The Khajiit was quite alone in the forest, having gone days without ideal hunt. For days, the prey had remained scarce, and the food dwindled. Strangers, however few, too had fallen in numbers.
The Lonely Khajiit, blinded by hunger, wandered into the barren deserts given by Nirni. He reasoned that if he were to perish, it would at least be among the cool sands, bathed in the light of the Twin Moons.
Feet carried him to a rock where in the shadow, a Strange Cat waited in the shade. This was peculiar, for the Khajiit did not know this Strange Cat.
“You hunt,” spoke the Strange Cat. The Khajiit asked him if he was Hircine the Hungry Cat, to which the Cat said, “This one is not.”
“You are not Mara,” said the Khajiit, “for Khajiit feels no Love from you.”
To this, the Strange Cat said, “This one is not.”
“You are not Khenarthi,” said the Lonely Khajiit, “for this one feels not the wind, but a terrible cold.”
To this, the Strange Cat echoed, “This one is not.”
“For what reason can Khajiit continue to speak to you?” asked the Khajiit.
“You are hungry, little one,” spoke the Strange Cat, “weak. Is it not the way of the Cat to hunt?”
The Khajiit agreed, “It is.”
The Strange Cat bared his teeth. “And is it not the way of the Cat to taste the blood of its kill?”
“Aha!” cried the Khajiit, “You speak of blood! Then you are Sangiin?”
To this, the Strange Cat said, “This one is not.”
Despite the hunger weakening him, the Khajiit narrowed his eyes. “Then you are Namiira, tempting me into the Great Darkness.”
To this, the Strange Cat said, “This one is not.”
The Khajiit bristled, “You think Khajiit as a fool?”
“You are hungry,” the Strange Cat growled and the Khajiit felt the overwhelming force of a bent tone harmonizing around him, “you are weakened by the follies of Litters that feed you milk. You try to be a hunter when you behave like prey. You are one who has teeth, but does not know how to bite.” His eyes searched the Khajiit. “But this one can show you how.”
Hunger victorious, the Khajiit sank to his knees, “then show Khajiit how.”
A great paw pinned the Khajiit to the sand, profane and opulent. “You will know your first bite.” The Strange Cat said with a cruel grin on his mandible. “In many ways. You will know the thrill of a hunt when your teeth feel the neck of the weak. You will know the hunger for blood to drive you. And your only bane shall be the touch of sunlight.”
Pleased, Molag, the Ruddy Cat, grinned. “And others shall feel their first bite.”
And since, no Khajiit dares approach a cat who sits in the shadow of a stone.
Image courtesy of sarcasticshark’s Glowy Eyes for Argonian and Khajiit Vampires.