The Last Dragonborn: Novella's Legacy *On Hold*

Wolves and Whiterun

I awoke with a start, drenched in cold sweat. My heart raced like a wild stallion, my ears buzzed, and every muscle ached. The taste of dirt and soil lingered in my mouth—a bitter reminder of where I had been. The nightmare had gripped me fiercely, a desperate flight from my debtors, nearly crossing the border before a dragon descended, devouring me whole. I inhaled deeply, struggling to assure myself that I was safe, that I had escaped, yet the trembling wouldn't cease.

"Are you alright there, Novella?" A deep, familiar voice pulled me from my thoughts. I saw Hod leaning over me, concern etched on his rugged face. I lay sprawled on the floor in Gerdur and Hod's house, where they had offered me warm food and a soft bed. How long had I slept?

"I am fine," I muttered, propping myself on my elbows. "Merely a nightmare destined to haunt my days," I grunted and attempted to rise. My stomach growled, protesting loudly, and I winced at the persistent ache. "What time is it?"

"You've been out cold for a good sixteen hours," Hod said, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. "I feared you might never wake. Ralof's still here, too. Took the time to rest himself. Care for some venison stew?"

The rich aroma of the stew wafted from the hearth, promising warmth and comfort. Ralof sat hunched over the table, tearing into a piece of bread and sipping the stew with a weary nod.

"Aye, stew sounds perfect," I replied, my stomach growling in agreement. I managed a half-smile as I pushed myself up, taking in the familiar scent of sweat and dirt clinging to my skin—a reminder of recent battles. I shuffled over to the table, settling beside Ralof, who acknowledged me with a grunt. His hair was tangled, and he smelled no better than I did.

Hod placed a steaming bowl in front of me. "Pay him no mind. Lack of sleep makes him sour and hunger worse. He woke just before you."

I nodded, took up a spoon, and dived into the stew. The flavors burst forth—carrots, tender venison, hearty potatoes. Each spoonful was a balm to my weary soul, and I fought the urge to devour it all in one go.

"So you saw a dragon, did you? Tell me, what was it like? As big as a house?" Hod leaned forward, his eyes alight with curiosity.

"Much bigger than that. As big as the inn," I replied with a smirk, savoring another sip of the hearty stew.

"Well, I'll be! That'd be a sight to see—not that I'd want to, mind you. Hope it stays far from here." Hod leaned back, casting a sidelong glance at Ralof. "It'll be a shame to see him leave soon, but with Ulfric's war against the Empire raging on..."

"What do you think of the war?" I asked, curious.

"I've enough on my plate with my family to care for. I steer clear of such matters," Hod said, gazing at the door before looking back at me. "Besides, the mill needs tending. I don't mind helping now and then, but I prefer staying busy. And then there are those thieves, always sneaking about."

My blood ran cold. Thieves in Riverwood? That could only mean—

"Those damned Shadowcloaks. Ever since that orc took the reins, they've grown bolder. At least when that girl was in charge, they didn't prey on honest folk." Hod frowned, his hand clenching into a fist.

"Shadowcloaks? Can't say I've heard of them," I said, trying to keep my hand steady as I took another sip of stew.

"Aye, a nasty lot. I'd have thought Brynjolf's crew would've bested them by now, but no such luck." Hod scoffed, taking his plate from the table. I continued eating, finding solace in the stew's warmth and the fullness it brought to my belly.

"I told you my sister would help us out," Ralof said, a grin spreading across his face as he lifted a spoonful of stew. "I'm going to kill the next Imperial I see."