[The Rift, Skyrim] Flight from Skyrim

Almost over, a little longer and then you will be beyond them.

By now those words were all that were keeping him in check, barely resonating against the pounding in his skull and screams of hunger wracking his body. Half hidden against the treeline, his tarnished armour and shredded cloak blending seamlessly with his surroundings, Calith knelt waiting. His muscles on the verge of spasming, his fists balled so tightly that his nails had split the hardened skin of his palms. Like some whelp trying to stave off feeding on others he'd lapped at his own blood as it has seeped through, even knowing before he tasted it would not offer any sustenance. Whatever still flowed in his veins was ashen and lifeless.

It had been the growing hunger which had forced him to abandon his plans. Entering the tavern, retaining control as he had bartered with the trader to take him half-way across Skyrim to the Pale Pass while avoiding the main roads, that had been hard enough. Lasting all the way to Cyrodiil without tearing the mer's throat out after weeks without draining blood, that would have been impossible. Calith had been forced to part ways and make the last leg of the journey on foot. With so many having seen his face in association with the trader, both in the tavern and on the road, he'd dared not murder the man to quench his thirst. Far too many questions could arise from such an act and made life difficult for him should he ever return. Past experience had taught him to choose kills carefully. That didn't mean he'd not been able to take advantage of their meeting.

Rising in a half crouch he began to advance, keeping beneath the trees as much as he could. His ears pricked back, listening for the first creak of a bowstring being drawn or blade leaving its sheath.