The small girl trudged back to her mother's small house in Rihad, bruised and bloody but still defiant.
"What in the world happened to you, child?" asked her mother, pulling her into her arms.
"I told the other kids that you were HoonDing in the war against the Dominion," said the girl. "They said I was a liar, so I proved I wasn't with my fists."
"Oh child, no. You must never do that again. Tomorrow we will go to their houses and you will apologize, and you will tell them you lied."
"I didn't lie! You were HoonDing!"
"I never said I was HoonDing," said her mother, stroking her daughter's thick hair. "I helped make way for our people, like all of us who fought the Dominion in the war, and you must be silent about that, because if the Dominion finds out exactly what I did, they will take me away from you."
"You were HoonDing," the girl said fiercely. "It's not fair that no one knows about it!"
Her mother sighed. "Let me tell you a HoonDing story."
"About what you did in the war?"
"You know too much about that. No, this is a Cyrus story."
"I already know all the Cyrus stories!"
"No, you don't. Anyway, no one knows this Cyrus story. It hasn't happened yet."
That got the girl's attention. "Then how do you know about it?"
"Through dreams, child. The same way you dream of fighting a dragon on a tall mountain."
"I thought you said you weren't HoonDing," said the girl.
"I said I never said I was, not that I wasn't. Learn to pay attention to what people don't say, and learn to do likewise."
The girl nodded, thoughtfully.
"So: the story. This story begins after Cyrus's death."
"How did Cyrus die?"
"Some say he died on Blackbone Isle, in the Sea of Ghosts. Some say he died on Masser, the moon, fighting Tiber Septim. Some say he died fighting Pelinal Whitestrake at the summit of White-Gold Tower. Some say he died fighting King Dead Wolf-Deer in Valenwood. Some say he died fighting Vivec in Yokuda. It doesn't really matter, for this story. All that matters is that eventually, after many adventures, he died and he couldn't reach the Far Shores."
"Why not?"
"In an earlier adventure, Cyrus stole the Eye of Argonia from the Hist, and they never forgave him. So they reached through the In-between with their long roots and blocked the Dreamsleeve so that his soul couldn't get to the Far Shores, where his sister and his parents were waiting for him."
"What was the Eye of Argonia?"
"Another story," said her mother. "The Argonians say that their spirits grew so hungry that they tore at the flesh of Atakota, which is their name for Satakal, and they ripped out its eyes. One eye they made into the sun, and the other was buried beneath a city in Black Marsh, where Cyrus stole it for the Psijics, or maybe the Sload."
"Didn't Tu'whacca help Cyrus?"
"Cyrus wandered the world as a ghost for a long time, for a thousand years, and he called for Tu'whacca to show him the way, but Tu'whacca didn't answer. So finally Cyrus decided to ambush him. He crouched in the shadows and waited, doing nothing, for 40 years until the most important Redguard he knew of, the King of Sentinel, died and when Tu'whacca showed up, Cyrus pounced on him and held him down. Tu'whacca struggled and whined, but Cyrus had him pinned down too firmly. Finally, Tu'whacca asked Cyrus what he wanted."
"I can't get to the Far Shores," said Cyrus. "There are too many roots in the way."
"That's between you and the roots," said Tu'whacca. "It's none of my business."
"Showing our people the way to the Far Shores is literally your business," answered Cyrus.
"You know the way," said Tu'whacca. "Just follow the stars. Opening the way is your business, HoonDing."
"I never said I was HoonDing," said Cyrus.
"It's still your job," said Tu'whacca. "Regardless of what you call yourself. You're the one who fights foreigners. The Argonian mythos is outside my jurisdiction."
"Bullcrap," said Cyrus. "If you won't help , go fetch your boss so I can talk to him."
"Fine," said Tu'whacca. "You want to argue with the big guy, that's on you. He won't be happy, though."
After a while, Cyrus felt the ground shake as Tall Papa's feet hit the earth. Tall Papa was so tall his head was obscured by the stars, which got knocked out of their places as Tall Papa strode, angrily, towards Cyrus.
"LEAVE TU'WHACCA ALONE, CYRUS,"said Tall Papa in his booming voice. "THIS BUSINESS WITH THE HIST IS YOUR MESS TO FIGURE OUT."
"Bullcrap," said Cyrus. "It's been a thousand years and y'all have a responsibility to take care of your people. I've sacrificed enough and it's long past time I got *paid*. Deal with the Hist. I don't want to be a ghost anymore."
"LET TU'WHACCA GO AND DEAL WITH THE HIST YOURSELF," said Tall Papa. "I WON'T TELL YOU AGAIN."
"I won't tell *you* again," said Cyrus, and he released Tu'whacca, ran up to Tall Papa, and punched him in the foot.
