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The cool waters of Lake Ilinalta lapped An'tajhor's exposed skin, forcing needles of ice into flesh which had felt nothing but burning fatigue for too long. Weeks of scouring the Jerall Mountains relentlessly had deadened his senses to the point of numbness yet he kept pushing, venturing again and again into the blinding snow. The people of Falkreath and Helgen had grown accustomed to his passing shadow but only he knew for what he sought. Only his ears caught his ragged calls in the wilderness, echoing across the countless lonely miles. Ever his eyes were trained upward towards cliffs and crags, hoping against hope he would recognize the one from his memories. The mountains hid many valleys though, most buried deep with snow and getting deeper. He dared not stop, especially then, indeed he could not, his mind forcing his body to ignore its warnings and keep moving. He was prepared to crawl through the rocks until his arms and legs and lungs gave out and darkness finally took him if need be, because he could not allow the one he was searching for to die without his love.