Clark felt bruised, but confident. Sword-fighting was tough, but Clark had some basics to try. He walked down the steps from Jorrvaskr, turned left at the big tree called...the Gildergreen? Clark would ask later. Down more stairs into the market square, and Clark was nearly to the Bannered Mare when the College mage's ear overheard part of a conversation.

"Once I've made enough money trading with the Khajit caravans, I'm going to buy the Bannered Mare from Hulda."

Clark turned and gasped in spite of himself. A young, red-haired Nord woman in a blue dress stood talking to the woman at the produce stand while she closed down for the day. His face suddenly turned hot--all the way to the tips of his ears! Glad his Novice's Hood covered them, Clark suddenly found himself self-conscious about the rest of his appearance. Fidgety, nervous, but intently focused on this woman, the young Breton suddenly found himself approaching her.

"Yes?"

"Pardon me," he said. "Um, you mentioned Khajit?" The novice wizard asked. "I had an experience working with a Khajit rather recently, though he didn't seem meet most people's expectations. I haven't really dealt with Khajit before. My parents didn't really let me leave my room when they had to deal with them." Feeling his explanation had started to edge into a ramble, Clark brought the conversation on point. "What do you know about the Khajit?"

"About the same as everyone else. They're the cat-folk of Elsweyr Great warriors, good traders. Way I hear it, Elsweyr ain't nothing like Skyrim. It's got tropical forests and dusty badlands. It sounds awful!"

Clark smiled. "You said you were trading with them?"

"Yeah, these Khajit make a living traveling the roads and selling their wares. It's got to be tough. Skyrim's a hard enough land when you've got a roof over your head. Worst thing is, nobody wants them in the cities. Nobody trusts them."

Clark nodded. "I did notice that. Why do you think that is?"

"Reputation, mostly. A lot of Khajit turn to smuggling and thievery to get by. A few bad apples spoil the bunch. You know how it is."

"Do you trust them?"

"Matter of fact, I do. They've been fair enough with me, as far as I can tell. And a Nord knows a liar when she sees one."

The young woman's polite, friendly tone, and willingness to discuss the Khajit helped Clark feel more at ease. "So, why do you want to learn the merchant's trade?"

"Before my ma and da passed, I told them that one day, I'd become the best trader in Skyrim. I met one of the caravan leaders, Ma'dran. He said he'd help get me started if I could bring him a mammoth's tusk. Easier said than done."

Before he even knew what he was saying, Clark said, "I'll get you a mammoth's tusk."

"You'd do that? If you find one, I could teach you a think or two about trading. Help you get a fair bargain in the future."

Clark nodded. "Deal!" He started to wave good-bye, but stopped short when he realized he was missing some key information. "I'm sorry! What's your name?"

"Ysolda. Nice to meet you...?"

"Clark! Yes, it was very nice to meet you! I'll set out to get your tusk first thing in the morning!"

His carriage fare paid for, Clark spent his last ten septims on a bed at the Bannered Mare. He fell into the straw mattress with a thud. His head hit the pillow with only one thought in it: Ysolda was amazing.

Early that morning, before the sun even really started to crest the horizon, Clark stepped out of the gates of White run and started towards the open plains. He had seen some mammoths grazing off in the distance from the back of the carriage. Now that he was approaching the giant, wooly beasts, Clark's mind finally managed to grasp what it actually was he had promised.

"Oh dear."

Clark shook out his hands, bringing to bear his Conjure Familiar and Oakflesh spells. With a loud BANG! and CLANG! The spells were made manifest. Drawing upon the rest of his magicka reserves, Clark felt the magical fire of the Flames spell ignite in his palms. He stretched forth his hands and scorched the closest mammoth across the flank.

The giant lumbering beast cried out in pain. Faster than Clark expected, the great beast turned its head and walloped the College Novice across the back of the head. Seeing stars, Clark heard his familiar yelp and fizzle out. His vision returned in time to show him a wall of brown. The brown moved, and Clark felt the sharp end of the mammoth's tusk pierce his side.

Not even three minutes into the errand, and already the Breton was mortally wounded. Clark clutched his side, swallowed hard, and ran for his life. Over the gentle slopes he sprinted pell-mell for someplace--any place--to hide! A small stone bridge appeared as Clark crested a small hill. Clark prayed a silent, grateful prayer to the Divines and dashed under the nearest archway in the bridge.

The mammoth's thick skull hit the stone bridge with a mighty impact, but the bridge held.

"Praise Zenithar for Nord architecture!"

The sharp pain in his side brought him back to his predicament. Clark lay on the ground under the bridge on the far side from the mammoth, which seemed to be trying to root out the pesky Breton with one long, wicked tusk. He raised his hand with the light of Healing and spent his remaining magicka bringing himself back from the edge of death.

His reserves spent, no weapons, and no willingness to go toe-to-toe with the behemoth trying to kill him, Clark waited until he could feel his magicka return to him.