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As ever, pale skin was hidden beneath layers of thick cloth.

Gwyneira's staff leaned against the tree that she currently had her back to, the bare branches providing only minimal protection from the thick flakes of snow that drifted down from the sky and coated both her and the ground. An orb of iridescent light floated above her head, illuminating the reading material that she had chosen- it was a worn affair, plain and with only faded lettering to mark its title on the front, and that would be 'The Woodcutter's Wife'. She seemed to be quite absorbed in it.

Before her, a few feet away, a small fire crackled. It was easily visible through the trees, as was the road to her- a short few steps would take her back into the open, should she get up and wish to leave. Beside the road was perhaps not the best place to camp but she seemed unconcerned, if her apparent attention on her book and not on her surroundings had anything to do with it. Very rarely would she glance up, breaking her concentration to let her shrouded gaze catch glimpses of anything that might be nearby.

"Hello?" a voice called, layered with a thick Russian accent though obviously belonging to a Khajiit. A few seconds later, a rather cold looking Khajiit man stepped off the path and gave Gwyneira a genuinely friendly smile, "May I sit at your fire, Comrade?"

Startled from her reading, the elf glanced up, careful to angle the light behind her, her eyes glinting with what little light caught her face. She blinked, then stood. "Greetings, stranger," she replies evenly. "My camp is open. You are free to stay as long as you need to." The candlelight spell flickered out and died, and she allowed it to go. The golden light of her small blaze lit enough of the glade for her to see her visitor well enough. One hand came up habitually to tug at her cowl, securing it even more atop her head.

"Do you travel alone, Khajiit?" This question was asked with a soft, gently curious sort of tone, though if one listened it quivered slightly. The elf did not particularly relish the thought of sharing her camp with an entire caravan of Khajiiti travelers. "What brings you to this frozen hold?" And oh, it was a frozen hold. Even its name bespoke its chill- Winterhold. Despite the chill, though, not once did the tall woman quiver, nor did she tense. The flakes of snow that dropped into her face were ignored like those that stuck to other parts of her body, simply because it did not bother her.

"Thank you," he smiled and say down by the fire. He pulled the dragon plate gauntlets from his hands and held them close to the fire.
"Yes, I do," he smiled at her, "I am an adventurer," he smiled pleasantly as the fire heated his hands, "What of you? Do you have more companions elsewhere?"

Cautiously eyeing the fine armor he bore, Gwyneira sank back to the ground, knees bending as she went down until she sat, cross legged, back down on her bedroll, her elbows on her knees and her hands in her lap. Her head was slightly bowed as she spoke. "I see," she murmurs, then shakes her head. "I a-am without companion, y-yes." Inwardly, the mer grimaced as her stutter announced itself on top of her smooth, soft and thin voice, then she sighed phisolophically. She could not repress it forever. "Not that I m-mind. I like th-the quiet."

"You sound cold. Are you okay? I'm not great at alteration magic but I know how to warm someone up if you're still cold by the fire," he offered kindly.

Quickly, Gwyneira shakes her head. "No, I-I've a warmth spell on myself. I-it's a habit, my apologies." Revising her words in her head, she rephrases that. "Rather, a speech im-impediment. I c-can not help i-it." The exhasperated tone of voice that is said in expresses her annoyance with the entire thing.

Brushing some snow off of her shoulders and her bedroll, the elf woman shifts around a bit, seeking more comfort on the hard ground. After a few moments, she seems satisfied, sitting still with her back straight and fingers linked. Her wrists bow inwards and she plays with her thumbs, furtively keeping an eye on her guest as she listens for his response.

"Oh my apologies if I insulted you, comrade," he said quietly, "What kind of elf are you? I cannot tell with your hood and I've not heard your accent."

"No insult t-taken." Her voice, though still quiet, is somewhat more smooth and serene than earlier. That was until he asked his question. Smooth, yes, but as much as she tried, she could not hold back her guarded tone. "Altmer," she replies. "I am fr-from... well, not Alinor." Then, before he could say anything, she put in an afterthought. "I do n-not side with the Thalmor or the St-Stormcloaks."

"Don't lie. You're not good at it. I promise that I don't have prejudice against any elves, in fact I like elves... That aren't the Thalmor but it seems we have no issue with that. Just tell me," he smiled in a friendly manner..

Gwyneira sharply narrows her eyes, and they glint in the firelight with it. Her head comes up. Summoning up her best arrogance, she speaks. "You d-dare question my race, Khajiit?" she asks incredulously. The words are bitter and cruel on her tongue, though her tone does manage to sound like an approximation of indignant surprise and offense. "I am an A-Altmer, a High Elf, though I w-was not born in Alinor." Friendly manner or no, her life has not been this long by trusting strangers. She calls to mind a few spells, just in case they are necessary for self defense, though she remains still and ramrod straight.

He held up his hands defensively, "Fine. I don't want trouble but I know you're not a high elf," he backed off, "I'll leave it alone though and if you wish, I will leave."

Clenching her hands into fists, Gwyneira glowered at him from her hood and from her place away from the fire. "I do n-not ask that you leave," she informs him cooly. "Only th-that you do not steal things th-that are not yours- namely, s-secrets, though I would appreciate it i-if you left my material belongings alone as w-well. If you truly need it, I c-can supply food." The false anger has left her voice, replaced with typical serenity, though still laced with mistrust.

"Pfft! I am no thief! I am Khajiit yes, but I make an honest living."

"Then, Khajiit, you will continue to be honest by not making a thief of yourself with my secrets," the elf replies smartly, picking up her book to resume reading. She uncrosses her legs, bending her knees and putting her feet flat on the ground, with her book on her thighs. A light is summoned once more, to the side and behind her, shining on the words. It's a very dismissive sort of thing.

"It wouldn't be stealing if you told me. I am not Hermeus Mora," he chuckled and looked at the cover of her book, "Speaking of him, have you ever read a Black Book?"

Gwyneira stiffens at the mention of the Daedric Lord of Knowledge and Fate, frowning. "No, but I d-do not wish to tell you. I-If you make me tell you against my w-will, it is th-theft." And then, he questioned her knowledge of those dark artifacts. "I avoid relics of the D-Daedric Lords, and Hermaeus Mora... I d-do not wish to interact with He Who Does Not T-Take Human Form." The simple thought of him, of what she knew of him, was enough to make her shudder. She does not look up from her reading.

He could tell this made her more unconfortable and he let it go, "Well... What of Azura? She's not bad... And Sheogorath is rather fun to have for company."

Gwyneira shakes her head vigorously. "They may not always be b-bad, but the Daedra are malevolent nonetheless, and w-will turn on you quickly." There's a hitch in her voice during that little bit, before she shakes her head. "They are too s-selfish to trust."

"Maybe some of them. I trust Azura though, I trust that she'll continue doing what needs to be done, to continue night and day. I definitely dont't trust Sheogorath but that doesn't mean he's not fun to have around. I don't trust Sanguine much either, but he throws great parties."