided their forces to take on the Empire directly." He gestured ahead. "It wasn't long before the only trade route left open was the road to Bruma."

"So how do the wolves factor in?" Ahkari queried.

"The Aldmeri wanted to cut off Bruma and Skyrim from the Imperial City, but by then the Lykaios had pitched in fully with small skirmishes meant to disorient them. It gave the reinforcements from Skyrim time to arrive, just in time to receive the Emperor and his main army as they fought their way out of the city. The Thalmor, having taken the Imperial City, thought they'd won."

The brothers traded looks, Sirroc quietly impressed that a Khajiit would be so well-versed in the history of the Great War, moreso for how the Lykaios had contributed. They kept their ears perked when Kharjo pressed for more. "Was that all they did to contribute?"

"They stood with the Emperor to the end," Jo'reko replied. "The Aldmeri made a few attempts to negotiate with Titus II, and he strung them along while the Lykaios scouted the area and gathered intel for the Imperial Army. When they were ready, the Lykaios provided aid as archers and scouts for the western and southern legions, preventing the army from retreating."

"They were there when the Aldmeri lost the city," Ri'saad interjected. "They contributed greatly in its liberation."

"And it's probably why the Thalmor have decided to attack them," Jo'reko sighed, looking up into the woods. "They underestimated the Lykaios once, they won't make that mistake again. More than likely, the Thalmor are aiming to start the war up again, before the Empire can fully recover."

"A sign of terrible things to come," Ahkari murmured. "I suppose all we can do is hope they are stopped or convinced otherwise."

A silence fell upon the Khajiit caravan, the merchants and guards trading brief looks ranging from sadness to worry. More than half of them cast their gaze back to the south, where both wolves knew, hundreds of miles away, the jungles and sands of Elsweyr lay. It was in this moment that Sirroc felt a pang in his chest, recognizing the homesick looks on most of their faces, now realizing that the venture into Skyrim was perhaps as much for their protection as it was for profit- to be anywhere else but Elsweyr when the war inevitably picked up.

They, like the brothers, were running away from home too- even if they did not want to leave it behind.

"Damn Thalmor," Lobo cursed quietly- Sirroc could see on his face that he had come to realize this as well.

The cart slowed down, the Khajiit pace faltering until they were still, their worried eyes gazing up ahead. Sirroc looked to the road, peering up the hill- and nearly gasped at the four dark shapes in the distance. It was with a protective instinct that his paw snapped out and grabbed Lobo's shoulder, pushing him down into the grass and keeping his eyes on the approaching patrol.

Marching side-by-side were a trio of Thalmor soldiers, adorned in armor of black and gold which flashed in the overhead sun and across their drawn blades and shields. In front of them was a taller Altmer in robes of black and gold, his face hidden beneath a hood and his thin hand curling around a mages staff, its head bearing the image of a flying eagle. The caravan shuffled to one side of the road, all eyes on the patrol and waiting for it to pass. As soon as they were within fifty feet of the caravan, however, the Altmer mage at the head raised his gloved hand up, his voice clear and loud.

"Halt, merchants! Stay to one side, where you are!"

Ri'saad looked to the rest of the Khajiit, worry creasing his brow as he nodded to the guards, gesturing the rest of the group to move to the far side of the road and waited for the Thalmor to reach them. Not a single one of them spoke as the patrol neared them, the armed soldiers staying a few meters back while the mage stepped towards them and drew his hood back.

His face was thin and pointed, tinted yellow with long blonde hair cascading into view, his silver eyes looking cruel and shrewd as they flicked between each feline; there was no mistaking the look of disdain on his gaze, nor the curl of his sneer as he spoke in a cold, noble tone.

"Who among you leads this caravan?"

The caravan looked among themselves, though it was Ri'saad who took a tentative step forward. "This one leads our caravan into Skyrim," he said, giving the Altmer mage a respectful bow, though Sirroc noticed a slight tension in his tone. "I am Ri'saad, a humble trader from Pellitine. How may we serve you and your men?"

The inquisitor did not answer immediately, looking to each of the soldiers before raising his hand. The elder Khajiit's eyes widened, recognizing the gesture as a spell, and for a moment Sirroc felt the urge to shout a warning as the mage's hand flashed red.

Several long seconds followed where nothing happened, save the mage pacing down the line of Khajiit and peering at the merchant cart long and hard. Tension built in the older wolf, realizing the mage had likely cast a spell to detect the aura of life, looking to see if someone was hidden in the cart.

