In Ivarstead, a tall, hooded figure stepped through the still of the morning, heading to Vilemyr inn to sleep before returning home to Whiterun. He was on return from a merchant journey to Riften, so he stayed on foot all night and needed to rest. He was astounded that the Dragonborn had been felled in combat merely days after word spread of his arising. Now, all seemed hopeless, all seemed to be set to fall down Alduin's gullet. But not for Thorin Hammerheld: he refused to give up hope that the Dragonborn was the only person who could fell a dragon in battle, and that there was something more that men could do. Only rumors reached him of a gathering of dragon slayers at Vilemyr inn, but the Nord warrior considered it a joke, a scam to make fools out of people, and he would stick to that claim, until tonight...

As he walked inside and sat down, Thorin ordered an ale, some bread, and a goat cheese wedge. As he was eating, he was approached by a male Argonian, who joined him at his table: he was black-skinned, short for his species and had quite an ornate head, like many. As Thorin ate, he twitched his head upon seeing him in utter surprise: Who was he, and where did he come from?, he wondered, but the Argonian revealed his identity fairly quickly.
"Allow me to introduce myself, Nord." he spoke: "My name is Scatha. Scatha Lick-venom."
Thorin then let his guard down and nodded his head. He was familiar with him, since there was word of an alchemist here, even outside the boundaries of this little place. "I know who you are, Argonian." his deep voice replied.
"And your name?" Scatha asked.
"Thorin." the Nord responded: "My name is Thorin Hammerheld of Whiterun."
Just then, a waitress was nearby, and Scatha grabbed her arm and said: "I'll have a beef stew and an Alto wine." Inquisitively, the Argonian continued the conversation with Thorin: "So, what brings a Nord from Whiterun to Ivarstead?"
Thorin took a sip of ale before responding: "I was on the way from Riften, doing business. I managed to sell a couple of dragon scales I uncovered near the western watchtower. I made four hundred septims, and I will gladly pay for your dinner." The waitress then brought over Scatha's order.
As Scatha ate, a very tall Orc with long, brown dreadlocks walked over and sat with Thorin and Scatha. The Nord immediately recognized him as Lugdush, a famous blacksmith from Ivarstead. He offered his hand for a shake: "Lugdush of Orsinium? It is a pleasure to meet one of the finest smiths in all of Skyrim. My name is Thorin Hammerheld."
"Good evening." Lugdush simply replied while shaking the Nord's hand.
Scatha would then continue talking, based on Thorin's mentioning of dragons: "Now, since you spoke of dragons, there's still hope for stopping them. I heard that there's a gathering of dragon slayers, even Blades members on High Hrothgar, in order to form a group called, something like... Dovahfing. Forgive me if I am wrong, but I forgot the word."
"Dragon slayers?" Thorin asked through a whisper, as not to get attention. Hearing that there is a gathering of those who would dare oppose the rule of Alduin, Thorin was positively shocked and even invigorated. He caught his breath and then say: "We must go to High Hrothgar after you have finished your meal! I want to know if what you speak of is true."
"But that was weeks ago, if not months." the Argonian then said.

Rawlith shifted lightly as he sat the Elk down with Valerion on the opposite side of it. The two had placed the Elk near the fire pit while Rawlith personally took up some tools from the nearby supplies. A menagerie of blades and tools for working meat and butchering animals for the fire. He began with a skinning knife as he placed several wide, flat, water stones underneath the beast to prevent too much of it from meddling in the dirt. His knife began to trail down the center of the chest, slicing a cut through the fur, flesh, and fatty layer along the guidance of the sternum and then sliding along the stomach. This was the trickiest part, but Rawlith had plenty of practice. He reached in once he had flayed skin wide to open the stomach cavity under the ribs. The internal organs sat in a rather natural sack of sorts, a membrane held some of it together. He began to cut away the primary organs, heart, lungs, liver, kidneys, etc. The final series of cuts were the most important though and the most precise. He slowly cut up the throat once, and then at the as a second time and carefully removed the stomach and intestinal track all in one membrane sack. After having successfully removed the internal organs, he began the last process of removing the hide from the Elk and once it was removed he bound it up, and planning to flesh the interior later. His next step was to begin cutting the fatty layers that connected the joints and other areas. He sliced off the back legs at the hip, severing them from the spinal area, as well as breaking off the legs at below the thigh. He then did a similar trick with the front legs, and then moved on to begin stripping meat. He cracked the ribs with a hammer along the spine and took down to Elk Rib-racks before finishing up and cutting out to long, thick, juicy Backstraps. The meat was now all removed and placed out on objects that would prevent them form getting dirty while he moved the remains near his pack and equipment. He then took a small barrel from their supplies, in design similar to a small mead barrel, and took the top off to reveal salt. He salted everything except the rib-racks, which were placed on the spit. The spit was then moved into place, once the meat had been salted and stored, and Rawlith finally got to the greatest part.. cooking the Elk Ribs. "Elk ribs, they will be ready soon." Rawlith explained aloud in Khajiit voice, the odd suave of his feline nature catching with a deep tone. "This one has prepared them with a simple seasoning, they should fend off anyone's hunger." He added while turning the spit and the tied down racks of ribs.

