Fields of Crimson

Falkreath

The day had begun bright and early, rays of sun piercing through the clouds-thick with bright warming light. Smoke drifted from the stone chimneys, where snow riddled the strongly built housing. Gusts of wind would cause the cluster of homes to creak and groan against the weight, doing their best as to stay in place. They did their job- Protecting.

Wafts of strong scents trickled through the air, drifting along the smoke which disappeared after moments of mixing with wind.

The air smelled strongly of venison, roasting over an open blaze inside of the home. Along the East side of the village to be exact, guarded by trees, trees, and more trees. Winter had just ended, which meant that the villagers would soon need to begin to work.

It had been a harsh winter indeed, for few flowers bloomed in this early spring. It was so cold, and it was so strange to the people. But upon seeing bears wandering through the melting drifts, the people of Falkreath had a feeling that it was over.

After that last long gust that brought total silence a door had swung open to reveal a feeble little body. Golden tresses had been braided firmly into the strands that rested on her shoulders or later were tangled into a larger braid. Pink little cheeks were nipped at by the cold, causing her to pale all the more- only making the pink more apparent.

She took a few short steps away from the door, nudging it with a short sigh to watch it close behind her. Within her hands she carried a wooden bucket, worn and torn- just as her old clothes were. A dark little dress, mahogany almost with a tattered blue sash that hung off of her belt and off of her hip. Single blue and green hues scanned the greenery that had seemed to have grown overnight. It was beautiful. The winter seemed to take up more that half of the year- but of course- they were up North quite a bit.

With a joyous little skip, the fifteen year old girl made her way down a rugged stone path through town. She passed old fences that seemed to splinter more and more each day. Passing houses that looked just as worn as her own. And a cemetery that held the stones of the dead. Some she knew, some she did not. Small communities can be beneficial at times- everyone knew one another- which had to mean that everyone was in someone else's business.

The metal around the handle of the bucket had become cold, stinging her palms as if protesting- in need of some heat. Out to fetch some water for the rest of the cooking. Father would be returning soon, and she would want to have the place smelling of delicious foods for him.

Birds chirped thoughtfully and insects sung out to one another from far and wide, issuing hums and cries. The snap of a twig had alarmed the young woman, turning her attention straight back to The Hall of the Dead, eyes scouring over all of those cemetery stones she had passed once before. Then there was a sudden silence, almost as of the world had stopped spinning for only a second. Almost as if every sound had become quiet and every movement had been stalled.

A breath hitched itself in her throat, holding her to her spot on the roughed pathway. Nothing there, just as she had seen them before. But she could have sworn that she'd heard something.

'A rabbit, just a rabbit', she told herself as she slowly turned back down the path, advancing in that one direction with a quick step that almost seemed to rushed to be considered frightened. A mass had stopped her, she had run right into it.

Instinctively, her eyes snapped shut as if she believed that it would protect herself. Her crimson stained lips pressed into a very thin line as shivers riddled up her spine.

'I knew someone was there'