All it would take to see them would be for him to turn around.

"This is all of you, then?" the mage pressed curtly.

"Just us, yes," Ri'saad assured him, looking tense.

"Very well, then," the inquisitor sighed. "We've questions for your caravan- as per the law of the Aldmeri Dominion, all Khajiit merchants and caravans are to submit to any search and interrogation."

"We are in Cyrodiil, Inquisitor," Ri'saad frowned.

"The law of the Aldmeri Dominion does not stop at its borders," he growled. "Our operations here are a part of the White-Gold Concordant's terms. The Empire recognizes this right."

"Yes... my apologies, Inquisitor," the merchant sighed. "What do you wish to know?"

The soldiers moved to either side of the caravan as the inquisitor spoke. "The dogs of this country, the Lykaios, have repeatedly attacked the Aldmeri Dominion's borders, and its holdings and allies within the Empire. They have since retreated into other territories to escape justice." He gestured to the south. "No fewer than three tribes are known to camp in this area. I demand to know if you or your caravan have seen any of the mutts along the road or in the wilds."

A few of the Khajiit let out quiet noises of disbelief, but said nothing under the watchful eyes of the Thalmor soldiers. "We'd heard that the Lykaios might have been hunted when we stopped in Anvil," Ri'saad nodded. "We were asked a similar question by the patrol there. But then, as now, we have not seen any tribes or individuals of those people in our travels; and not for lack of trying," he added.

The inquisitor narrowed his eyes. "You have looked for them?"

"They are known to carry good pelts and long-lasting food supplies. It was our intention to barter with them and expand our stock before we reached Skyrim, ideally to profit from the furs they trade." The elder Khajiit gestured to the north. "They have great value to the Nords. But as I said, we did not find any to trade with."

"Very well," the inquisitor grumbled. "Where did you see the last Thalmor patrol?"

"As we were leaving Chorrol."

At that, the inquisitor turned to one of his men and leaned in, muttering quiet words. Whatever they spoke of, Sirroc could not hear- nor did he care to stick around to find out. He tapped at Lobo's shoulder, getting his attention.

"We should move, while this patrol is distracted."

The younger wolf's eyes widened, turning back to the caravan. "But... they might need our help."

"They seem to be fine right now," he reasoned. "I don't think we need to worry, the caravan wouldn't be looking for a fight. But if that mage looks our way he might see us."

The younger wolf gave the group a worried glance, but then nodded. "Alright. I'll follow your lead."

With no shortage of caution and stealth, the wolves began to crawl through the grass, their bodies causing only the slightest shift in the bushes around them. It was slow enough that Sirroc could still hear the muffled muttering between the Thalmor patrol, though he made no attempt to look back. It was only when the inquisitor's voice began clear that Sirroc slowed, coming to a halt at the words.

"We shall know if you have been lying to use about the mutts," he began. "But if what you have said is true, then you would do well to inform us if you should see or hear anything regarding the savages. The Aldmeri Dominion rewards those who are loyal- and punishes those who defy it."

"As you say," Ri'saad said quietly, giving him another bow.

"But we are not yet done," the inquisitor continued. "Your companion here- he is wanted for questioning."

Curious, Sirroc turned to the caravan- the inquisitor was pointing to Jo'reko, whose ears were pinned back anxiously.

Ri'saad seemed to hesitate, eyes flicking to the young man. "I... I'm afraid I do not understand. He is... my sister's mate, accompanying us as a guard."

"That is besides the point," the inquisitor snapped, pacing up to the spotted Khajiit. "He matches the description of an escaped criminal from the Dominion, a dangerous one."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Jo'reko told him, taking a step back.

The inquisitor raised his hand, palm facing the Khajiit. "That does not change the fact that you are wanted for questioning. You either obey, or we drag you away."

One of the younger female Khajiit, brown-pelted and equipped in heavy armor, raised her hands and stepped up in front of Jo'reko. "No, please! There's no need for this!"

Ri'saad's eyes widened in fear. "Khayla, no!"

It happened in a flash, a flicker of flame building in the inquisitor's palm as he pointed it towards Khayla. Sirroc had only enough time to register Jo'reko darting in before the scene before him burst into flames, causing the surrounding Khajiit to duck in fear as the sound burst through the trees and echoed against the valley. The light was blinding, though not so much that his vision did not return seconds later.