Faire's request was answered, some what. The man very delicately placed her by the fire, which was a pleasant gesture but did not remove Faire's suspicions. As it turned out, the man wanted to interrogate her. Her vision was still blurred a bit from that hit to the head and the sudden rush of light from the fire. It took some getting use to as she glanced around the camp to gauge the reactions of its inhabitants. To her own amazement, not to many people took a curiosity in their captive. Did they not yet know she was from a nearly extinct race? They had to have known but Faire couldn't see any tells from the man who carried her or the Argonian who was almost assuredly the one Faire had shot earlier. Outside of that some took a few glances but they went back to whatever it was that they were doing. Very lucky for someone who wanted their identity to remain cloaked. Faire's vision slowly cleared up, she slowly brought her gaze back to the man who carried her, Nikolaus, who was playing the part of interrogator. A bit of an unusual name of which Faire had never heard of, but as she got a better look she could see distinct traits of Nord blood in Nikolaus, much to Faire's dismay. She didn't like Nords and would have preferred to toss an insult or two at him in defiance but this situation didn't need defiance, it needed compliance. "Nikolaus..." She practically whispered it under he breath as she her face creased with a bit of resentment, almost like she was insulted by the man's questioning. "My approach was an accident, a product of not paying attention, and my attack was to ensure my safety. Nothing was lethal and I had planned not to stick around to see if it was anyway." Her words were short and bitter as a bit of spitefulness was laden in those words. Not very appropriate or smart in this situation but it was too late to take them back now. She wrestled a bit with her bindings before she settled back down. She had hoped release would come soon.

The bitterness in the woman's voice surprise Niko. Although it was an emotion he was more than accustomed with, he found it surprising given the context of the situation. Anger, fear, or simple cockiness were reactions more likely to be found in a captive, but not the resentment that appeared both in her face and her voice, her brow twisting into a dark look still visible on her pale, dirt-streaked face. "Weren't paying attention?" Niko repeated, one eyebrow raised quizzically. "Then you should thank the Nine that we weren't bandits - or worse." He added, now crouching down on the balls of his feet in front of her, looking her over. Her armour looked unique; a combination of fur and leather that he had never seen before. He couldn't be sure of the hide used either, but the fur looked to be of a snow bear, the same as her hooded cloak. Realising that she was still carrying weapons, he removed the quiver from her back; the bow must have been picked up by Valerion or Rawlith - and unbuckled the sheath from her belt. He was about to just place it on the floor until his eye caught the strange hilt protruding from the leather sheath, and he slowly drew it out. Exhaling sharply, his piercing blue eyes met once again with her own ethereal ones. "This is no ordinary dagger." He began in a hushed voice. "Who exactly are you?"

Valerion had made sure to pick the elf's bow up on his return, which was pretty much just him and Rawlith huffing and puffing over the very large elks body. Once they both got back to the camp they dumped the elks carcass near the fire, where Rawlith began his work on cutting and preparing the meat, Valerion stared at him at work for a moment, taking in the efficiency of obviously deft and practiced hands that belong to a hunter. "Thanks for the help." Valerion said nonchalantly. Valerion then turned his attention towards the bow he was holding, testing its supple wood and the taught string of the bow. Whilst the wood and adornments of the bow were simple, it was an efficient piece of work, the craftsman obviously put a lot of time and effort into its creation. Sitting down on a rock opposite the camp fire Valerion placed the bow at his feet and began looking towards the prisoner, who was being 'interrogated' by Nikolaus. She was an odd thing, wearing a strange concoction of fur and leather armour, that looked more suited for comfort rather than it did protection, the question of why she attacked still plagued Valerions mind. "Girl!" Valerion commanded. "Why did you attack this camp, and myself?" Valerion said sitting up a bit, to get a closer look at her face. "It seem's like a fools errand, you were greatly outmatched and yet you continued to think that you alone could prevail?" "I mean, points go to your boldness, but think if we were an unsavory group of people?!" "Your life would've gone from bad to worse in a matter of moments, and another thing. What on earth are you doing traveling alone in the wilderness?" Valerion could get quite inquisitive when it came to certain actions and people, but the sheer absurdity of her actions meant that he truly must know if she was an idiot, or simply had a; hopefully, sufficient underlying reason.

