Whitewater Gorge Happiness is something that you are

His constant wandering makes his paws raw and sore, but he continues anyway. His mind is always racing but somehow still at the same time, but it continues declining. His hunger to kill and maim grows stronger and stronger by the day, so he continues to hunt. It’s a simple circle of repetition. He hardly sleeps, so he wanders. And when he wanders, his mind races. And when his mind races, the only thing that calms it is the hunt. 

Today is no different from the others, though without Blackwater, he has no task. Without Tulok, he has no company. Unless he decides to count Banesteppe, but he’s always there — always watching, talking, and preying on him. He’s used to it, actually looks forward to it now (not that he would ever admit it to the ghostly bastard). And since the brindled beast has not seen sleep in days, he decides tonight in the night to try.

Sleep, little prince, sleep. Or this physical form will fail you. Banesteppe had purred. You know what happens if you fail… 

He does and so he tries. 

Curling up beneath a large oak tree in the middle of absolute bum-fuck nowhere, he forces his eyes shut. There, he feels Banesteppe’s presence. Close beside him — getting closer, closer, closer until an alien hand runs over the top of his head, tangling sensually into the thick, coarse fur of his nape. It continues until his eyelids become heavy and anytime Alduin would flicker then open the ghost — his curse — would chastise him and grip his fur in a tight hold.

You will sleep tonight, my little hellhound. Or perhaps I need to make you… His words suggested that Alduin would not like whatever he had planned and it’s likely that he wouldn’t. So again, he forced his eyes shut. Deep crimson disappearing behind the dark mask of his eyelids.

Eventually…

Eventually…

Eventually…

He slept.

Yet, the dream he finds himself in does almost makes him betray the thought that he ever even went to sleep in the first place. He is in a place — a place he does not recognize — fog so thick he can only see about two meters ahead. It’s dark, but light is shining down in a sickly blue hue. 

Must be the moon. He thinks. 

Only he hears a voice. One he cannot make out though it sounds distinctly feminine. He searches, looks, but it sounds as if it comes from everywhere and nowhere all at once. 

Until a shape forms before him from the mist itself.

A wolf. 

Bloody eyes meet their form — she has no scent, but he knows she’s female. Her eyes watch him, he gazes back. She moves closer, he stays still. 

It doesn’t feel like a dream — it feels so real. 

Her coat is of light coffee and dark chocolate — earthy hues, but right now they seem terribly vibrant. 

What’s happening to him?

She’s speaking, he’s hearing, but he just can’t understand the words that come out of her mouth.

The hellhound squints his eyes. “What?” He questions in his usual rasping tone. “I can’t understand.” 

His words don’t bother her, she continues, moving ever closer. 

No. A deep, stern voice seems to boom out around them, mixing with her own. He recognizes that voice…

Banesteppe.

You’re not welcome here, woman. Banesteppe snaps. Wake up, my reaper. He calls out to Alduin. There is no panic in the ghostly man’s voice, it’s more of an order — like this woman is but an inconvenience to him.

Yet, Alduin looks around and cannot find Banesteppe to save his life. 

“Banesteppe?” He wonders, confusion coloring his deep voice.

Wake. Up. The man spits, volume increasing exponentially. 

He feels the world around him vibrate and his eyes flick back to the dark furred woman before him. And finally, he can understand…

A land of ash and soot — find it. She whispers mysteriously. A purr then, Follow the clues. 

A confused expression morphs onto his face, soon to smooth into one of suspiciousness. And just like that, he wakes up. Only able to get one more look at the woman who seemingly invaded his dreams, before blinking open bleary eyes.