Jo'reko now stood between Khayla and the inquisitor with his palm held up, a blue-white shimmer emanating from his paw, tiny embers rolling off the arcane shield. To either side, the soldiers had advanced and held their blades out at the unarmed Khajiit, shouting orders for them to back down. The caravan guards had drawn their blades as well, looking ready to fight the moment the situation had hit its boiling point, tensed like a lion prepared to pounce.

"That's enough!" Jo'reko snarled, his eyes flashing angrily. "Fine, I'm the one you want- just don't hurt these traders."

The inquisitor smirked. "Jo'reko, correct? I thought I recognized you- you're quite the person of interest to the Justiciars." The Khajiit said nothing, directing a look of cold rage at the inquisitor as he continued. "You know, you could have saved everyone a lot of trouble if you had just obeyed us from the start. You friends from Pellitine would still be alive, and this caravan wouldn't have to suffer from your insolence."

He flinched at the mention of the merchants. "They have nothing to do with this! I lied to them about where I came from, they had no idea!" He looked to Ri'saad, who seemed frozen in place with fear. "Just... just let them go, and I'll come with you."

The inquisitor regarded him for a few moments- then smiled cruelly and shook his head. "No... no, I think not. Not yet." He snapped his fingers and the guards took two steps back. "I'm sure one of you may be transporting skooma; we can't have an illegal substance crossing into another country. Search their cart- for every bottle you carry, you will be penalized with a one hundred gold fine."

The merchants look horrified at this injustice, yet could not say anything as the Thalmor soldiers waved the caravan guards away from the cart and tugged it out into the middle of the road, sifting through its contents. Sirroc winced, but turned away and started to crawl again.

A paw around his ankle stopped him only a second later. He turned to see Lobo glaring at him.

"Where are you going?!" he whispered harshly, quietly. "We can't just leave them like this!"

"I don't like it, pup," he sighed. "But they'll kill us for sure if we're spotted."

"It isn't right!" Lobo insisted, his grip tight on his ankle. "If it was us, you'd want them to intervene, wouldn't you? I know we have to leave home, but..." He looked lost for words, gazing back at the caravan as their cart was ransacked.

"... They'll take everything if nobody does anything," Sirroc nodded, a mix of guilt and fear building in him. He steeled himself for a moment, then crawled next to the younger wolf, eyeing the situation. The Thalmor soldiers were at either side of the cart, unloading the smaller crates first, while the inquisitor held Jo'reko at bay with his staff pointed at him. The cart itself was large enough that it could have been pulled by a pony, a gap beneath the floor allowing him to see the inquisitor's feet.

"Alright... we'll help them, but we can't let any of them see us," Sirroc told him. "You could snipe them from here, but I'm not sure how I can help them."

Lobo paused, then shuffled around for moment, digging into his satchel and pulling out a white bottle. "Take this- it's Luna Moth wings and Nirnroot, it will render you invisible." He handed it to Sirroc and pointed to the cart. "If you can get under there and cause a distraction, I can do the rest."

The idea of getting in close to the patrol was almost enough for him to back out of his decision to help; but as he looked upon the caravan cowering and watching their livelihood being trashed, the resolve built in him again. Taking a calming breath, he popped off the bottle cork, swallowed the mixture, and drew his knife.

A feeling not unlike cold water bloomed in his chest and spread throughout his body, prompting him to look down at himself. He nearly gasped aloud from the sight, unable to see more than a bare shimmer of where his body was. It took him only a few moments to shake off the shock and move in, sparing a glance at his brother before shuffling through the grass and down to the road.

His bare feet made no sound as he crept across the cobblestone, darting behind the cart and peeking out the side- the soldiers were too immersed in digging through the cart to notice him, and became moreso when one of the soldiers pulled a small bottle from one of the crates.

"I found the stash!" he cried out.

"Good- but search for more, they'll have extras, I have no doubt."

They continued to rummage, one of them tossing a length of rope off the side and onto Sirroc's head. The wolf grunted and shook it off him, then thought better of it and grabbed it before ducking beneath the cart. Just ahead, on the opposite side, he could see the boots of one of the soldiers. With as much finesse as he could manage, he threaded the end of the rope between the soldier's feet, resting the cord over his metal toe and working quickly to form a secure knot, keeping his ears perked up as the inquisitor spoke again.

