Love and Bounty

Chapter Fourteen: The Warning

Deeja was splayed out on the mess of linens and plush cushions of her bed, her copy of Beggar Prince—which she had read at least a hundred times already—laid open somewhere in the middle of the novel.

Nine days. It had been nine days since Hrolf told her his father's lesson, and it was still fresh on her mind. She'd imagined life as a battle before, so that was nothing new, but what would she even call her battles? Had she ever won any? Some days, it felt like she was fighting an uphill battle just to survive, but the way Hrolf put it was hopelessly stuck in the folds of her mind. Loss and growth, doubt and peace...

Peace.

The Hist knew she could use more of that. The rest of their walk to the Grotto was nice, and even somewhat comforting, but that came to an end once she heard the revelry of the resident Blackbloods. They parted ways for the night after that, and the distance only made Deeja's curiosity burn brighter until she couldn't think of anything else. Even her small collection of beloved books was made dull by comparison, confusion and fascination swollen in her chest.

She knew so little about him, and though she wanted to hear from him and understand his words more deeply, she couldn't bring herself to ask—even when she was sitting right in front of him. It wasn't like she could afford seeming weak in front of these Blackbloods. Nevertheless, it wasn't the same with Sharai and Iscraah around, chatting with him and each other as the two women shared a bottle of mead between them. Sharai had some nerve to do that, especially considering Iscraah's... dining habits.

Deeja shuddered at the thought. She swatted her book away with her tail and frowned.

That stupid Nord... Causing all of this trouble in her head...

She also couldn't stop thinking about Galum-Jei, not wanting to believe that she had been such a fool the day he "abandoned" them. The mere thought of confronting him after everything made her feel frail, like she could be blown over by a light breeze. Part of her hoped that Hrolf had lied about the ordeal, maybe to butter her up after what might have been a faked apology, but his account made too much sense. Hrolf had no reason to tell her that her name came up if he wasn't being honest. Why fake an apology after what must have been a real confession? What would he gain from that?

...maybe this was all starting to get a bit irrational—or maybe that's what he wanted her to think.

...
She could use a nap.

Ignoring the messy state of her pillowy bed, she curled up and wrapped herself up in as many blankets as she could haphazardly grab. Despite the layers of warmth, the cold still nipped at her poor scales. It wasn't even winter, yet she still shivered like a helpless babe despite the bundled layers. Skyrim weather wasn't getting any warmer. As soon as her horned head found a pillow and she closed her eyes, a harsh knock came from the other side of the door.

Her face twisted into an annoyed scowl. She just got comfortable, and she wasn't getting up—not even if the cavern started collapsing around them. Silence lingered on, and she nestled further into her bedding—

Only to be thrust out of the bliss of rest by egregious, hinge-rattling knocking. The force of the blows against the door shook all the way to the legs of her bed frame. Her scowl deepened, and she snarled:

"Go away!"

There was a pause. Briefly. Then the knocking started again, even harder this time. The door rattled like it had a mind of its own and desperately wanted free from the doorway and would rather break in half than stay there. With a furious snarl and a hot flush of wrath beneath her scales, Deeja threw her blankets aside and boomed:

"KNOCK IT OFF! I'm getting up!"

At last, it stopped, but Deeja's blood was already boiling. So much for being cold. She stood and stamped across the wooden floorboards, her rage carrying her stride and every movement as she slammed each of her three locks open and tugged the door ajar with surprising strength.