I need more berries. It was the only thought on her mind when she checked her pantry. She had plenty of dried meat on hand, and she busied herself on washing the dish she used with her supper the night prior. She moved to the opened diary book she was writing in and frowned at the nearly dried inkwell. No ink was not a good sign. It was why she needed the black berries. Ink was hard to make at times if the berries weren't ripe enough. Luckily, she could harvest them now. A few of the berry patches she needed were bearing the bitter, black fruits.

She grabbed a clay pot to hold the berries in and walked outside. She went down to the stream alongside her house where the berry patches flourished. Getting the cutters out from the pouch at her side, she started to harvest what she needed. She never took too much, but she noticed the weather was getting oddly colder. She sighed and smiled softly.

"I do apologize, but I may need a little more than normal. The weather is changing. May I harvest a few more for surplus?" she asked softly in her whispery tone. Her voice was damaged by a fire in her childhood. She was supposed to have died that night, but she didn't. Her parents were, luckily, out of the house when it happened. If it wasn't for her father rushing in to steal her barely breathing form from the smoldering cradle and reviving her with a few gentle taps to her chest, she likely wouldn't be here today. As a repercussion, her vocal cords were permanently damaged. The local healers could do nothing.

She did have a natural affinity for plants, though. Even the wildlife around her. As her throat was healing as much as it could, this odd effect seemed to take root. She was mistaken as a Druid on more than one occasion, but she would simply shake her head and walk away. It never happened before the fire. None could explain it, either. But, as she asked the question, a few branches she missed that were ripe with berries seemed to reveal themselves to her. These were harvested, and she moved to the next thing on her list to make the ink. River water was now collected and stored in the jar to help start the process for the ink. As the berries softened, the juice would be easier to extract.

When she walked back into the small hut, she set down the jar and poured a small bit of the berry and water mix into a mortar. After grinding it up and filtering out the seeds and plant matter, she poured the resulting black liquid into her inkwell. The rest of it was placed back in her pantry to let it ferment to make it easier to work with. Grabbing a small carrot to snack on, she moved to sit and write in her diary. Dipping the quill into the inkwell, she sighed and began to write.

As she wrote, she found herself lighting a candle and getting up to cover various windows. Why is it getting colder near the end of summer?! With her teeth chattering, she finally had to get up and light a fire. In the new firelight, she sighed and picked up a dull shovel to separate out the logs for even burning. After the fire appeared to be strong enough to be left alone, she moved to where a cracked mirror was along the wall.

Her hair was a dark red in color and only seemed to grow to her shoulders. Jade green eyes looked back at her amidst a pale face that was sprinkled with light freckles. She wasn't much to look at with a roundish nose and thin lips, but it suited her face completely. She had no external scars from her old ordeal, but it was internal where it lingered.

She pulled a wool cloak dyed a pretty blue color over her already modestly dressed form. The usual, white pantaloons stockings were on under the lighter dress of tan shading. The top of the dress appeared to be corset-style and laced up professionally with years of practice. The shoulders weren't the puffy type, as she never needed something so fancy, and a simple belt buckle held it all together. Sturdy boots graced her feet to show she was ready to travel at a moment's notice.

She had just started to heat up a kettle of water to make some tea when she heard something outside her small hut. It sounded like someone coughing a short distance away. Frowning to herself, she grabbed a walking staff of carved wood, a flask of water in case it was needed, and moved to find the sound. She wasn't one to simply walk away from something unknown. She needed to find out everything around her. It was mainly for safety.

What she found had her pause with shock. A blond man with incredibly long ears lay gasping from a spear-point in his side. The wound appeared to be a day old, and he may have finally fallen to the ground from complete exhaustion. He was also dangerously close to falling into a small pit of thorns at how he was laying. If he rolled over right into it, he'd be in even more trouble.

Well, isn't this a pickle! She sighed to herself. She wanted to try and help him, but she also recognized the ears. He was clearly an Elf of some kind. His armor appeared to be blood red in color, and his eyes were squeezed shut. He could have been a military soldier, for all she knew. Most Elves almost always looked the same. He didn't appear to be a form of nobility, but that was only what she could tell. She saw no cloak on him. His underclothes were torn under the the armor that was missing. He'll easily freeze to death if he lingered out in the turning air for long. She nodded to herself and decided to take the chance.

