We march with the Latala. They are lethal; it’s clear in the way they carry themselves. Each of them has bloodied his or her hands; the lingering presence of death is visible in their eyes. They’re killers, all of them, perhaps even moreso than we. They come and go from the trees like wraiths of the Deadwood. Silent, intent, and dangerous. It is rare to see one for more than an hour, and I’ve only seen each once or twice. There must be dozens traveling with us.
There are always six within reach of us. Our packs and our weapons, however, are carried out of sight. We only get our gear back at the end of each march, and our weapons have remained hidden since they took us. They are cautious. I would go so far as to call them professional.
Their leader is only marked by his bearing. The others treat him with respect, but he seems to accord himself no real honors or privileges. We only see him in camp, and only for a few minutes before he disappears into the night. He seems to want to assure himself of our condition before retiring.
My mind is awash with possibilities. They could very easily be taking us to some Daedric post to trade or sell us. They might be working for one of the three nations Salisir told us about, and perhaps they are bringing us in as mercenaries. They obviously knew we were Expressionists, and perhaps the arrows were a test to see of what sort we were.
They could be taking us for some purpose of their own. The villagers we met some weeks ago described them as nationless, between the light and the dark. If they’re independent, then, what can we expect from them? Perhaps their true leaders have hopes to use us for their own war. Perhaps they have their own purpose for our blood.
Gront the Titan was right; we are too dangerous for this place. Our very presence might sway balances we don’t understand in ways we cannot control. We are cards to be played from a deck that is unbalanced at best. I have never felt so completely like an asset to be traded as I do right now.
If we are lucky enough to be traded and not killed or eaten.