Jeff follows after the man, this seemingly frail and human manifestation of that elusive something always teasing at his perception. He moves softly, as if he's wearing something far more delicate than his boots. Or maybe it's more like his steps keep landing in a dream.

He doesn't rush. Even if he's a total city boy, the woods don't unnerve him; if anything, they're an odd source of comfort. A land soaked in blood and fear, where monsters and other impossible things roam. It's a lot like Dogtown, in that way. He often used to lose himself there.

With languid, dreamy steps, he follows Sheogorath, a soft hum dancing through his throat. He's not bothering to hide, but he isn't calling the man over, either. He'll just keep following, until there's a stopping point.