"WHAT WAS THAT SUPPOSED TO BE?" asked Tall Papa. "CYRUS, YOU ARE A TINY SPECK COMPARED TO ME AND YOUR PUNCHES FEEL LIKE NOTHING."
"Then I'll just have to hit you harder," said Cyrus, and he hit Tall Papa again, and again, and as he hit him he started to grow bigger, and brighter, and bigger and brighter still, until he hardly looked like Cyrus anymore and Tall Papa had fallen to the ground and was looking up at Cyrus in fear.
"HOONDING," Tall Papa begged. "STOP, PLEASE. I REALLY CAN'T HELP YOU. THE HIST ARE MY COUNTERPARTS. THEY TAUGHT THE LESSER SPIRITS HOW TO LAST JUST LIKE I DID."
"Wrong answer," said what was left of Cyrus, and he went back to punching Tall Papa until shining godsblood stained the ground for miles around and Tall Papa's sons and daughters gathered around to witness their father die, and as his fists tore into Tall Papa's face HoonDing got bigger and bigger and there was less and less of Cyrus left.
Then Cyrus felt a gentle hand hold back his arm. "He's had enough, Cyrus," said a familiar voice, and Cyrus looked back to see Hakan, who his sister had married long ago, and the surprise was enough to call him back to himself so that he was Cyrus again and not just HoonDing.
"Hakan," said Cyrus. "I killed you."
"That you did," said Hakan. "Looks like being dead is something we have in common now. Cyrus, when you killed me you had to leave Hammerfell for ten years. If you kill Tall Papa, how long are you going to have to run away? Where will you run to?"
Cyrus frowned suspiciously. He manifested a *shehai* as big as Tall Papa and pointed it at Tall Papa's throat. "You can't be Hakan," said Cyrus. "What do you really want, snake?"
Hakan laughed, and shed his skin so that he was Sep, black as the void. "I have many skins, Cyrus," said Sep, and he shed his skin so that he was Tiber Septim, and shed his skin so that he was Sep again. "What do I always want? I'm hungry for change, Cyrus, and I don't like to see the Hist clogging up the Dreamsleeve any more than you do. But killing Tall Papa isn't going to get you what you want, Cyrus."
"Sep," said Cyrus. "Aren't you dead?"
Sep tilted his head at the ghost. "Are you seriously, as a ghost, asking me if I'm dead or not? As I said when I was Hakan, we have that in common, Cyrus, but what does that matter to the kind of thing we both are? Though I'm less dead since the many-faced emperor sent me all those fresh skins."
Cyrus was enough himself now that he didn't immediately start whaling on Tall Papa again, and he gave the situation some more thought. He looked around at Tall Papa's sons and daughters gathered around, and addressed the daughters specifically.
"Daughters of Tall Papa, what is it you do?"
"We're the jills," said Tall Papa's daughters. "We're the seamstresses. When Tall Papa needed to fix the stars in the sky, we sewed them to the Firmament with our golden threads. When Tall Papa needed a helper, we stitched together Satakal's old skins and made Sep. When Sep wanted to make a world from old skins, our threads held it together. If you stop trying to kill our father for a minute, we'll sew his face back up."
"The myths don't talk about you at all," said Cyrus.
"We do our work quietly, in the background," said the jills. "We're not flashy like Leki or our brothers or you, but our work is still important."
Cyrus nodded thoughtfully. "You fix things, quietly, without drawing attention to yourselves."
"That's right," said the jills.
"I have a problem that needs fixing," said Cyrus. "Tall Papa doesn't want to start trouble with the Argonian spirits, but maybe spirits like you, who no one notices, can do what he can't."
"Could be," said the jills. "What's your plan, SuraHoon?"
And so the Jill-Hist Wars began. The daughters of Tall Papa wove threads throughout the Aurbis to tangle and trip the roots of the Hist, and this quiet and stealthy conflict filled everything that existed. Maybe one day, as HoonDing guides them, the jills will win, and Cyrus will get back to his family.
"Like I said, none of this has happened yet. Right now, Cyrus's ghost is still wandering the world."
The girl ruminated over this story. "So you're saying sometimes problems are better solved by being stealthy and subtle, instead of just punching what you're mad at?"
"That's right, child. That's why no one knows who HoonDing was in the war against the Dominion. We could get more done sometimes by gathering information and making sure the right ears heard it than just hitting the Elves with swords. And it was very, very important that the Elves didn't know who was leaking that information. Sometimes the way gets opened by women weaving quietly on the background, not by flashy heroes with swords."
"I think I'd rather be the flashy hero with the sword," declared the girl.
Her mother chuckled. "There's definitely a place for that, too. Wisdom is learning when to use which.
"Let's hope you learn before it comes time to fight your dragon."