Skyrim: Dark Firewood

Confessional

"You don't have to do this."

Kerev could barely swallow. His mouth was drier than the dessert, the adrenaline buzz long faded away. His muscles ached. Fear burned down to his bones. The Nords in front of him were trained mercs, well built and obviously well rested and ready for a fight. He could only hope and pray that they wouldn't kill him.

"Sven sends his regards."

Kerev felt his legs start to tremble. The Nord's voice held intent, a bloodlust Kerev had heard before. He swallowed hard and tried to pull back his notched arrow.

The Nords all started to laugh at Kerev's attempts, slowly making their way towards him. He could barely raise the bow up to aim.

Kerev flinched as the main Nord batted his weapon down, forcing Kerev to drop it. He could barely hear his own thoughts over the echoing laughter of his attackers, not helped by a sudden sweep of his legs out from under him.

Kerev was unable to catch himself, his head slamming into the dirt. He barely had time to catch his breath before he felt the thug's lackeys stomp their boots onto his chest. He moved to react, but quickly his wrists were stomped on as well. He was pinned.

He could feel something pop, gritting his teeth and trying his best to stay silent. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears, a frog in his throat. He remained silent as the thug pressed the overly sharp dagger to his windpipe. 

"You seem tired," Kerev could barely keep attention, feeling his blood trickle down his neck. "Let's make this quick, hm?"

Kerev shuddered and swallowed, feeling the blade cut him a bit deeper. He kept all his words in his chest and moved his gaze up to meet the Nord's. He refused to break eye contact, unsure why.

He felt the Nord move the dagger's blade away from his neck, the tip of it piercing an inch under his earlobe. Kerev sucked in a breath and held it, every atom in his body shaking in fear.

Everything quickly came to a halt. A loud, booming shout nearly ruptured Kerev's eardrums. Both he and the trio of thugs were shoved to the side, dragged through the dirt and torn asunder by stones and sticks.

Kerev didn't even stop to think, climbing to his feet and screaming. He let himself go completely, his cries of fear twisting into yelping howls of the beast he held within. The pain of the change was muted, and all Kerev knew was the warmth of the blackness that encased his mind.

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Faendall moved the book from his right hand to his left, chewing on his lip. He had been waiting for Kerev to show back up for hours, arms long since sore from the constant shifting of the journal. Faendall sighed and put the book back on the table for the hundredth time. Never once having opened it.

Faendall rubbed under his eyes and leaned back. He stared up at the ceiling and thought about the alchemist's words. About how he felt about Kerev. He couldn't explain the mixture in his stomach, the air that caught in his mouth, the words that never made it past his lips. 

His mind was set ablaze with the memory of that forsaken Cabin. The Mill that Kerev seemed petrified of. That much was clear in hindsight. How Faendall had been so blind, he didn't know. He thought of the fear that encased him as Kerev started to growl and writhe. How fast he had run to get help. And how little he cared about what happened to him, so long as Kerev got the help he needed. A thought cut through the fuzzing cloud that fogged up his mind. 

'Would I have done the same for Camilla?'

Faendall nearly choked on his own spittle. Where had that thought come from? Had the Alchemist asked?