Tremble Ribbon : Pt.1

Tremble Ribbon
Written by A Plain Yellow Fox


Under no glare of moon but shadows shade, there laid a young Imperial woman. Her skin glinted coldly and shook feverishly in the late night. Dew had set, and with hardly a rag of gossamer, she was chilled ever through. Her breath curled under her chin, falling heavily against her exposed hide. Tresses of mahogany hair trailed her back. This brought a bit of warmth to her, but only gently.


Summoned by ill design, a wandering timber trotted by. The wolf seized her heart in his eye. His back trailed tresses of his own, though coarse and sun-stained. Struck motionless, the wolf stared at his great fortune and the young woman’s offer. He advanced on her like the strike of a cobra; without breath and nearly unseen. The woman threw up her arms and screamed to the forest and its dangers. Warmth grew heavier on her, as liquid heat wrapped over her arms and down her chest. The timber was impatient and ready to satisfy his belly. He thought to himself how little she would satisfy, but how greatly she would please.


The woman had not the beginning of hope or the thought to protect herself. All she heard was her heart beat over her breasts and into her throat. Yet some how, be it of a grander occurrence or coincidence, this young woman acted upon an instinct. When the wolf’s fangs had clamped deeply over her fist, she forced her arm forward. In doing so, the timber coughed and choked, unsure of what he felt. The woman had a hold of his scruff by her free hand and a grasp deep in his throat with the other. The wolf was now in an angry panic. He reared back like a bull, and flung the girl about the forest grasses. She held tightly though, feeling little more than the pulsing of her own heart.


Too soon, the timber could not take the night in and suffocated. His hearty body swayed and fell to the side. Still, the woman clung to him, in a transfixed daze. The heat of the dead creature filled her and soon woke her from her state. Now, she felt a rush of the attack; blurred and incoherent. She wept and scurried from the rank body, clutching her arm and its deep, bloody gashes. Her gossamer was torn and stained. Her hair was wild and strung across her face. She looked to her arm, finding it red and glistening, but thankfully still attached.


The wolf was dead and she had survived, though fear still shook her. Her wounds heavily seeped into the forest soil. If she found no sanctuary, she very well may fall by the dead wolf. Quiet again, and shivering once more, the woman tried to stand. Effort meant nothing, and the weight of the night was worth all. She fell to the mossy earth, spent and upset. Her breath that had once curled into beautiful white wisps now came fewer and fewer.
“Terrible surprise…terrible.”
She looked up to see the scrunched face of a male Khajiit. His sickly eyes lapped at her torn gossamer and winked at the darkness.
“Lonely, lonely. You seem so saddened. Was the wolf poor company?” he cackled in his throat.
The woman reached for the grasses to pull herself from the ground. Her fingertips curled around tree roots, ripping them from the earth.
“No darling. Please. You cannot run like this.” The Khajiit reached for her “You cannot run darling girl.”
She thought to scream, but the night refused her. The darkness was too thick to form words.
“What is this?!” a new voice chided hoarsely.
Now an Imperial man stood beside the ragged Khajiit, standing darkly like the nightmare forest. The Khajiit took the woman by her un-torn arm and pulled her from the dew. Beaded ribbons fell from her wounds, coating the grasses and the tips of the visitors’ boots. With his claws still pinned into her arm, the woman looked closely at the feline’s face. His fur was fiery and flecked with brown spots. Striped whiskers jutted from his round lips like white and grey quills. However, in his eyes was a reddened disease. They were unnatural, with the impression of discomfort and pain.
“This one is spilled too heavily. Not worth our time.” The Imperial hissed.
“Binh-orah thinks this girl is different than the others. See how she slides right into my eyes and can still look away.”
“Leave her. She’s to stray soon; her body is nearly done with her. Now, let’s go Bin, we’ve need to resort to the animals again.”
“The animals stink while she smells good; Like the columbines.”
“No Bin. Leave her.” The Imperial demanded.
The Khajiit turned to the Imperial, offering a stern glare and glint of teeth. This shook nothing from the Imperial. However, he reached for the girl and pulled her to his chest. The girl was so confused and so buried in fear, she could no longer fight with the night. Quiet surrender was all she could summon. The heat from her wounds evened and little fell to the forest grasses.
“Truly Bin, I feel she is too stray to salvage now. Her lifeblood has mostly gone… at least; she’ll make a lovely patch for the columbines.”
“No. You will try harder, again. You will fix her better than she was before. Then, we will take her to Fort Wooden Hand.”
She heard a light voice trickle from Imperial’s lips. Hushed and nearly inaudible, a serpentine chant rolled down from his chin and spread across the woman’s body. She felt a warmth and light enter. Then it was gone.
“Aldos, you stopped. Do not stop Aldos.” Binh-orah insisted.
“Let’s go Bin, we’ve wasted our night. Let us leave now for Ceyatatar.”
“What of my columbine, Aldos? Why Ceyatatar?”
“We’ll take her to Ceyatatar. Once there, Ambrose might bring her back steady. Right now we must run. The sun is on the treetops and we’ve drank ner’a thing.” Aldos yelled to the Khajiit, throwing the poor woman over his shoulder.


