You just said they're back. What else is there - dragons, this rifter shit; Skyrim had a civil war churning away. [Dragonborn they call her. Ysmir dragon of the north. Nords, she decided at it but when the dragons all circled the mountain it had--

No.]

I'm a smith and a hunter, lost count of my bows but I've made them from antler, bone, all sorts of ore forged fine. Legend-mark - that a thing you tack on at the end of your name or did you swap it? [N o r d. Why can't she escape Nord hell?

Continuing the approach, she doesn't answer right away. The farmhouse doesn't remind her of Skyrim. Well fine, she doesn't care right now, she can sort through that as she takes out the bow to peer through the doorway, listening out.]

Empty. And not my gods. [A pause.] One is. Not always about pledging yourself, it's-- sometimes it's a drink. Sometimes it's running into someone else and their mess. You don't owe them forever. [Okay, some do but not her. Not to all of them but she's going to sit. Take off her weapons and some of the armour and start going through her things to check that the mammoth cheese survived.

There's a lot of cheese.]