"That's fifteen bottles so far, cat," he cackled. "You had better hope you have enough coin to cover the fine, or else we'll have to take your merchandise as another way to pay."

"Yeah, you'll need the money," Jo'reko spat back, his face in clear view from Sirroc's position. "Fifteen-hundred reminders of whose face is on the coin; fifteen-hundred reminders that they are called septims; fifteen-hundred reminders that Tamriel isn't yours yet."

There was a cold silence where Sirroc could feel the hatred radiating from the inquisitor, even without being able to see him. Out the corner of his eye he could see the mage approach Jo'reko, his voice dangerously low but clear as crystal.

"For each coin this caravan pays as a fine, I will subject you to a single lash. And I will keep you alive for every lash, to scream to your gods for mercy."

"Jo'reko, please," Ri'saad hissed. "I will gladly pay this fine, do not give them a reason to hurt you badly."

The younger Khajiit growled, baring his fangs at the mage, but stepped back with a smoldering glare. His eyes flicked to the side, gazing at the cart.

And widened.

At the same moment, the feeling of cold water seemed to dissipate all at once, leaving the wolf feeling pleasantly warm. The sensation returned twofold with a jerk of fear, as Sirroc noticed his paws were now visible. For the longest second in his life he looked up into Jo'reko's blue eyes, fully aware that the Khajiit could see him and what he was doing.

Please don't.

The inquisitor frowned at Jo'reko, noticing his expression.

Please don't tell them.

The Khajiit looked up, still shocked into silence.

Please!

The inquisitor began to turn, following Jo'reko's gaze towards the cart.

And Jo'reko swung.

It was fast and trained, a right hook that crashed against the inquisitor's temple with a sharp crack and sent him stumbling into the cart's front wheel. The soldiers cried out in surprise, the cart shaking and creaking as the two on top jumped down onto the road, while the third took one step forward.

Instinct, blessed by Hircine, told him there would be no better time to act than now. Almost reflexively, Sirroc wrenched the rope back, snagging the soldier's ankle in the tight knot he'd created and tripping him up onto his face while his sword fell away clattered away beyond his reach. With a snarl of exertion he dug his feet into the ground and dragged the soldier along with him, ducking out from under the cart and sprinting towards the woods. Halfway to the treeline he saw Lobo's arrow in mid-flight, a dull thunk and sharp scream enough evidence that the younger wolf's arrow had struck true.

He reached the treeline seconds later, still dragging the flailing soldier behind him as he shouted and screamed for help. Once he was behind cover he looked back at the scene, which had unfolded in chaos.

He had only enough time to process that in the scuffle, the cart had been dislodged and was now rolling down the hill, being chased by the two Khajiit laborers; with the scene now revealed he could see Jo'reko holding an ethereal blade in his paw, dueling with the only remaining soldiers, while the caravan guards pulled Ri'saad, Khayla and the rest to the trees on the other side. The next second, the wolf was back to focusing on the soldier nearest to him, pouncing on his back and yanking him upright, getting his head locked in his arms.

He'd known the Altmer to be physically weak compared to other races, though this didn't prevent his foe from struggling harder than most; what skill they demonstrated with a blade, they did so through finesse rather than through strength. It was no surprise to him, then, that the wriggling and squirming in his arms was easy enough to contain, though he could not keep the soldier's arms from flailing around as he choked the life out of him. The soldier seized up for a moment, then tried to lean to his left, his hand slapping at his side. Confusion set into the wolf from this new struggle, until his eyes fell on the dagger still strapped to his belt, just as his hand slapped around its hilt.

With a snarling curse Sirroc wrenched the soldier's head hard to the left, crying out as the soldier succeeded in his final act and stabbed the wolf in the thigh, at the same moment that a horrible crack emanated from the elf's neck. Sirroc fell back, tossing the dead man's body aside and gasping as his eyes fell on the embedded blade.

"Dammit, hold on," Lobo said from behind him, sliding down to the older wolf and checking his leg. "Don't move."

Sirroc grunted and nodded, letting him treat the wound, looking up to see the duel between the last soldier and Jo'reko. The Altmer had refined skill and finesse, no doubt borne from decades of training in the art of warfare. Jo'reko, however, had a natural agility and physical deftness that matched his opponent's intensity, twisting and feinting at odd angles the Thalmor agent was not used to.

