My mother whispered this verse to me in the days when we lived amongst the Dark Elves against our will:
"Hidden from view Touched not by dew Sacred places wait."
We Argonians have so little from the time before the Dunmer came. Stone relics, crumbling xanmeers, and an instinctive trust in the Hist. Since our return to Black Marsh, I've searched for these sacred places, hoping to recover more of our valuable past.
I brought my mother to Stormhold, where she hatched so long ago. She breathed the heavy air in delight, knowing she would return to the Hist of her parents. As her life slipped away, I stayed beside her.
"Do you remember that song?" I asked, when it was clear she would join our ancestors by nightfall. "Hidden from view …?"
"Yes," she said, her voice weak. "My mother sang it to me too. You will find it, my daughter. Even you."
"Even one who would find and sell our past for profit," she rasped accusingly. I looked away, but she continued, "The Hist is our treasure, and it can be neither bought nor sold."
The meaning struck me then, and I was at once angry and ashamed.