It had been a long, long time, but Ethigrim found his homeland exactly the same as he had left it. Its white glistening peaks reached into the sky, a monument to the glory of its inhabitants, and a warning sign to would-be invaders.
“Beware,” it said. “This is the home of the Nords. The animals, the weather, and the land itself culls the weak and the cowardly. Our very ancestors take up weapons against us to make sure that only true warriors persevere.
This is Skyrim, the land that breeds heroes.”
It was good to be back. None of the exhausting heat of Hammerfell, none of the sickening bureaucracy of Cyrodiil, just the invigorating cold wind.
The loss of Amir still weighed heavily on Ethigrim’s heart. He would have liked to show him Skyrim, where the best efforts of the Empire could not extinguish the light of Talos.
He shook his head. Enough of this. Amir was in Sovngarde, and Ethigrim’s attention was required by the living. It was good that they were in Skyrim – here they might have a chance of finding someone to take Amir’s place.
A cold notion, but sentimentality would not win any battles.