Khajiit’s encounter with Cullen had been… fruitful. He’d gotten answers to questions he’d held for months, and an increased knowledge of the tepid swampland he’d chosen to call home. He scooped it all up, grains of information both freely given and accidentally spilled from the Boss’s outstretched hands, and he would keep them safe in his back pocket until he needed them. Khajiit is nothing if not enterprising; as the bastard son of two warring clans, he’d had to be, starting from the moment his dam dropped him onto Elsweyr’s battle-torn soil and threw him to the winds of fate.

Thieving, deception, mischief… it all relied on opportunity, on noting the changing of the tides and the blood in the water. Life amongst rogues had taught him how to spot it in the fine print. It had served him well - and, as the fresh scent of a mare floods his nostrils and turns his head towards it, he knows it will help him here.

He doesn’t see her at first. The pearly stallion follows the path she’d laid for him, easily picking out her sweet perfume above the musky tang of his new brethren. He slinks doggedly after her, clinging to the shadows and the moss-covered earth so they might tuck him out of sight and muffle his hoofbeats. As his eyes adjust to catch the light, the open areas of the Lagoon are almost blinding in comparison - and then, some distance away, he sees it: a piece of infinite darkness breaking away from the rest, traipsing boldly into view and positively begging for some company. Khajiit is a creature borne of both worlds, luminous and obscure, eye-catching but hard to keep track of and even harder to hold onto.

Who better, then, to bridge the gap between worlds? Who better to aid her, this raven-haired scrap of starless night sky made flesh?

Certainly not the tow-headed, half-grown colt striding foolhardily up from the ether. So brave, he thinks to himself as he slips easily into view, projecting quiet confidence in his languid, catlike steps. So bold.

”Dear brother, I believe you are mistaken,” he answers coolly, coming to a halt alongside them. His gaze flicks briefly to the other stallion, sizing him up, but she is what has drawn him here, and she is the one upon which his ice-blue eyes settle.

Can’t you see? he wants to ask his young brethren, sensing an unfathomable depth lurking beneath the mare’s supple velvet curvature. She is a force to be reckoned with, aware of her worth and unafraid to reach for the greatness she deserves. Tread carefully, he wants to say, lest she swallow you whole.

His tones ring out towards her, daring her to prove him wrong.

”She is one of us.”