Bearclaw Valley nevermore

All her life, the daedra had whispered to her. Now, Maegi finally realized that she did not want to whisper back. Not to all of them, anyway.

The raven had led her to a nearby sect of the Dark Brotherhood, which took her aback slightly, though she remembered, long ago, Vaati telling her that there were others. There she had demonstrated her knowledge, proved her loyalty, and thus was inked with the crimson pawprint upon her shoulder. It was everything she had ever yearned for; it was the culmination of sacrifices made, dedication given.

So why did she still feel so empty?

For one, the name "Dark Brotherhood" in and of itself was one of exclusivity; she was not, and never would be, a "brother." The moniker ruled out, at least in theory, those strong-souled sisters like Relmyna, Potema—Meldresi, for Peryite's sake—and Maegi, too, for she'd come to associate herself with the likes of those women. And beyond

Beyond, for all of these women had been devoted to Mephala, but Mephala was no friend of Maegi's. Neither Mephala nor Sithis watched over her; just as her mortal parents had fled, so too had the Dark Mother and the Dread Father. To remain within the Dark Brotherhood would be a waste of her time and theirs. She would be living a lie; they would be contributing to it.

Mephala and Sithis be damned—and all those other daedra, too. Only Peryite remained, sickly and sour, near and dear to her heart. The rest of it belonged to living beings.

Mou. Her body ached without him, like someone had severed a limb. She had risen one chilly midnight with a gasp, surfacing from a dream in which he had come to her. So warm. . .and so real. And with the voice of Peryite screaming in her ear to go, go, GO!, she fled from the woods without a second thought.

Shot across the plains she had traveled, over rocky crags, slipping and sliding on ice grown too thick to break. The sight of familiar mountains soon graced her vision, but it was only until she reached the valley and its odd shape that she realized she was once again on the wrong side.

Ah, well. She was no longer the lost little girl, bleeding out from Nikan's torture; she was a woman now, albeit a young one. She had faced the demons of the world and won, damn it; she'd won every time. Nothing again would come between her and what truly mattered—she would make sure of it. She'd build a hill of bones upon which to rest, just she and Mou, and those who loved them, too.

There was no one here. Maegi was taken aback at the staleness of the border, giving a brief howl and receiving no response. She crossed over, tentatively, hobbling deeper into the territory. She had hoped to maybe find Kove's son here, or Indra. But they were gone.

She would be nearly invisible against the snow if it weren't for the mark of the Brotherhood. The girl had bathed in a stream, rubbing her shoulder raw against moss-covered rock to make it disappear. It had merely faded, though; a ghastly pink blotch on her pelt, to match the indelible mark on her heart.

A reminder from Mephala. . .that Maegi could run, but the daedra—and her troubled past—would remain with her always.