The tide shifted suddenly, the soldier roaring in frustration and stabbing at the Khajiit's face; with a deft parry the sword went flying, leaving the elf unarmed. The cat's fingers snapped and his magicka blade vanished, his paw tightening into an open claw that grabbed the stunned elf's face. Before he could scream, a flash of blue light blasted between them, followed by the sickly sound of flesh and bone being punctured; out the back of his head was the point of a blood-red icicle. The elf seemed to tremble for several seconds as Jo'reko stepped back, the Khajiit glaring at the elf as he fell backward onto the road.

Awed by the way the Khajiit had dispatched his foe, Sirroc almost didn't feel the dagger in his leg being pulled out, nor Lobo dousing it with a potion and quickly wrapping it with a bandage. But once the younger wolf tied it tight he returned to his senses, getting up to his feet and grabbing his brother's shoulder.

The younger wolf nodded, helping Sirroc deeper into the woods and sticking to the shadows. Sirroc spared one last look to the caravan, to make sure they were alright. His breath caught in his chest as he saw Jo'reko looking right in their direction, a curious look on his face. For only a few moments they held their gaze, and in that time it seemed like the Khajiit would run forward and hail them. Eventually the feline seemed to sigh and nod, turning back to his friends and seeing to their well-being.

It brought a sense of relief to the wolf, as he and his brother crept north and away from the road. At least now he was certain the Khajiit would not give them away.

"Maybe we should have hung back to help them," Sirroc sighed.

Four hours had passed since the skirmish on the Silver Road, and the brothers had stopped to tend to Sirroc's wound. The potion had been enough to stop the bleeding, but more care was needed to ensure it would mend properly. Lobo had taken up watch on the rock that Sirroc was now leaning against, scanning the forests for any sign of life. They had not spoken of the fight, working out the adrenaline they'd built from the brief battle- but now that Sirroc had time to process it, there was some regret.

Not much- but enough.

"Why is that?" Lobo asked. "You almost didn't want to."

"I didn't want to put us- put you, at risk," he shrugged, hissing a little as he packed the wound with crushed blue mountain flowers. "But you were right about us needing to lend them a hand. I suppose it was worth it to risk discovery, if it saved a few lives."

"Even with your wound?"

"Even then." He looked up to the younger wolf. "You heard what that Khajiit said, about how our people stood with others against the Aldmeri Dominion during the Great War. We shouldn't stop that just because there isn't an official war going on right now." He paused long enough to add a few more crushed petals. "That said, we left no shortage of blood behind. The Thalmor are quite possibly the worst trackers in Tamriel, but that doesn't mean they won't have someone doing their best."

"True, we did leave a bit of a mess," Lobo grinned sheepishly. "But I think that caravan will be smart enough to cover their tracks, even if they didn't see us."

Sirroc hesitated.

"... Except they did. At least one of them did."

Lobo cocked his head. "What do you mean?"

"Jo'reko," Sirroc answered. "He saw me under the cart just as the fight broke out. And I'm certain he saw us both as we were leaving." He shook his head. "Even if he hadn't, you fired an arrow and I left a body on the side of the road- the Khajiit will put the two together and figure out we helped them out. Although... I feel like Jo'reko would keep our involvement between himself and the caravan."

"Let's hope so," Lobo sighed. "How's your leg?"

The older wolf checked it again. "Stiff, but the pain is trivial now. I'm good to travel, we've only a quarter-mile left before we reach Bruma." He grunted, getting to his feet and grabbing the walking stick Lobo had fashioned for him as they rested, before casting his gaze to the sky- or what little he could see of it through the woods. "About two hours until sundown, I think?"

"It smells like the evening is coming," Lobo agreed, jumping down from his perch. "We can make it to the city before then even at a slow pace, and the shops should still be open."

They set off with little more to say, always alert of their surroundings, for their encounter on the road had only validated Sirroc's concerns that the Thalmor would be as relentless as it took to pursue the scattering tribes. Yet the farther north they moved, the more the wildlife seemed to be flourishing, no longer hiding in the denser parts of the woods as they had been near the tribes. The unease that had settled near central Cyrodiil had not yet penetrated the north.

Cutting to the east had proven a faster means of getting to Bruma, though not without the struggle of uphill traversal. Within half an hour the two had reached the forest line, looking across a field of green with white patches of snow. The view was wide enough that the wolves could see for miles in either direction, where no other patrols could seen. Feeling like luck was finally on their side for once the brothers hurried across the cold fields, the sky growing redder as they neared the gate and its two guards.

