User blog:Leea/The Tale of Voronwe, Chapter 15

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4th Era 100, 30th of First Seed, Summerset Isle
Quickly but stealthily making his way across the Northern coastline, Markadil continued to look for his target. It had been five days since he had arrived, and still no sign of him anywhere. Actually, there was no sign of practically anything live on this gods-forsaken beach, barring the occasional stray goat (why they were there escaped him) and endless gulls. There weren't as many on Pyandonea, as they were often hunted for meat, and to keep them away from the dry goods on the docks.

Sitting down on a rock for a rest, Markadil took off his knapsack and rummaged around inside. Almost all of his food rations were gone, as he was not used to long treks, and he thought he would have found Balasian far sooner than this. He mentally cursed himself for not stuffing his pack full of food before he had left his home, as most of the hardtack he had brought along was gone. Sucking on the last of it, he peered up into the sky at the wheeling gulls and thought briefly on catching one. No, that wouldn't work, he thought. He'd have to cook it, and since he was an enemy in enemy territory, any potential Thalmor could see the smoke from the fire and might investigate. The charm necklace had been depleted long ago, so they would see him for who he was: a Maormer on a Altmer populated island. He knew that wouldn't go over too well; he would be killed or captured, and Thalmor interrogators were almost bar none in equals to getting the information they wanted from you. No, better to just suck on the bland hardtack until it was gone, then eat grass if it came down to it.

Pulling out his flask, he drank deep of the last of his water. He would need somewhere to refill it soon. Placing it back, he shrugged the pack onto his back again and got up from the rock. Turning East, he thought as he continued walking that he was almost to the end of the North shore. What then? Go around the East shores, just in case? He couldn't go back to--

The thought broke off cleanly when he thought he saw smoke in the distance. Squinting in the direction, he looked hard for what he thought he'd seen. No...must've...wait, there. Not too distant. It wasn't a camp fire, the smoke was too regular. This was just what he needed, he thought. If it wasn't his quarry, he could at least do away with the occupants (Likely fishermen, he though. No match for someone like me, he mentally preened himself.) and then raid their stores.

Picking up his pace, Markadil saw within a few minutes an apple orchard, and a small house beyond. There was a garden near the orchard, and a spring went past the house. Continuing to sneak from tree to tree and boulder to boulder, he got to within 30 feet of the house. He could hear faint voices inside. Making forward like a cat, he closed the distance and leaned against the wall. Listening hard with his ear pressed to the wall, he could make out a male and a female voice. He tried to hear what they were saying, but couldn't; the walls were too thick. Pausing to think of his next move, he remembered that he had spied a back door. He calculated that the voices were closer to the hypothetical front door, assuming there was one. If there wasn't one, there would be little chance for the occupants to escape; he would have them cornered.

Creeping silently through the flower bushes around the house, he just reached the door when something shoved him hard from behind, and he yelped before he could stop himself, falling hard onto the stone landing. He sprawled there, frozen in his own stupidity, and heard the clap, clop, clip of goat hooves walking past. "One of those stupid goats!!" he yelled in his head. Slowly, he eased himself from the ground and glanced in the door. Empty. The surroundings: empty. He rubbed his eyelids, sighing. However, the voices had stopped. That wasn't a good thing, not at all. Blasted goat had revealed his position. Gritting his teeth in determination, he cast an invisibility spell and unsheathed his weapon and crept in the door.