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Ghost Shore

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Malene stares out at the Sea of Ghosts, huddling for warmth with Meeko beneath her heavy cloak of sabre cat fur. In spite of the dog, her Nord blood, and the thick pelts, she's still chilled to the bone, and neither the tent nor the fire before it offer much respite. She's liable to become another of the ocean's specters at this point.

"Cold?" comes Serana's voice, rich and amused but barely audible beneath the wind, and as Malene gives her a shivery nod, the vampire ducks into her tent and sits down at her side.

"You're not, I take it?" Mal asks. "Daughter of Coldhabour doesn't sound like the kind of title you get if you're scared of a Skyrim winter, after all."

Serana laughs. "To be fair, I would have thought someone with 'dragon blood' wouldn't be so easily chilled, either."

"That makes two of us," Malene agrees, and if it sounds like she's sulking, they both pretend otherwise.

They sit in silence for a few moments, though the howling gale outside the tent never quits. Meeko drifts off to sleep against Mal's chest, and Mal is sure that the scent of dog will cling to her cloak for weeks.

Finally, Serana breaks the relative quiet. "I'd offer to stay in here with you tonight--you know, huddle together for warmth and all that. But a vampire in your bedroll won't do you much good tonight, I'm sure; you don't need me sapping what little heat you have left." She stands, and Mal watches in faint surprise as she steps out of the tent flap. "See you in the morning, Mal. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Mal echoes as the other woman disappears into the snow, and in spite of the numbness of the cold, she feels herself start to blush.