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Gasping. Gasping and the uneasy thudding of weak and weary boots. This was the loudest noise among the ambiance of night. At least, it was for Avonis. Her body thrashed with each haggard breath, trying desperately to reach the walls of Whiterun before her legs completely gave out. With the dark night engulfing her, and her pain straining her senses, Avonis was nearly blind. She had only the sounds of the air and the distant twinkles of city lights to keep her going in the right direction. Her head grew lighter, but she refused to fade away. She had to keep going. She had to stay strong. She had to live. She had to. Yet with all her pushing, and all her determination to stay alive, Avonis feared the worse would come before day break. That is, until the slightest details of a building came into focus. She nearly wept with joy at the sight. Whiterun stables. She was home.
With as much strength as she could muster, the elf launched herself at the front door and banged against it, ho
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The sun was riding low in the city of Whiterun. As if a canvas was now draped with golden paint, the orange glow colored the world of Skyrim with its magnificent pallet. The sun reflected just off the corner of Dragonsreach tower, falling onto the hilly, cobblestoned streets of the city below. The later hour of the market place caused the bustling of traders to die down, but not entirely. Children ran along the grass and the pathways, ignorant of the troubles of the world. Peace had seemed to settle on the town. Peace that, admittedly, the city of Whiterun was in dire need of after the Stormcloak take over. It had been a month, and still the citizens were at odds with one another. Drunken ravings, fist fights and so on, all in the heat of political differences. Yet in the midst of it all time did not wait, and so the days passed, as days often do. Shops kept their doors open, the inn kept its meed flowing, and the home of one Thane of Whiterun kept its hearth warm and burning. This, ho