Skyrim belongs to Bethesda. Any character you do not recognize (any OC) belongs to me.

"And thus it is imperative that we remain faithful in our beliefs! The Imperials see us as nothing more than dogs fighting for our territory—see Skyrim's lines as part of the rest of the Empire and therefore rightfully theirs! They like to think they know much about Skyrim; they berate our lifestyle, they claim our land, they insult the courage of our warriors! But they are blind to their own follies! Whilst we remember Akatosh and the One, they shun Talos' name, refusing it to even be whispered among their people! While we remember the true Nordic way of life, they choose to enslave themselves to the Thalmor!"

Shêza shifted on her heels and sighed. She glanced around at the people crowded around her, trying to find signs that they were as annoyed as she was. Most of them stared at the ground, whether in deep thought or ignoring the Stormcloaks, she couldn't tell. Only a small handful had scowls smothering their faces and arms crossed indignantly. She couldn't blame them, either. She was already late returning to Whiterun before the troupe of Stormcloaks halted her and others on the road. They had reasoned their actions with the excuse of, "Listen if you love Skyrim and if your Nordic blood is true."

Shêza rolled her eyes. Of course she loved Skyrim with every breath she took for her seven and twenty winters—she would love it even more if that damned Ulfric Stormcloak didn't send his men to terrorize merchants and travelers.

'Besides,' she thought with an amused smirk, 'I bet the Khajiiti are just speechless for standing around in the drizzle for so long.' She looked over at the cat-people and had to bite back a bark of laughter. 'Poor kitties, all hissy from being wet.'

"The mer are corrupt! The Thalmor spread their poisons throughout the minds of their kind, warping them into tools to use against us! They use their magic to harm Man, not to aid us! They have even laid claim to Winterhold!"

Shêza adjusted the deer slung over her shoulder. She needed to be back at Whiterun at once! The Jarl would be curious as to her whereabouts, and even displeased since she promised to hunt his little boy a fresh, sturdy buck for his birthday. Oh, she could only imagine what new words Farengar was conjuring up from her tardiness, that busy-bodied mage.

The blood from the deer had already soaked through her fur trimmings and was making her leather greaves disgusting to be in. She'd have to spend extra time tonight scrubbing the blood out of her clothes, not something she wanted to do after such an exhausting day.

From the corner of her eye, she saw one of the cats give her a toothy grin.

Typical.

She glowered at the Khajiit, wrinkling her nose and giving an audible sniff. She was familiar with what wet fur smelled like, and was sure the Khajiiti knew too, and took a small amount of pleasure in hearing the cat hiss from her manners.

Finally, after feeling her feet become clammy from standing in dirt for so long, the Stormcloaks gave them permission to leave. The crowd immediately dispersed, eager to be away from the soldiers and to return to their families. She snorted, finding irony in Ulfric's own enslavement of the people he vowed to protect and liberate. She huffed and sent one of Ulfric's hounds a glare, and in return, she received a long, scrutinizing look. She made to blend into the crowd and leave when the Stormcloak approached her, but was pulled back by a strong hand on her arm.

She felt her blood give off a jolt of adrenaline, and she pressed her lips together and curled her fingers into her deer as the Stormcloaks surrounded her.

"Very bold of you to show such disdain toward the Stormcloaks," the man said with an accusatory tone in his voice.

Shêza frowned and stayed her ground. She kept her eyes on the Stormcloak but remained acutely aware of his fellow soldiers closing in on her. Six—there were six of them in total. "And how bold of Ulfric to send his little lapdogs to nip at Skyrim's heels."

The Stormcloak took a step forward, his fingers once again digging into the pale flesh of her arm. "Ulfric is to be High King! You will not speak about your king in such a way! Are you Skyrim-borne or not?"

She jerked her arm free and held onto her deer with both hands. "He is not king yet, and until he shows some respect to Skyrim's people, he will never be my king."

The Stormcloak let off a chilling chuckle. "Brave words for just one person—"

"And Ulfric was just one person to murder former King Torygg," she countered.

He continued as if she hadn't even spoken. "You are just a huntswoman with only a bow to defend herself against Ulfric's men." He gave her a cursory glance, taking in her rugged greaves, bare feet, and homespun poncho that had seen better days. "And a peasant woman, no less," he added, laughing with his comrades.

Shêza took a step back and bumped into a soldier's chest. She whirled away from him, only to jostle against another soldier. Her blood raced through her veins and an ache built inside of her gums. Her head snapped to and fro as she tried to keep an eye on all men. She never liked the feeling of being trapped and cornered, and her beastblood especially didn't like it, either.

"Of course there is a way for the peasant woman to repent for her harsh words," he leered. Shêza sucked in a breath and steeled herself as the man brushed his knuckles against her cheek. She resisted the urge to bite his hand off at the wrist, eying the exposed skin with a primal longing. He grinned, seeming to like the rage dancing behind her eyes. He lowered his hand to weave his fingers in the deer's hide.

'Oh, no you don't,' she silently warned.

Her muscles coiled when he made to pull it off her shoulder, and only when she heard a soldier draw his sword did she let the Stormcloak take the deer, albeit reluctantly.

He smiled again and assessed his prize. "A fine wager, is it not?"

"Keep it, dog," she growled. He laughed again, and she pushed through the wall of Stormcloaks. They let her pass and crowded around the deer.

"This will make the ride back to Helgen much more leisurely!" they called after her.

"Hope you choke on it, sons of bitches," she muttered as she trudged onward to Whiterun.

No, Jarl Balgruuf would not be pleased at all. Shêza shuddered; she could just see the scowl on Irileth's face from returning empty-handed.