Lion Head Mesa i made wine from the lilac tree

Akashingo, she repeated. It tasted like spring dew on her tongue; refuge. Perhaps because this was the first place in a while that she felt at ease, as if her very being settled into the soil. Not anxious, not depressed, not angry—

Just. . .tired, really. Very tired.

It was with this utter exhaustion that she nodded. My birthplace, Maegi admitted, but I'll not say no to some rest. She would follow where he led her, all the while her gaze swiveling, noting each fascinating little bit here and there of this territory.

All the while, trying to ignore the pull of the woods, and the wicked, gurgling laugh of Sheogorath that accompanied it.