Sheogorath follows quietly. He’s busy gathering his thoughts from where they’re scattered, reaching up and out of the earth from the depths of Paradesium, where he’s sent his wandering whims to overwinter. His gaze never shifts from Fever, not for a moment, as his boots crunch in the snow and he makes his way steadily through the dark woods. It feels appropriate, that Mortanne lead and he follow after. Death will be what comes first this night, and Madness after.