<em>Caravan to Solitude, Day 1, Morning<br/>Just out of Helgen</em><br/><hr/><br/>Blind-Eye pulled the canvas on the side of the wagon aside for the third time this morning. Only difference was that this time he actually threw up, a couple of legionnaires jumping out of the cascades coming out of their commander. He hauled himself inside again and let of a loud string of curses at his second in command which echoed between the wagons and surrounding cliffsides. She had truly done it now. She had poured out his keg of wine during the night. She had forbidden the quartermaster to give him any from the Legion stock. She had gone so far as to speak to each specific squad and forbidden them to hand him any liquor. And he knew damn well that they wouldn't. There were only one person in this battalion that the soldiers feared more than Blind-Eye and that was Fera. After all it was just a letter-swap away.<br/><br/>He jumped down from the wagon, still cursing as he staggered a bit, having to twirl and spin to avoid getting run over by the next in line. The sun was burning away his eyes and the birds's chirping was so loud he actually threw his helmet at a nearby pine in pure dispair. He pulled a clawed hand through the dark red feathers on the top of his head and yelled at a recruit for wearing his sandals wrong. He needed a drink badly.<br/><br/>"Rold..."<br/><br/>He whispered to himself and let out a triumphant laugh. Rold would surely have bought a fair share of mead at the inn before they left! He ran from one wagon to the next, whispering Rold's name as loud as he dared. If this was going to continue he would have to mark the wagons.<br/><br/>"Rold... by Meridia, where is that drunken bastard?"