The nearest one, a tall Nord with a thick brown beard, strode forward with a halberd in one hand and his other held up. "Halt."

Both of them stopped short, stepping back as the guard approached them, his brown eyes regarding each of them. There seemed to be a tinge of pain in them, his mouth tight-lipped as his gloved hand tightened around his polearm. For a moment he looked around, as if to ensure they were not being watched.

"Lykaios?"

Sirroc nodded, frowning. "Yes?"

The Nord hesitated, then sighed. "I'm sure you already know that you're being hunted."

The brothers traded grim looks at that. "We're aware, yes," Sirroc said softly. "So... what happens now?"

"That depends on your business here," the guard replied, looking back at the second man, a blonde and clean-shaven man who merely nodded. "What brings you to Bruma?"

"Trade," Lobo said quickly, taking off his backpack and opening it, revealing the bearskins. "We have pelts to sell to any who will take them, and potions to offer as well."

"That... may be acceptable," the guard told them slowly. "Do you intend to stay?"

"If we are banned from the city, then just tell us so that we can be on our way," Sirroc sighed. "We _are_being hunted, after all."

"You are not banned," the guard assured them. "But your presence here puts us in a difficult situation. The Thalmor are sure to check back here in around two hours, and they have demanded that we work with their inquisitors and justiciars to identify and detain any Lykaios that seeks sanctuary here, or who visits for any reason."

Sirroc tensed. "Then you mean to arrest us?" he asked warily.

The blonde Nord gave him a kind look. "Those Thalmor bastards can go to Oblivion before we obey their orders."

"I am not saying that you will be arrested for visiting and trading with us," the bearded Nord told them. "I'm only warning you of our situation here. If they arrive while you are still in the city, and they spot you, then we will be forced to detain you. We will not turn you away, I just want to be sure of your intentions."

"And what assurance do we have that you won't inform the Thalmor?" Sirroc asked coldly. It had been too much to hope for that they would reach Bruma without any issues, it seemed.

"Lad, the Aldmeri Dominion forced our great Empire to give up the worship of Talos," the bearded on said gravely. "There isn't a Nord in Cyrodiil or Skyrim who does not feel that bitter sting, and most Imperials feel the same. If it weren't for the fact that the survival of the Empire depends on not instigating war, we would defy them every chance we got." He reached out and put his hand on Sirroc's shoulder. "We will let you in, don't worry. All we ask is that you make it quick so we can cover your tracks more easily."

The older wolf folded his arms, considering the guards for a few moments- there was sincerity in his words and tone. It took only him looking to Lobo to see him nod for him to sigh and nod as well. "Alright... we were planning to head to Skyrim, and we need supplies, arrows, and an extra bow before we leave. Our plan was to take refuge in a temple or fort we read was in the area, before leaving during the night."

The guard looked back to his blonde partner, who spoke. "Cloud Ruler Temple?"

"I don't recall- I only know that it's due north of here."

"That's the one, then," the bearded guard nodded. "It's a ruin, but it would provide some shelter and an opportunity to see threats approaching. I would suggest staying there only one night, and to keep your fire concealed- the Thalmor might get it in their head to revisit it."

"They've been there before?" Lobo asked.

"Lad, they're the ones who turned into a ruin in the first place," came the reply, before he waved to the gate guard. "Best not to linger too long," the guard cautioned, before turning to the blonde Nord. "Arne, lead them through the city, make sure they get what they need. If we catch sight of the Thalmor, I'll have the gate guard call for the street lamps to be lit, sunset or no."

The younger Nord nodded and gestured for the wolves to follow. Hoping they would be quick, Sirroc followed with Lobo in tow.

"I'll not lie, these are some of the best pelts I've seen any hunter bring me," the elderly woman said, a gleam in her eyes as she ran her hand through the fur. "And bearskin is not normally this soft. I don't know how your tribe does it!"

"If we weren't in a hurry we'd be glad to tell you," Lobo beamed. "Perhaps when things have settled down."

"Oh, don't get me started on those thugs from Alinor or Summerset, or whatever in Oblivion they call it these days," she scoffed, picking up the furs with a grunt and setting them to the side. "Two-hundred septims for each one; five in total for a thousand, if you like the trade."

Were it anybody else Sirroc would have asked if this was a fair exchange, yet he was aware that Nord were honest and honorable, if perhaps candid. "We'll take the trade, though we'll need some good cloaks and furs for the trip north."