Her soft belly crushed over the Imperial’s boney shoulder. Her weight multiplied with each sauntering step of her captor. The ability to keep her head up had left her long before the timber wolf had visited. So, her head sank into the night, limply under a trail of her dark mane.


Upon a waking wince, the woman felt her heavy head reeling about. High and sharp, she heard whimpers growing louder as she came closer to consciousness. These timid squeaks were from her quivering lips. When she had realized this, she pulled her cold lips tight, turning them bluer with every breath.
“Hush now my columbine. Do not worry and tremble.” Bin whispered to her “There are no wolves here…”
The Khajiit sat by her beside, straining a coarse scrap of linen over her twisted wounds. It pulled her torn flesh and burned at her blood; black water falling about the floor. The woman tried to pull away, but Bin’s claws coiled around her wrist like an iron shackle. This made her think back to the vicious timber wolf and the grasp it had once had on the same hand.


Aldos was there with them, chanting to his whispers and letting them fall silently over the girl. His hands pinned her shoulders back, not letting her rise from the rock slab. She closed her eyes and felt the air. It was colder than the naked night, but not nearly as chilling as her captor’s stone cold hands. Bare, and against the flesh of her shoulder, Aldos’s hands were no different then the slick stone she laid upon. Binh-orah’s hands were pillowed with dry paw pads. They scratched at her soft skin, and sent shivers across her chest.
“Another rag for the columbine... Let’s wrap her wounds and kiss her goodnight.” Bin smiled, and stood from a short wooden stool.
From a cupboard he pulled a tan shirt, and began to pull at its lengths. The fabric screeched and fell into rags for Bin. He gathered them around the woman’s arm, knotting the corners and tucking in the loose edges.


Aldos removed his hands from her and nodded his head.
“As lucky as this one is, the clover suits far more than the wild columbine.”
“Binh-orah is the clover, Aldos. Binh-orah is the lucky clover which has found her.” Bin snickered “She is the beautiful columbine that smells better than the animals.”
“We must drink something Binh-orah. We will have the animals tonight; tomorrow this flower.”
Bin sighed “Tomorrow, tomorrow. If her heart still beats by tomorrow…”
“Find her a sheet so she may be warm till then.”
“We have no sheets, but this will do…”
Bin unbuckled his trousers and pulled out his shirt tail. Over his head, he pulled his tunic and laid it over the girl. She nearly swiped the garment from his talons, greedily spreading it over her naked body. The fabric held no warmth from having shrouded Binh-orah’s furry chest. The girl looked up to Bin, who smiled. His belly was shallow in fur, and paler than the majority of his fiery coat. Here, his spots grew smaller and barer. His shoulder puffed high with fur, spreading thicker as it traveled to his mane and down his twitchy tail. His clothing was simple; black, wide pants, leather boots, and leather bracers about his wrists. The smile on his feline face was also simple, and gleamed his candid thoughts.
“Sweet dreams my dear girl.” Bin said as he bowed his head and flicked his tail.
Aldos said nothing. His eyes traced over her, as if he had just seen her, soaking up what bit of flesh he could see. He was very thin, and very pale; very unlike the coat of red and orange surrounding Bin. Twisting about his shoulders like oil, Aldos’s long, black hair sagged. Here and there, a braid would appear from the loose stands, and then sink back down in the dark gloom. His clothing was tighter and lighter than Binh-orah’s. He seemed nimble, and agile; easily unnoticed in a dark room.


