The pious believe that destiny places us in the right place at every single moment, neither a moment too soon, nor a moment too late. To them I did not arrive through the Merchant’s gate too late to prevent the Winterborn’s ambush of the supply carriage, but at just the right moment as to not end up another corpse being slowly buried by the mountain snows.

The survivors of the attack on the caravan recall that the Reachmen didn’t just fall upon them from the mountains, they ‘leaped out of the damned snow’ like they knew they were coming. A flighty wood-elf named Eveli Sharp-Arrow, is perhaps the only survivor talking sense; although her peculiar manner of speech is starkly at odds with the pragmatic Wrothgar mountains that overshadow the pass. She tells of an Orc chieftain and his patrol who arrived soon after the attack and headed up the pass to try to retrieve their vital supplies. Did they too not arrive too late?

You see that’s the thing about destiny, it can never be proven wrong; interpreting hindsight often proves the wise most foolish, and sometimes the foolish most wise. For my part I believe destiny not to be a matter of Divine providence at all, but chance caused by choice. For destiny is not a moment to be waited for, but is a moment that waits for you.

S.K