"You won't do better than sabercat cloaks," she nodded, opening a container of skins and rummaging through them. "It'll just be a minute."

Sirroc nodded, looking to his brother. "Two out of four- that's not too bad, at least," he shrugged. They had managed to buy rations enough to stretch out to two weeks, but the city's bowyer and fletcher had both taken ill and closed shop for days earlier. Thankfully, the city guard had offered to donate arrows from their armory, which their guide had suggested would serve them better- the Lykaios' bone arrows, while strong and lethal, were also easily recognizable.

"If we had an extra bow to spare we would have provided it to you," Arne said apologetically. "But with the rise in banditry we've needed every guard here as armed as possible. I'll get you the arrows from the armory when we leave."

"It's fine," Sirroc told him as the shopkeeper drew a pair of white sabercat cloaks from the container. "We'll make do, like any Lykaios."

The shopkeep draped the cloaks on the table, then placed a bag of coins on top. "The price for each cloak is two-hundred; this here is the remainder, a hundred in septims and five-hundred in East Empire gold plates." She gave the bag a slight jostle. "This should help keep the noise down in your bags."

The Nord guard peered outside the window towards the gate, the sky becoming darker yet not so much that torchlight was needed. "It's been an hour and no sign of them yet."

"You think they might come sooner?" Sirroc asked, as he and Lobo donned their new cloaks.

"The Thalmor have a damn annoying habit of showing up whenever you don't want them to," Arne grunted.

A shout rose from the eastern gate, echoing against the city walls. Beyond, the brothers could see the dark shapes of men jogging along the walls, grabbing torches from a fire pit and descending into the city. Arne let out a quiet curse, turning to them with a grim look.

"That's the signal- we must leave now."

"Take your coins, pups!" the elderly shopkeeper reminded them, pushing the bag into Lobo's paws. "And be safe out there!"

A tense knot formed around Sirroc's neck as he followed the guard out of the shop, pushing Lobo ahead to keep an eye on him. The sound of horses at the eastern gate drew his attention for only a moment, though the gate did not immediately open. Arne led them to the back of the city, to the courtyard of Castle Bruma, only barely reaching the steps to the door when the eastern gate clanked to life, the sound of chains and metal ringing through the city.

"In here!" Arne gestured to them. The wolves, unused to being invited into any grand building, hesitated a moment before Sirroc gave the younger wolf a gentle nudge. When both were in another guard shut the door behind them, standing guard at the door while the trio moved into the great hall.

"Where--" Sirroc started to say.

"I ask that you trust me," Arne told him, leading them into the throne room.

There was no shortage of apprehension in Sirroc's steps, matched by his and Lobo's ears pinning back anxiously, as they entered the chamber. At the top of its steps sat an Imperial woman with amber hair, dressed in a fine gown with a circlet around her head. She stood and Arne bowed quickly.

"Milady Carvain," he intoned clearly, respectfully.

"These are the two, then?" she asked, looking over the pair- clad in tribal slacks and vests, Sirroc now felt very out-of-place.

"I must get them through the postern passage."

She nodded, addressing them directly. "If I had my way, I would shelter you and your people for your efforts during the Great War. I can only offer you my promise that the people of my city will help your people migrate to where they can, if we are able." She bowed low. "Go now, and may the Nine watch over you."

"Uh... thank you, Countess," Sirroc managed awkwardly, as he and Lobo took a sincere, if clearly clumsy bow. She gestured them to follow Arne, the guard leading them through a door to their right, into a barracks.

"During the Great War the previous Countess had a postern exit built, in case the Thalmor made it as far north as Bruma," he explained as he gathered a quiver of arrows from a shelf and handed it to Lobo. "It never saw any use, thankfully, but it was kept in case it should ever be needed for a surprise attack or to lead the Countess and her family to safety."

"How far out will it take us?" Lobo asked, as Arne led them to the end of the hall, where a painting of a heroic statue was pinned against the stone; a painting he started to pull off its nail.

"A good quarter-mile past the city walls," Arne assured him, "just inside a cospe of trees and stones at the foot of the path leading to Cloud Ruler Temple." He set the painting aside and shouldered into the wall, a small section of the stones swinging inward into a dark, natural hallway, low enough that none but a child could stand in. He turned to them, looking over their shoulders quickly and leaning in close.

"There are several paths to get into Skyrim, most of them dangerous. The safest and most direct path is also the one the Thalmor use to cross directly into Falkreath. But a more secluded path is the take the Pale Pass."