Stalking down the winding mountain path was a lone Dunmer, the icy wind of Skyrim sending his black robes whipping in the wind as he gathered them around himself with his arms in an attempt to keep warm. Narzul quietly cursed the low temperature of this land. Back in Morrowind, he would have been content with his chitin armor in any conditions, but out here it did not suffice. One of the Wise Women had created his robes for him when she heard of his intentions to travel to Skyrim, specifically weaving them much thicker than she would otherwise. The robes were heavy, Narzul thought, but they did their job well enough. Narzul had crossed the border between Morrowind and Skyrim a day before and had not encountered a single soul yet on the road. He knew he must be somewhere south of Windhelm, and the path he was following sloped downwards, so he must be going the right way: towards the village of Kynesgrove. However, heavy snow obscured his vision, and he could see no further than a hundred feet in any direction. That was when he spotted a figure ahead of him, carrying a light of some kind that pierced through the veil of the snowstorm. Narzul hastened his step, trying to get a better look. Perhaps it was one of the guards, patrolling the roads? He would certainly know where Narzul was, exactly, and guide his path. Narzul had been warned repeatedly by the other Velothi not to trust the outlanders too much, but Narzul had dismissed that thought a while ago. With the looming dragon menace, all the races of Tamriel were in this together now. When Narzul was close enough to make out the figure more clearly, he was surprised to see a fellow Dunmer, heavily armored, and carrying a lance that seemed to be the source of the light. "Greetings, sera," Narzul called out, raising his hand cordially. "What brings a fellow Dunmer to these roads?"

Dreet-Na listened as his companions talked to the woman, his eyes never leaving her as he carefully observed her and her actions. As Niko chattered away in that strange way he did he took particular note of how she glared at him, her face creasing with what appeared to be a flash of resentment. As she answered her words were thick with spite and disdain, though it seemed slightly more than the resentment a captive feels to their captor – or so Dreet-Na thought. He listened as the Nord replied before he began to remove her weapons from her person, pausing as he revealed a strange and unique dagger from the sheath that had been around her waist. ”Who exactly are you?” As Niko’s words hung in the air and he eagerly anticipated what answer she may give Valerion interrupted. His words were of course filled with the usual arrogance pomposity, however he ended with another question that Dreet-Na would be eager to hear the answer to. After a few moments of silence the Argonian decided it was his turn to speak, sure that she would attempt to keep her true identity to herself – or at least he guessed as much judging by the remnants of dark smears partially covering her face. Clearing his throat Dreet Na spoke slowly, his words deliberate “I believe that this woman is much more than an average traveller”, his arms behind his back he took a few strides forwards as he continued “I would in fact wager quite highly that she is none other than what you would know as a Falmer, or perhaps snow elf”. He stared into her eyes for a moment, his glare almost challenge for her disagree with him before he again continued “I’d say she attacked us out of fear, seeing as she must be one of the very, if not the last of her kind”. He gazed down briefly at his still blood-stained robes with a smirk, his hands gripping the bloody patch as he poked his finger through the hole that she had made with her arrow. “Though why one with such importance would be wandering around without paying attention is beyond me. Tell us snow elf, what are you doing wandering here?”

