The Stormcloak Camp
“Need I remind you that this is no game?” Arngeir demanded, his eyes narrow slits boring into my own. I had just told him of the events at the Rift Pass, his expression growing more alarmed with each turn of the tale. Now I could only look away under his stern gaze, I was so ashamed.
“No, master, of course not,” I stammered.
“You are no schoolgirl whose teacher has given her mere busywork.”
“No, I realize that, but…”
“Have you been meditating daily? Contemplating the sky? Doing your breathing exercises?”
I could only shake my head. There had been those moments of extreme need, as in the Aldmeri Embassy, when I had drawn on the contemplations I had been taught at High Hrothgar. But I had let my regular practice lapse. Somehow, there had never been enough time.
“Look at me, young lady.” Slowly I raised my head to look at him. He regarded me for what seemed hours as I struggled to hold his gaze.