"How do we get there?" Sirroc asked. "I don't recall seeing such a place on the map I got."

"North-east of Bruma is a rock formation, the Dragonclaw Rock," he explained. "From there, head west until you see an old statue, then north into the Serpent's Trail. It will be a winding cavern stretching a mile or so until it reaches the other end, into the ruins of Fort Pale Pass. Then just follow the road past the border into Skyrim, about three days journey."

"Are there any dangers in the area?" Lobo asked.

"Ogres at worst," Arne admitted, "but only during the night. I recall that they are easy to poison."

"Then we can handle it," Lobo nodded.

"Very well then. Best you move now so I can seal the wall behind you." He held his hand out, shaking with both brothers. "May the Nine watch over your journey, and Hircine favor you as hunters."

They shuffled into the corridor, the scent of stale dust and rock filling their nostrils as their feet touched the cold stone floor. Sirroc took one look back, just in time to see Arne grab the wall and pull it back in, sealing the corridor with a loud thud and leaving them in pitch black darkness.

"Should have had a torch ready," Lobo muttered quietly.

"Here, let me," Sirroc offered, grabbing his brother's shoulder and leaning over him, breathing in deep as he held his paw out. A dim glow grew in his palm, a feeling of warm vigor rushing through his arm as the light coalesced into an orb, growing brighter over a few seconds until their environs were better lit. With a short exhale he released the orb, causing it to sail forward slowly through the corridor.

"You're getting better at that spell," Lobo nodded. "The chieftain would be proud to know you remembered his lessons."

"We'll write him a letter," he chuckled. "Let's hurry and put as much space between us and the Thalmor as we can."

The path through the postern exit was not necessarily long, but it was cramped; and for Sirroc, it put the pain of his earlier wound back into his thigh. By the time they reached the end of the path he could feel the warmth of blood having soaked the bandages, spending only enough time to bandage the wound with a fresh wrap while bunching up and carrying the sullied one. A swig of potion dulled the pain once again, and they were on the move, his leg now good enough to make one last trip up the path. By now the sun had fully set and Masser and Secunda were high overhead, illuminating the land beneath them.

He kept Lobo ahead, adamant on ensuring that he would be between him and anyone attempting to follow him, though he kept looking over his shoulder every minute or so, half-expecting any number of dark figures in the distance to begin running towards them. It was not until they had reached the top when he ceased doing so, staring up at the ruined gate of Cloud Ruler Temple.

The curved roofs of the fort's watchtower bore many holes, shattered shingles strewn across the steps leading up into the courtyard. The temple itself was burned to nearly a husk, its walls and door collapsed, and a layer of ash covering what the snow that drifted from the roof holes did not. To Sirrocs eyes, it must have once been an impressive place, a temple devoted to study of the sword, and even now in its ruined state there was a long-forgotten dignity and grace to its remnants- a fragment of honor that the Thalmor had failed to strip from it.

"I can only imagine what it must have been like, when the Blades still existed," Lobo murmured, looking around.

"It's strong enough to still be standing," Sirroc replied quietly, feeling that even in its current state that a low voice demonstrated the respect the temple deserved. "I don't think there would be anything wrong in searching for supplies here," he reasoned, pointing to a nearby door. "Maybe there'll be a bow in what's left of the armory."

"We can settle that later," Lobo agreed. "Right now we should think about keeping warm, the mountain's breath won't be so forgiving through the night."

Sirroc peered around, frowning- with the temple's walls down, it was too visible to see at nearly any elevation. "Making a fire would be too risky," he mused. "We'll need to move deeper in and just stick close for warmth."

"Wouldn't be the first time," Lobo teased, leaning in and nuzzling the older wolf. "Do you think we can post an alarm spell on the inside of the door?"

"Maybe," Sirroc nodded. "But we also need to set up watch."

"I think I might be able to help with that," a voice behind them said.

The unknown voiced startled them badly enough that both wolves drew their weapons: Sirroc, his longsword; Lobo, his hunting bow and a nocked arrow aimed at the new figure. The older wolf was halfway towards rushing the intruder when his mind processed the figure's appearance, his pelt gray and spotted; his eyes a deep blue; and his clothing Cyrodiilian in appearance. He held up his paws and smiled at the pair.

"I apologize, hunters. My name is Jo'reko- and I would like to help."