Having just heard the words Scatha said to him, Thorin rolled his eyes and gnashed his teeth: "Do you not know what this means? If the dragon slayers left this place long ago, they may have trekked over half of Skyrim by now!" he whispered. He had an ill temper and the Argonian's ambiguous speech was definitely something that sparked it. "Patience, Nord." Lugdush responded calmly: "We can still catch up with them, if we learn where they are heading. We need to make sure that we have sufficient resources, so that we can supply ourselves well enough for a trip, regardless of the length of the journey." Thorin then managed to grab hold of his temper and think for a while. He had all the resources required for a full preparation for the travelling. He had more than enough gold to buy horses for Scatha and Lugdush, and enough space for them to sleep inside his house in Whiterun, since he was the only one living there. He made a proposal: "My house is in Whiterun. You can meet me at the Bannered Mare in seven days, at 7 o' clock in the night. We can make preparations for a travel there. For now, we can only wait and see if anyone else who has heard of the dragon slayers arrives in Vilemyr today. It is always better to have more people by our side."

As the ship neared the docks, the Captain came to to get him. Val got up, grabbed his belongings, and walked onto the deck just as they dropped the ramp. "We're here." said the Captain. Val ignored him and walked onto the dock, up to the city. Because it was nighttime, he headed to the largest inn in the city, a place called Candlehearth, and went inside. There he ordered salmon, a baked potato, a bowl of apple cabbage stew, and a bottle of wine and went upstairs to eat it. He spent the next hour quenching his hunger and thirst while watching a dark elf woman sing. Not bad looking he thought, maybe I ought to go talk to her. He stopped himself though, as his mission must come first. Once he was well on his way to completing it, then he could think about ingratiating himself with the local elf women. The next morning he woke up early and walked to the stables. Why does it have to be so cold here? he thought as he went to the carriage nearby. "Where would you like to go?" the carriage driver asked. "I need to see the Greybeards." he said. "Take me to them." "They're up at the Throat of the World, near Ivarstead, but I don't usually go to Ivarstead." Human Swit, trying get more out of me. "How much would you charge to go there, then?" "Oh, one hundred Septims out to cover it." "I'll give you eighty." Val said. The man was probably overcharging him by at least twenty coins, at least. He was human, after all. The carriage driver thought about it, then nodded. "You've got a deal friend. Climb in back and we'll be off." "I'm not your friend," Val said as he climbed into the crude wagon.

It was good fortune that the already renowned group were coming to Kynesgove. Jelo had been working there for a number of months, helping the Guard clear out a particularly annoying group of bandits. They were like rats- easy to kill, maybe, but ridiculously difficult to clear out completely. And in any case the men he was working with were clumsy with their swords. His father would've knocked some skill into these strange Nord men. In the inn, a few days back, a traveler from Ivarstead had come in telling wild tales of a group called the Dovafeyn, consisting of warriors and mages and thieves from all races, who had been formed to get rid of the growing dragon problem in Skyrim. Ever since that idiot of a Dovahkiin had decided to- reportedly- get completely pissed and fight a blood dragon bare naked armed with an iron dagger, getting himself killed, the country had been plagued with the beasts. They were to arrive in about 10 days or so, and when they got there he would introduce himself and join the group. Jelo figured helping to kill a dragon would complete the Ra Gada rite of passage, surely. In any case he had never seen one of the beasts himself; even spotting a dragon would be amazing. Honestly, thinking about the Dovafeyn filled him with excitement. The wait would make him painfully impatient, but there wasn't else to do.