The only quality the two shadows had in common were their sickly eyes. Both seemed inflamed with disease.


The strange hosts then left her, abandoned on that tall stone table. She was good to have been rid of them, even if it were to be brief. She managed stray thoughts and took hold of her weary self. Carefully, she brought her legs to her chest, cradling her maimed arm. Dark stains covered her rag arm, smearing against Bin’s shirt and her bare legs. In this position, she gathered some heat and decided she must run from Ceyatatar. If not, she knew very well this cold place would ultimately become her stone tomb.


The frail girl took a breath deepened by hope. Her slender white feet fell over one side of the stone slab table and dangled in the ice air. She’d not been awake to witness the inner halls of her prison, so she had no reference with which to mount an escape. A small chuckle wiggled up her throat, coiling into a thin white tuft.
“…How am I going to get out of here?...” she asked herself quietly, seeming to accept the severity of her captivity.


Even so, the girl slipped to the stone floor, were a pool of black water had curled with ribbons of blood. This was her blood; what had fallen from her torn arm. The puddle rose over her feet and took hold of her with a reflection. A sad face looked at her, cloaked in wild wisp hair.
“You must be very quiet” she whispered to the pale reflection “The rats mustn’t notice your step or breath.”


A prayer left her heart, pleading there be nothing haunting these corridors but rats.


One thought prodded her side over and over. She wondered why her hosts had simply left her unattended and loosed. This question blared down the hallway adjoining her small room. Straddled with this wondering and a grand session of fear, her first step waited. Minutes turned over, and still she had not breeched the doorway. Something in her made a difficult demand louder than any of her twisting fears. The greater desire hushed the hallway, and persuaded the woman to make an effort. The shivering pool of blood and water lay behind her, shooing her on toward the door. She wanted no more blood to fall in this unnatural place; to pool in filthy puddles and reflect her sad face. She wanted nothing more to do with Aldos, the conservative Imperial, or Binh-orah, the flirtatious Khajiit.

That first arched door was the most difficult. Yet, after it disappeared over her head, a slick dart of countless paths and corridors followed. Her bare feet padded gently on the stone floor, careful not to strike dirty puddles or rat tails. On occasion, she’d crumple to the floor in a sudden ball, hoping not to squeak too loudly. She did this only when covered in cobwebs, and soon learned to keep one hand extended at all times.


Sweat dripped behind her as she slipped through the stone chambers like a specter. Always looking, always checking, she felt like a lost little rabbit; finicky and scared. She knew she was a lucky little rabbit, not to have come across a single soul; living or not. This place was empty of anything, but her. There were many odd stones falling from the walls and caged in the doorways; each glimmering and blinking with a cold celestial light. Soon she began to recognize the individual stones, finding herself running circles about the halls. This whole time, she had been lost and heated with running terror.


Now, she sat quietly in the corner of a large chamber. The ceiling disappeared behind the cobwebs, lit in its creases by the glowing stones. A high stone statue rose from the middle of the room; the figure of a young elf, casting an eagle into the heavens. He and the raptor were covered in dying vines. Shrouded in vines, very much like the statue, were two stone thrones. Side by side, they stood like looming bystanders, waiting for her to move. She didn’t know where to creep or turn now. The stone thrones stared at her deeply. Everything seemed identical and grand scale. She was lost, cold, and lightheaded. Pulling her legs to her chest, she found her ragged bandages falling apart and dripping.


From the recesses of her worries, a voice asked “Why am I still alive?”


