—Heartfire, 17Th, 4E 201—
The winds of the north are harsh indeed. My journeys have taken me past the mountain ranges north of Whiterun, where the snows fall and the cold rushes around you. I nearly froze moving from one encampment to another; I must remember to stock up on firewood.
Upon the mountaintop sat a mammoth’s graveyard, bones littering the old broken stone remains. I had little time to ponder how mammoths came to the top of the mountain: a dragon descended on us. This dragon was different from the others: a creature of ice, not fire. I wonder what other surprises the returning dragons have in store for me.
The ruins of the graveyard were not completely empty. One wall remained standing, a wall just like the one in the barrow. My knowledge of the Thu’um has expanded. There may be more out there. Let’s hope they’re not well defended.
I never realized how vast and intricate the work of the old dwarves was: I came across many of their ruins today, and their machines still function. Strangely, many of these metal spiders and footmen carried soul gems, many of them full. Could the dwemer not have disappeared at all, but have been trapped within their own machines? There is one place I may be able to find answers: Markarth.
I travel now to Morvunskar, to meet the person I may have promised to marry in my drunken stupor. He will likely be disappointed.