I’m in Dawnstar, which is cursed. Like me.

Karita, the barmaid in the Windpeak inn, assures me travellers aren’t affected by the cursed-nightmare-thingy, but I’m not convinced. Cursed nightmares? Bad dreams? I don’t know if I want to sleep in this place.

Karita also tells me I should join the Bard’s College in Solitude. I figure they must be pretty desperate because she hasn’t even heard me sing or play an instrument. Maybe you just have to be pretty.

Pretty girls, warming themselves at the fire. What? Am I doing it wrong?

The priest Erandur tries to convince me the nightmares people are having are actually dangerous. He says the Daedric Lord Vaermina is responsible, and…

Vaermina? No thanks. Goodbye.

I check out the barracks. There’s a book called ‘City of Stone’, and I realize I’ve been carting around a dozen books I’d intended to give to the Sarethis. I guess I have an excuse to go back, as if I needed one. There’s a debate about Imperials versus Stormcloaks outside The White Hall, and I politely wait for them to finish before I go inside to chat with Jarl Skald. But leaping through the door right after him, I’m still too slow. A guy named Bulfrek is already asking for the chance to join the Stormloaks, and the Jarl laughs at him.

Must be nice to have the power to crush someone’s dreams without sitting up straight.

Bulfrek doesn’t seem to find it funny. He slumps away and won’t even talk to me. I wonder what that’s about? Jarl Skald doesn’t want to talk to me either, unless I here to solve his nightmare problem, which seems like a tall order.

Unfriendly bunch.

His court wizarid, Madena, tells me her pleas to the College of Winterhold have gone unheard. I have visions of my own time as Archmage of the Mage’s Guild in Cyrodiil, wielding power in gorgeous purple robes. I remind myself of my current total lack of magical talent, and the necessity of keeping it that way, and calm down. Yarp doesn’t count as magical talent because I’m pretty sure he does most of the work.

Outside again I summon Yarp so he can see the new town. I hadn’t realize how much I’d missed him, but as he slobbers and howls and unnerves the townsfolk I feel happier by the moment. Together we nip into The Mortal and Pestle. I fail to make any good potions, since I still haven’t collected better ingredients, but I sell off a few I already had.

Friday, the alchemist, tells me she and her husband used to collect ingredients together. This sounds so incredibly romantic and wonderful. He called her his “Little Juniper.” That’s less cute, but we can’t all be Mu the Competent. Frida goes on to talk about a ring they’d lost, or her husband had lost, or someone had lost, inside a cave near Windhelm. She offers me alchemy training if I can get it back, so I say I will. I don’t give her a timeline though because let’s face it, this is me.

Then she starts shouting at me to leave her store, so I do. People are so moody, you know?

It’s nearly 9pm. My cross-country carriage trip ate up most of my day, and it’s freezing out here without the sun. I haven’t seen the other street in Dawnstar but I expect it’s much the same as this one. I’m not impressed by this town and without Kharjo it feels like I had no good reason to come here, and now I’m done.

Yarp howls supportively and I remind myself that I’m a cat. I can see in the dark and I have fur. What’s the harm in staying out a bit later than usual? I was in bed by 8pm last night!

We jog along the coast.

I wonder if there’s a farm on that iceberg that might be mine.

We find a place that resembles the scary black door near Falkreath, and steer clear of that. There are some giant blubbery animals–horkers–flopping around near the water. I show off my night vision, and since it’s actually night this time, it works really well. It means when we find an abandoned tent I’m not too nervous to peek inside.

Everyone decent in there?

There are two bedrolls, two glasses, some wine, some flowers. Lovers, maybe? Extremely good friends? I don’t know whose tent it is but they’re gone and the sound of the waves and the horkers and Yarp’s occasional snap out of existence is all very soothing.

I look up at the stars.

Yarp yarps and all is still.

I wish I may, I wish I might, have a hot cat husband and a cute little farm by next Thursday.