That is when she noticed the falling of water. Somewhat distant and echoing, the girl swore she heard a fountain. An underlying smell of mold and must filtered through the halls. She took her chances, and hurried for a new route through corridor. With greater care, she drifted after the illusory sounds.


Upon the first hallway, she found a wide, rod-iron casement, surrounding a cavernous space. Framed like an art piece, she found glittering strands of waterfalls. Together, they pooled below her, out of sight from her balcony window. Erupting from this pool, thick clouds of fall vapor fell over her and her qualms.


She then heard the voice of Binh-orah. He and Aldos were there below, bathing in the fall waters. Aldos was keeping to himself, sitting against a large stone and meditating. Bin, however, was slapping at the water; batting at it as if he were a cub. The khajiit leapt at the ripples and snarled at the spray.
“Binh-orah does not like these ruins, Aldos. Do not like waiting here for Ambrose. You know, and Binh-orah know, that he will not be pleased to find Bin and Aldos.”
“Ambrose can do nothing to us Bin, whether he likes us or not.”
“He will not agree to heal Binh-orah’s columbine…”
“That may be very true, and it may also be true that he is in good spirits. He could very well heal your columbine and think nothing of it. Though I’ve done all I can, we will not know if she can be fully healed till Ambrose returns.”
“Binh-orah hopes Ambrose will not be long. Binh-orah’s columbine…she is wilting…”
The girl timidly withdrew from the falls, succumbing to fears of being seen. Her hosts appeared preoccupied for the time being, though she was too eager to be caught now. And so, with tail tucked between her legs, the girl stood gently from her perch above the falls and turned to hurry for her escape.


Unfortunately, her head fell back, as did her body. In her burst of hurry, she’d struck the chest of a new host, who glared viciously down at her trembling body. Finding herself transfixed, the girl recollected her tattered self and ran in the opposite direction. Grimly, she discovered nothing but corner after corner of sealed stone. She sank again to the floor, as another shadow advanced.
“Aldos! Binh-orah!” he shouted, enraged with frustration.
Soon, Binh-orah had entered the room, flicking his tail and straining his eyes. His coat was soaked, and behind him was a watery trail of puddles. Dripping and cold, the Khajiit stared at this shadow, ears tucked back in submission. The girl yelped, and turned to escape them, but was already bested. As soon as she whirled about to dash away, she fell backward onto the floor. Her new host stood above her, mad in the face and bothered.
“What is this Binh-orah?” he asked the Khajiit.
“Forgive Binh-orah! She is nothing. Just lost her way from the other animals…”
The new host’s eyes never left her, falling over her shoulders down to her bandaged arm.
“You’ve made a mess of my work Binh-orah. I forbade you to return to these ruins, yet here you stand, naked and wet with this girl…loosed and bleeding!”
“Binh-orah is awfully sorry. Bin will take her away this moment. Please, Ambrose. Bin will take her away.” Bin pleaded with this one, reaching for the girl’s arm.
“Why is she here?” he asked, firmly demanding an answer to quell frothy anger.
“Aldos and Binh-orah were looking for drink, when we found her attacked by a wolf. When the beast was dead, we took her here to be healed.” the cat cried out.
“You expect me to mend her?”
“Please Ambrose. Who better than you?”
“Why bother to slay an ordinary wolf, Binh-orah? For a light meal, hardly befitting a wine glass… She is not worth my time Binh-orah! Take her and leave this place!”
Aldos had come too, clutching his unbuttoned shirt. Ambrose looked to Aldos, and glare deeper than he had toward the Khajiit.
“Binh-orah did not kill the wolf.” Aldos said to Ambrose “I did not kill it either. She was the one who killed it; with no weapon or spell.”
This made the new shadow stop, and mull Aldos’s story. He looked to the girl, his eyes were not red and puffy like the others. However, this man was very much like Aldos; pale, dark, and spindly. However, this one was much taller, hidden behind swaths of a black robe and matching hood.
“No weapon, and no spells?…” he asked.
Aldos nodded. Calmly, Ambrose asked no more questions. He looked deeply into the girl, and shifted his weight from anger to something darker.
“Go back into the forest. Bring me the corpse of that timber wolf.” Ambrose demanded.
“But the sun is high now!” the Khajiit wailed “Do not make Binh-orah go there! Please, Ambrose, do not make Binh-orah go! Bin will clean your wet floors and make them like before! Anything for you Ambrose, please!”
The shadow took the girl by her wrist and pulled her gently from the quivering Khajiit.
“When the first shadow’s shade hits Ceyatatar…”
“Yes! Binh-orah will leave then! To the dead wolf and then here again, Binh-orah will be quick!” he backed away, and hurried out of the sight.


