Editing Openai/6940dc36-f820-8002-8656-3492c2d4fc89 (section)

=== Assistant: Cold seawater streams from Uncle Eevee’s fur as he hauls himself onto the muddy coast, paws sinking slightly into the a… ===
Cold seawater streams from Uncle Eevee’s fur as he hauls himself onto the muddy coast, paws sinking slightly into the ash-dark silt of Vvardenfell. The wind here smells of salt and sulfur, and the distant cantons of Vivec City loom on the horizon like stacked stone prayers, still many leagues away. His jog quickly becomes a steady Khajiiti lope—tail swaying for balance—as scrib skitter from his path and the low drone of swamp insects hums around him. The land is flat but treacherous, broken by pools of brackish water and reeds that conceal more than mudcrabs.

As he presses on, the holiday season makes itself known in small, strange ways: a guar herder trudges past with a garland of dried marsh-flowers looped around his beast’s horns; a Wayshrine of the Tribunal has been decorated with flickering lanterns and ribbons in Temple colors, someone having scrawled “Joy to the Three” in charcoal on the stone. Uncle Eevee feels the lingering chill in his muscles from the swim, but also a faint warmth—whether from exertion, faith, or Azura’s distant attention, it’s hard to say.

After some time, the road forks. One path follows the coastline toward Hla Oad, safer and more traveled, while the inland route cuts straight toward Vivec through marsh and ashland—faster, but known for nix-hounds, bandits, and worse. Night is beginning to creep in, the sky staining violet and gold as Masser and Secunda prepare to rise.

What would Uncle Eevee like to do next?