Sundas, 7th of Heartfire
Well, that was a bit rubbish. We’re walking along by the river just to the east of Whiterun – well, I’m walking; Miss Dragonbreath or whatever she’s called gets to ride her oh-so-comfortable horse while yours truly slogs along in that mixture of steel and dwarven armour that’s all the rage in Solitude, apparently. Not that I can be sure of that, of course, as we’ve yet to actually make it to Skyrim’s capital city, preferring instead to potter around Whiterun Hold or, if we’re feeling really adventurous, parts of Eastmarch. When I signed up to be DB’s companion, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.
I have helped slay a couple of dragons, admittedly. But not today. Today it was a sabre toothed cat which had been prowling around near one of the farms. We saw it down by the river and, despite the fact that I’ve seen DB pad up to bandits and slit their throats or blend into the shadows and take down a warded up necromancer with a single shot, we charged the bloody thing. Well, I say we. I charged like an idiot and half way to the big – and I mean huge – cat, I become horribly aware of that terrible emptiness by my side that signals that, yes, DB has finally remembered she carries a bow and is quite good at shooting things with it.
The cat looks up, startled for a moment, and then it snarls and bounds towards me. I’m in the middle of praying to Shor, Akatosh and anyone else who might hear me, when it veers away at the last moment and starts pawing at a nearby mudcrab, leaving its flank completely exposed to me. Well, I don’t need a second invitation. I wade in with the old warhammer, DB gets a decent shot in that pierces its side and that’s one less big cat to trouble the turnips, as they say.
Then we have the ritual skinning and tooth-taking and I have to sit on my backside while DB runs around chasing butterflies for half an hour and picking the wings off them when she catches them. I tell you, that girl’s… disturbing.
Still, it’s nice round here at this time of year. The view’s inspiring and the air’s clean and sweet. When it’s not smelling of animal blood. I’ve no idea what we’ll be doing tomorrow, but I expect it’ll involve me running around after a horse because, despite the fact she’s got enough money to buy a house, DB can’t be bothered to buy me a ride. Still, no one said life would be a bed of rhododendrons, did they? Heh. I should write a song about that. Sound’s… catchy.