Her heart must have fallen behind, for she felt nothing now. The cold bothered her little, and the hushed waterfall kept her weary attention. Ambrose’s heavy hand upon her wrist was gentle now. However, all she could think of was his gasp growing fatal.
“You’re arm is badly torn.” Ambrose said as he placed another hand on her shoulder “Binh-orah did nothing to mend it.”
She did not answer him or look away from the echoes of the falls.
“I tried to heal her, but my spells are weak.” Aldos admitted “Bin tried his best to stop the bleeding, but as you can see…” his voice trailed away.
They could then hear the sound of the Khajiit, hurrying about the waterfall, gathering his clothes.
“Why is it, Aldos, that Binh-orah has brought this dying girl so far to Ceyatatar?”
“…The idea was mine, Ambrose. So place your impatience on me. I knew you’d be the only one able to heal the girl. I was only able to buy her more time.”
“But why?”
Aldos shook his head “Bin insisted... He found her and was enthralled with her victory over the wolf. To be honest, I was fairly surprised myself. She’s a young thing, and very frail. I would have placed Septims on the timber.”
Faint fall spray was lingering about her, and the girl felt easily undone by them. Her knees had begun to shake, and her head was rolling back. Ambrose saw her shrinking, and supported her by the arm.
“…Frail and falling…Binh-orah wants her alive, Ambrose. He really wants to keep her for awhile… He’s even come to call her columbine.”
“…Columbine?” Ambrose repeated.
Aldos shook his head with a nervous smile. The tall robed shadow then turned to the girl, softer then before.
“…I can make it as if the wolf had never breathed upon your skin. Not even looked upon your face… Would that please you…columbine?”
“Stop calling me ‘columbine’.” the girl commanded in a hushed and powerless voice.
Aldos stared, his face stark.
“…You quiver and worry, just like a columbine…” Ambrose whispered “So what should I call you, dear thing?”

Her heart gave no answer. No bit of memory could suffice the answer. All that came were steaming tears. Her sobs closed up her face behind her dark hair and made her body shudder with submission. Her knees disappeared below her, and she collapsed toward the stone floor. Ambrose reached down and pulled her from the ground, cradling her small body against his chest.
“I will mend your torn arm.” He told her, and then to Aldos he said “Of course, she must stay here. Binh-orah may find himself another flower to pet.”
“He won’t part with her so easily.” Aldos warned.
“Nor will I…”
Before the shadow disappeared with the wilting columbine, Aldos made the small beginnings of words. Ambrose stopped and turned to him again.
“Ambrose…You’ve…never mind it. If you want to spend your life time here, by all means…I won’t be the one to stop you. Though, if I were imprisoned here, I would be spending all my fire on such work. I would live and breathe it, just to escape it.”
“Aldos…you are not me. Therefore, you have nothing more to say to me. Take the mangy house cat with you and leave this place. Good day.”

