I’m learning to love these treeborn harnesses. They’re sturdy and as finely honed as any mechanism engineered in the Old Empire. You wouldn’t think it to look upon them, they’re ratty, with fibers fraying off the ropes at every joint and leathers strained and stretched throughout. But the coils, the springs, the hooks, they’re not only elaborate but reliable.
I was told that the man who owned mine previously was one of the captains lost to the Daedra at the Eye. He was greatly loved, which was why they made an effort to reclaim his harness. Wudan told me later that it was a sign of great respect that they would give it to me. He couldn’t look me in the eye as he said so, as if he felt the power of such a gesture emanating off of me.
These men and women do respect me. None of Nianatara’s distrust is to be found among them. They are teaching me, yet they expect to be taught. There is a great anticipation building as we await our orders to move towards Matasten, and all eyes are upon Dionus and me to lead the way.
Strange to be the least experienced among a group of elite soldiers and to be handed the reins. They know the treetops, but I know the Daedra. Perhaps I should begin teaching them more, preparing them for what we are to see. They have had a glimpse into the horrors of Demonic culture, but they haven’t the slightest idea what is possible.
I hate to think about what waits for us. It’s not a subject I want to dive into tonight.