The dragon had flown away at least ten minutes ago. I stood up, still shaking. I picked up my dagger which had been thrown away some meters when the dragon passed over me. I looked around me in shock. The whole village was destroyed, some houses were still burning and slowly falling apart. I began walking to the other edge of the village from where I had heard voices before. I came to the slope where our village ends. Then I knew why the dragon had flown away from there and into the main part of the village; his work here was done. I was looking at a morbid sense of slain men and women, all of the village’s adults were laying there scattered all over the area. Slain in the most ruthless ways. My dagger fell from my hand. I couldn’t move. I knew my parents were down there. I went down the slope. Some people had been charred unrecognisable by the dragon's flames, others had been shredded by his claws, even bitten in half by his huge jaws. I wasn’t able to find my parents among the recognizable bodies. The snow was red. I was left alone in the valley.
Though all of this happened long ago it still haunts my heart. I was ten years old that day, I’ve now been alone for 27 years. I live in an old house outside the old village. Some years after the village was destroyed goblins dared to come into the valley. The dragon is still alive but there were so many goblins that it didn’t bother them even if a hundred goblins died daily.. It is told that the men were born outside the valley. I’ve never been there and I don’t think I’ll ever go there. The goblins want me out of here but they’re afraid of me, I’m a lot stronger than they are. They attacked once, and I killed at least 50 of the wicked weak creatures before they ran away. Since I’m alone the only thing I do is hunt the animals here in the valley for food to survive and train to one day fulfil my one and only dream. I often visit the old village to remind me of what happened on that day. I can’t forget it, I don’t want to forget it. It’s the only reason for me to live: so that one day I can avenge my family and my village, I have to kill Alduin. The goblins never move close to the old village. They think it is cursed and the dragon doesn’t care about the ruins so it’s quite a safe place for me. But I don’t want to live there even though it’s safe, because when I’m in the village I get so many different feelings at the same time. The village is almost sacred to me; it’s my only connection to the past. Except for one other thing; my dagger, my father’s last gift to me. It’s too short for me to fight with normally so it’s strapped to the upper side of my right wrist so I’m able to use it in close range hand-to-hand combat.
This is how I’ve lived until today. Still alive in the valley where my family and friends