~ ~ ~
Later, when the other two gentlemen had gone, the little Columbine woke to find herself upright in a thin wooden chair. Her arm was wrapped neatly in a clean bandage, yet smelt stale and dry. Before her was a large round table, littered with books, papers, and some alchemical glass fixtures. Bits of flowers, stems, and ground powders also covered this reckless table. Simply, it was a mess. She looked about herself, finding Binh-orah’s filthy tunic gone, and replaced with a white shirt. It was extremely long, and the sleeves were very wide at the cuff. She wore little else, and shivered. She wondered if her skin might fall heavy with ice to the floor. The little Columbine stood, very wearily and very carefully. Her body felt thin and quivered again in the cold. Looking about herself more, she found a large chamber, darkened with no windows. Though there were a lot of shelves here, all a mass of folded papers, stacked books, and crumpled scrolls. Some where in the near darkness, she heard footfall. They were not in a hurry, and strolled slowly to where she fought to stand. Gently, a black robed figure stood from the shadows. Hardly a faint outline, the figure stared at her, with a hood covering his face.
“I’ve mended your torn arm. You’ll no longer be trailing blood in my ruins.”
She did not reply. His words were callous, and had little room for friendly conversation.
“Sit down.”
The girl mulled his command for a moment. She then chose to back into the wooden chair as she had been asked. The figure came closer, and stood before her. His height was terrifying. His presence sent her stomach reeling with uncertainty. The hood sat thinly on his brow, and cast a deeper shadow on his pale face. Tresses of thin, straight hair passed through the sides of the hood; white, and stark. His hands reached down to her bandage, gloved and black as well. He pulled at the pins keeping it tightly bound, and unraveled the bandage. A bit of dried blood was left, against her skin and on the folds of the cloth bandage. Yet, the skin was knit, and hardly a trace of injury was present. In astonishment, she looked high into his face. There was more to see now. His eyes were pale and blue, his nose sharp and seemingly flat.
“…high elf…” she whispered to herself.
He must have heard her, and quickly his eyes darted to meet hers. He didn’t seem pleased, or at all interested. The pins he had taken from the wrap were still pinched between his fingers. He bent down again, and shoved them into the arm of the wooden chair, just beside her left arm. His eyes darted back toward the bandages; he stepped back and cast the used rags to the floor.
“Pick them up.” he ordered.
She leaned down, and delicately gathered the cloth.
“Throw it in the fire.”
The columbine was confused. She saw no fire. Looking to him for reassurance, she quickly found none. Then, she stood and looked about a little more, all the while being watched by the tall Altmer. There were two iron fire pits in the center of the chamber. She went to the closer of the two, and raised the rags to drop them. The Altmer grabbed her shoulder, and jerked her small body back.
“No…not this one.” he grumbled, and lifted his hand toward a dark corner.
Off in the distance, she spotted a small wooden table, where a calcinator burned gently with a purple hue. The flame was very weak, and extremely frail. It barely twitched as the larger pits danced wildly with light. She looked over her shoulder, as he followed behind her. Scared, and extremely confused by this, the columbine approached the small flame. She fed a small edge of the bandage to the flame, in fear of smothering it with the entire bundle. Slowly, the flame traveled up the lengths of the cloth. All the while, the high elf watched carefully. Soon, the flame reached a blood stained patch. The color of the flame went from a nightly purple to a glowing red. The light also increased, showering her face and his with a bright glow. The little columbine turned to the elf, in hopes of getting a response. His face was pleased, and he even had the beginnings of a smile in his lips.
“My dear…I have need of you here for my work.”
She was becoming very anxious.
“Tell me, why were you alone in the forest last night.”
There came no answer to mind. She did not know.
“Tell me how you obtained the bruises all over your body. Certainly, a timber with razors for teeth would prefer to tear flesh, rather then beat it.”
Again, she was left dry. There was no explanation she could muster.
“Tell me your name.”
Tears welled in her eyes, and what little she could see in the darkness flooded in misty sobs. Her knees weakened again, and slowly she sank to the floor. He did not stoop to pick her up. He did not offer words to ease her confusion. He only sank back into the shadows of the chamber, finished with her for this moment. She sat there for a moment to collect her strength and to gather some silence in her thoughts. Her body quivered less now, as heat from the fires gently touched her. That’s when she smelt something different in the air. It was wet smelling and foul. It was familiar some how. Standing from the stone floor, the columbine staggered after the Altmer.

There, hanging by stretched ropes in the air, was the corpse remains of the large timber wolf.