Lion Head Mesa put my heart in its recipe

The greatest heights of the mesa afforded her a great view of the prairie that expanded far—and not so far was the dark blotch of Blackfeather Woods, looking unusually small at this height. She stared at it for a while as the sun rose, wondering if she was strong enough to go.

Her body, perhaps; her mind, no.

Sheogorath continued to chatter on, goading her there. Each shouted instruction sent pain through her skull, but this morning, he was quiet, and peace had settled, even for just a moment. Her head was clear of hurt and worry.

Akashingo was good for the soul, she thought. And Pharaoh's gods. . .

Maegi sat and then lay on her belly, forelegs outstretched. She surveyed the great swath of grassland, blanketed in snow. The morning rays turned her pelt to a gleaming silver-gold; her eyes glowed, but her mouth remained frowning.