Begrudgingly, the Nord was right. Faire was being a idiot for wandering about late at night without her wits about her. Ending up in this predicament was result of that. But Faire had to admit, all of this did seem a bit unusual. Although she had some close encounters previously, she never blatantly compromised her security like walking right into view of a large camp. The other odd thing was this camp. A non-volatile mixture of races that weren't at each other's throats? Faire hasn't been a part of this new world for very long but she knew enough that Nords typically hated elves, and Khajiit and Arogians did not mix well. And what was up with that man who nearly killed her? This Nord tells her that they aren't a vicious group but that "thing" is allowed among the group? He or it, Faire hasn't decided on which, just gave off a malicious aura and she wasn't just saying that because he almost killed her. Everything about this seemed like it was meant to happen. Curse Auri-El and this situation all together. The Nord removed Faire's belt to fully disarm her, but also took the opportunity to remove her hood revealing Faire's white locks, a calling card to help identify what race she truly belonged to. The Nord also took a gander at her Falmer dagger, which stood the test of time alongside Faire. Various chips and scars marked the blade signifying great age but Faire had none of that. Her skin remained flawless. The Nord took a long look at Faire, trying to wrap his lesser Nordic mind around the question of Who. Faire opened her mouth, about to respond, before the death dealer chimed in. He, too, leaned in an examined the captive. His dialogue was riddled with arrogance, and all he really did was made Faire feel even worse about this. She hated him, whatever he was. Again Faire was prepared to respond but the Argonian, who Faire shot earlier, finally spoke up. He had been eyeing her in silence for this whole time but finally added his piece. Much to Faire's dismay, the Argonian was educated, much like a mage should be, and he managed to deduce what Faire was even without a precedent specimen to examine beforehand. After all, how would one know what a Snow Elf looked like outside of a very few academic books. Faire watched the Argonian fiddle with the hole in his shirt. She felt relieved that he healed his wound, as did not want death for the Argonian, but now there was an issue of Faire's identity. It was very likely this group could sell Faire to the right buyer and not even look back for the amount of gold they would receive. Enslavement or anything like it, was not something Faire wanted. "You wager blindly, Argonian. The Falmer you speak of are dead. In there place, purple husks crawl about the underworld." Her steaming anger was now exchanged for a frown and brief expression of sorrow. "I am but an Altmer, hiding from the cruel racism of the Nords." She shot a glance to the Nord and scowled before turning back to the Argonian. "You have no proof otherwise.." Her tone changed to a feigned innocence.

Dreet-Na listened carefully as their captive responded, his slight grin fading and being replaced with his usual scowl as she denied his allegations, her words mixed with a combination of anger and sorrow. "You have no proof otherwise.." she finished with an innocent look across her features as she turned back to face him. “Hah!” barked the argonian before he turned and stalked away slightly. Wrong indeed, he thought to himself. He thought hard about what he had read before, his mind fixating on one particular text ‘The Falmer: A Study’ which seemed to confirm that which this woman was speaking of about the snow elves becoming those wretched creatures that lurked in the deep. It seemed either she was also familiar with old texts, or that she knew an awful lot about something she claimed not to be. His thoughts turned then to ‘The Fall of the Snow Prince’, another text amongst others that he had once spent many days pouring over. No, he was sure of what she was, even if she wouldn’t admit it – he had read enough first and second hand accounts to know exactly what she was. Dreet-Na shrugged and turning back to her replied “It matters not if you are an Altmer or a Falmer, a Nord or an Orc – you will not prevent us from completing our mission, whatever your true intent is”. He shot her another glare before he gestured to Rawlith begrudgingly and said “The Khajiit seems to think you’re harmless enough, I suppose I’m inclined to agree”. Directing his words at the others he said “I see no reason to keep her bound like this. She has no weapons at the moment and we have Valerion if she decides to attack again. What threat is a Fal… I mean Altmer when we have Dragons to concern ourselves with”. His final words were laced slightly with sarcasm as he referred to her as an Altmer. With that Dreet-Na sat beside the camp fire and took out his book, this time scrawling rapidly before he began to attempt to capture a likeness of their captive under the heading ‘Snow Elf’.

