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It was an almost restful ride back towards Whiterun.  Despite the urgency Farengar tried to impart, Richard saw no way that basalt tablet would be much use unless there was a scholar that knew what the markings on it signified. He had taken that gilded claw back to Lucan Valerius, flirted briefly with his sister Camilla, then had himself about the finest lunch that could be had at the Sleeping Giant.

The guards he met were watchful and nervous... paying more attention to the skies than they were the roads. Richard couldn't blame them. The townspeople were beginning to catch the nervousness of the guards. By now the attack on Helgen was becoming common knowledge and whispers about the world ending were making their ways about.

About the only one who seemed immune to the nervousness was that leather lunged preacher before the statue of Talos.