"Need me to kiss it better?"

"I think that would help."

Then she shall do so.

"It was very brave and cool of you to try, even if you didn't make it."

Wiggle! "I'll need to try again later, then."

"Maybe a shorter one, though."

"Once I'm a bit tougher."

"Sounds like a plan." Kiss!

Kiss!!

And in the distance, there is a thunder of hoofbeats.

?!

She pulls away slightly, craning her head for a glance of whichever madman is riding their horse like that out here. 

The horse is pure black and much larger than the typical breed one sees in Skyrim. It moves at a full gallop, in a straight line across the countryside, heedless of both the road and dips and bumps in the landscape. As it comes up behind the party, it leaps halfway up the cliffside Glint attempted to climb, taking one- two steps over their heads, perfectly balanced on practically nothing at all before jumping the rest of the way up to the top and continuing to run.

And they get the barest glimpse of a small woman clinging to its back, nearly buried amid its flowing black mane - especially given the dark leathers she wears and her own long black hair - 

- What the fuck???

Good question! Good fucking question!!

Sadly, horse and rider are now both much too far ahead to hear said very good question, even were either inclined to answer. 

And, some time before: 

The road from Cheydinhal has been long and difficult, getting briefly worse as she passed the fighting around Bruma and then much worse during her trek through the Jerall Mountains - she needed to avoid the military checkpoints after a few... Unfortunate incidents... And there's not much else in the way of usable passes. 

Skyrim is cold, too, especially the highlands above Falkreath. She tries to push it out of her mind, instead focusing on the warmth of the spiced mead she acquired from the very entertainingly named Dead Man's Drink. (She has no idea how much of a fixture the local Sanctuary members let themselves be in the town; still, she'll like it if they have an excuse to drink there. It's charming.)

The Sanctuaries aren't supposed to know about each other's locations, for security reasons - but Maellys was recruited directly by the last of the Black Hand, and there's things a Keeper must know.

And so, she arrives to the doorway to Falkreath's Sanctuary one cold and misty morning. She gently rests the handles of the cart she's pulling down, picks up her earthenware drinking vessel and takes a warming sip, and approaches the rather dramatic skull embossed on the shadowed door. 

'What is the music of life?' it hisses in her mind, a dark rasp.

Sip, and she grins and murmurs, 'Silence, my brother.'

And the door opens before her. 

The door opens to a rough-hewn rocky corridor descending underground. There's a pitter-patter of bare feet on stone and a voice calls up from the bottom "Is that you, Emi? Back already?"

"No," she calls, her voice clear and carrying as she steps into the entrance. "I am Maellys, and I wish to speak to the leader of your Sanctuary."

The owner of the voice pauses at the bottom of the steps and flicks a ball of Light to adhere to the ceiling halfway between the two.

Ah shit she's hot.

"Are you... from another sanctuary?"

"Yes. Cheydinhal."

"All the way from Cyrodiil, huh? Might as well come in, then. I'll get Ástríðr."

She nods, and turns to pick up her cart to pull it in behind her. 

She trots off to get someone to let Ástríðr know she's needed, then hurries back to further pester interrogate their new guest in the briefing room at the bottom of the stairs.

"Sooo. Maellys. My name's Danella. What's in the cart?"

Smile. "It's good to meet you, Danella."

"And that's something I'd hoped to reveal only once your leader had arrived..."

"Ooh, a secret. Spooky." Her fuzzy cat ears twitch excitedly. "Did you bring it all the way with you?"