When Val arrived at Ivarstead, he jumped off and placed a Mark. Three more left. he thought. While his teacher could maintain 17 different marks, Val could only handle 4 at a time. "See you later, friend." said the Nord carriage driver as he got down and tied his horse to a nearby bush. Val ignored him and headed to the bridge. There he verified with a local Nord that that was indeed the way to the Greybeards, and started up the mountain. After passing the first few markers, making sure to read them in case they held some hint as to how to deal with the dragons, he started shivering. Damn this cold he thought as he cast a flame cloak around himself to try and keep warm. Eventually, however, he reached the top and went inside. "Greetings." said an old Nord with a long beard. "I am Arngier. If you are here to join the Dovahfeyn, I must inform you that they left yesterday for a dragon burial site outside the town of Kynesgrove." "I am here on behalf of the Aldmeri Dominion," he said. "We were recently attacked by a dragon in Soltheim, and I was one of the few survivors. I have come to learn how to fight them more effectively, and judging by the sconces on the way up, you know the language of the dragons, and how to fight as they do." "We are not a violent order." said the old man. "the Way of the Voice must not be used in that manner." "But their tongue was used in the past to fight back. Taught to men by Kynereth and Parthanax, whom I can only assume was a dragon, as I've never heard of someone named that." "I'm sorry, but we cannot teach you if you intend to use it for violence. The voice must only be used for worship of the gods." "Then, if you won't teach me, I must find the original source. If Parthanax is a dragon, then perhaps he returned as well. How could I find him?" "The master would not speak with you." he said plainly, "and the way is blocked to all who don't have the power of the voice." "So your dragon master has sequestered himself away from all but his servants? I can understand that. In that case, do you mind if I visit your library? I can still learn of the dragons, and maybe learn their language, should I need to speak with them." "If all you ask of us is access to our Library, then I must accept. You may stay here while you conduct your research." Arngier then lead his to a room full of books and scrolls. "This is our library. Feel free to ask me questions about what you read here, just know that I cannot help you if you intend to use what I teach you for violence." Val placed a Mark in the middle of the room and nodded. "Very well, then." he said as he plucked a book from the shelf. Several hours of reading later, he decided to take a break. He walked into the courtyard and saw several of the men there use their Voice to rapidly move through closing gates. As he looked around, though, he saw a walkway with what appeared to be a blizzard just beyond it. Some sort of spell? he thought, as he walked over and placed his had just past the boundary. He immediately pulled it back as his skin started to freeze. After healing it he began to wonder why they would have such a spell cast here. It then dawned on him. Their master, a dragon, was hidden away where only those that knew their brand of magic could get to him. Combined with a Dragon's fabled love of mountains, that meant.... "Your master is at the top of the mountain." he said, and Arngeir walked over. "So, you've discovered his location. You won't be able to reach him, though, so what does it matter?" "You might not be able to reach him, as you would have to pass through the blizzard. I however, can go around it." With that, he cast Levitation on himself and quickly moved upwards. Should it take longer than the spell would last, he always had restoration potions.

Sylvan sat atop Gwenhuvar's back, reaching down she patted the white horses side and looked around for Falen, her Irish Wolfhound looking companion and the newest member to her little group was no where to be seen, with a sigh Sylvan looked over at Nago, an ice wolf and her partner who'd been with her longest. Nago was laying in the snow, his fur barely visable as he sat completely still, his large head was looking off toward the road and Sylvan followed his gaze to see Falen trotting towards her happily, the female dog had a sweet demeanor but more often then not she was off causing mischief. "Falen you need to stay near us else you get killed." Sylvan hiked her bow up further on her shoulder and nudged Gwen into a walk back through the trees toward the main road, she was headed to Ivarstead to see about the group called Dovafeyn, she wanted to help out the people of Skyrim by defeating the dragon pests, she was sure she could be of use, she had lots of conjuration spells at her disposal and she wasn't to shabby with a bow. Guiding Gwenhuvar with her knees Sylvan looked at Falen who trotted beside the white horse with her pink tongue hanging out of the side of her mouth and a happy gleem in her eye, the dog had an uncanny nack for smiling which she did often. Up the path further Nago sat still and silent by the road, his large white ears relaxed and an almost bored expression on his face told Sylvan that the road was currently clear, it wasn't ever really safe to travel on the road, not with bandits and such but it was a clear shot to Ivarstead and Sylvan didn't want to navigate her way through the forest, besides she was only mildly worried about an attack. Sylvan was coming from Riften and so far everything had gone well, they had a small run in with two wolves but one arrow and a few bites later the issue was neatly resolved with Nago in the lead. Having just snuck passed Treva's Watch the little group was once more on the move toward Ivarstead, Sylvan patted Gwen's side once more as the mare trotted steadily toward their destination, Sylvan was deep in thought thinking about the kind of people who made up Dovafeyn, she betted heavily on Nords, lots of Nords. Pulling Gwenhuvar to a stop just outside of Ivarstead Sylvan slid off the horses back, and whistled for Nago to come back and stay close to her, people often got panicky when an ice wolf strolls casually into their town. The white wolf galloped back to her side and stood on her right side while Falen and Gwen were on her left, with a smile Sylvan strolled into the town, she figured she better stop by the inn first and leave Gwen outside town before that. Leaving Gwenhuvar and Falen just outside town Sylvan dropped her fur hood and pulled her bow up further onto her back and walked through the small town with a small smile playing at her lips, she liked to think she was friendly even with the large wolf at her side, seeing the Vilemyr Inn Sylvan moved inside and ordered Alto Wine, bread and beef stew, sitting down at the nearest vacant table she ate with a mild hunger and drank timidly at the wine, her thoughts drifted back to the task at hand and her curiosity about the Dovafeyn.