Catch Me If You Can (On hold)

~Chapter 3~ Explanation

She could feel her heart pounding underneath her fur. The surprise was unexpected, albeit it was not a pleasant one. How did he know? Had these bandits deliberately captured her because they knew who she was? Questions from all angles swam through her head.

She quickly glanced at the Nord, Garret, who only returned her gaze before looking back at the Chief.

The Khajiit opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted before she had started:

"I know this may come as a surprise to you," the Chief cut in.

Surprise?! This is a bloody outrage!

"but in due time I will explain everything. Please take a seat." He motioned for her to sit as Garret quickly rested the lantern on the table and pulled out a chair for her. She reluctantly sat, keeping a close eye on both the bandits.

The Redguard looked at Garret, hinting that he should leave the two warriors to it. The Nord picked up on the hint and scurried away out of the door.

"Not so fast," the Chief finally put in. "See to it that the Khajiit gets proper medicinal assistance? Send up our best healer." He had obviously noticed she was slightly cradling her right arm.

Garret nodded, poking his head back through the door.

"And one more thing." He looked at the lesser bandit's attire, noticing the difference in quality between the armour and weapon. "The chest." He didn't even need to motion the chest behind him.

The Nord paced over to the chest and reluctantly placed the Khajiits' sword inside. Flushed red, with either anger or embarrassment, he was soon again outside of the room. The Khajiit had kept her focus on the Chief the whole time, still unsure what his motives were and why he was being so courteous.

"Sorry, where were we?" He said, but soon after, "Ah, yes. The explanation." He stood up from his oak desk and walked to the back table, although acting calm, he could feel the cat's eyes piercing into him from behind. He decided to ignore it, because, was there any point of expecting manners from a ruthless killer?

He opened the knapsack, bringing out a small loaf of bread and a cheese slice. The cat studied his moves, wondering whether he was quick enough to evade a swipe to the eyes before she had a chance to run. She always had a plan.

Despite his build, though, he seemed strong enough to wield the war hammer that sat next to the Khajiit. Strangely he was of smaller build, but that did not mean he couldn't crush a skull with one swing.

He walked back over to the oak table, placing the food in front of her. She was hungry, but would he poison her? No...he wouldn't dare, if he truly did know who she was.

Keeping her gaze locked with the dark eyes sitting across from her, she ripped the bread in half- which was a bit of a challenge, considering she could only use one hand- and took a bite, yet remained silent for him to continue.

This is exactly what he did.

"Where to begin..." He started. "I'm guessing you would like to know where you are for a start?"

The Khajiit said nothing, just stared.

"I'll take that as a yes. Well, unfortunately I can't tell you. Yet. First I need to know whether you are going to try to kill us and what your priorities are."

She took a second to finish the bread in her mouth, before responding.

"If you must know...Yes, that was my initial thought, but seeing as you've been so kind, I might pass on hunting down your family and making you watch as I slaughter them on the spot." She was deadly serious. He got that, though.

"I can understand why you are angry," he said, "but do not worry. I can assure you you will not need to do that."

Are you so sure?

"Solsteim," he said. "In a cave off the north-east. The problem is, you're supposed to be dead."

The Khajiit was done hiding her emotions and thoughts. It took too much effort. She stood up, the chair making a short loud noise as her furry calves pushed against the edge of the seat. Her eyes were slits.

"Explain." Her voice was like gravel.

The Chief just looked at her, then once again down to his scroll, as if it didn't matter anymore.

Enough.

In a sudden flash of light brown fur and a hint of white, he found himself looking at the scribbles on the paper, to the knots in the oak. She had quickly swiped the paper from under his nose, and skimmed the contents.

Her eyes raced over the ink.

"...'-and shall be sold for 100,000 Septims.' ?!"

He gave a long sigh. "Yes, we bought you. You are now in the slave trade, and you are now our new prized possession."