"Hey..." she said in her whispery voice. When there was no response, she gently prodded him with her staff. That caused an instant response for a set of glowing green eyes to open and glare at her. She rose up her hands to show no harm. She took the flask from her side to offer it to him. He glared at her with mistrust. She nodded with understanding, opened it, and took a sip to show it was harmless. When it was offered again, he seemed to cringe. He gave in and reached over painfully to accept it.

He drank down a couple heavy swallows with relief and winced at the bleeding wound. She offered her staff for him to grab onto. At first he was confused. Then he realized that she wanted him to go with her. She wanted to pull me away from danger. He seemed to tense, but she did give him water. Maybe she did want to help me. I need to be tended, and a wounded warrior cannot fight. He mulled over his options for a split second. A chilling wind that howled by hastened his decision.

He grabbed onto the staff, and she pulled him away from the dangerous pit. She was able to help him stand a bit to start leading him away. He coughed again and found her warm cloak encompassing him to shield him from the cold. When he almost stumbled, she was quick to catch him.

"Easy. We're almost there," she said in the most soothing tone she could. He was nearing the brink of his strength when she finally opened the door to her small hut to let him lay back in her bed. She'd make do with the temporary cot she had. When he did lay back, the warmth from the fire had already filled the hut completely. He was sleeping deeply when she checked on him again.

Just as well. I need to check his wounds. She mused to herself and slowly began to cut away the dirty, torn cloth with a set of scissors she had nearby for knitting and mending. The spear-point was still in his side, and she managed to carefully tug it out. Her kettle still had some heated water left from the tea she was setting up, and this was used to dampen an odd cloth rag. She carefully cleaned away the dirt and debris from the torn flesh. Clucking her tongue, she knew that stitches would be required.

The first thing she did was apply a numbing salve. Once she knew it took effect, she got out a steady thread made of wild horsehair with a plant needle that was carefully sterilized in boiling water. She spaced out each stitch carefully to leave room for the wound to drain. After it was set, she placed another salve on it to keep dirt away. A small wad of cotton was used to help cushion the wound next. A layer of thin cloth was carefully stretched over the cotton to hold it there, and a small bit of sticky salve was used to keep it in place.

Smiling to herself on a job well done, she took up the spear-point to study it. She clearly didn't recognize it at all. It was roughly sharpened steel with a small bit of the wooden shaft still attached to it. It would have easily rusted in the wound if any frost got in. Setting it aside, she pulled up some mending she needed to do. She wanted the strange Elf to rest and heal as much as he needed to.

"Ah! The tea," she sighed and shook her head. She got up again to replace the water, but there was enough left for a small cup. Steeping the dried herbs in from the filmy lace they were bundled up in, she took in a deep breath of the scent the heated water gave off. Chamomile always soothed her nerves.

An hour slipped by soundlessly, as she reclined. She did hear the howling of the wind getting louder, though. It completely unnerved her. When the man in her bed coughed, she was up to check on him. She ran a cool cloth over his forehead and checked the bandage. More water was given to him. He rose up and blinked with shock that his wound was dressed. He looked over and saw the edge of the weapon sitting just off to the side on the wooden desk. He couldn't believe that she was able to help him.

"Can you understand me?" she asked gently from where she sat back down.

"Yes," he nodded slowly and swallowed. "As much as I...don't wish to. I can. Thank you. For helping me in my time of need."

"You're welcome," she nodded with a pleasant smile.

"There's...a reason to whisper?" he frowned. His voice was actual a bit musical to the ears.

"It's a permanent thing with me. I almost perished in a fire as a babe. My father rescued me before I was cooked alive," she said with a sigh. "It cannot be helped."

"I see. Well, thank you for living to be here in my time of need," he said and lay back in the bed.

"Rest now. We will talk more later," she said.

"What...is your name...?" he asked weakly.

"Rosalia," she smiled.

"I want you...to know...that you rescued...a Commander...of the Blood Elf army," he coughed. "I am known...as...Perhin Silversinger. I was the...last...of my group..."

"You should not be talking," she frowned.

"But...I have to!" he winced. "This place is...in danger! The cold here...it's not an accident! The Scourge...it's coming here..."

"The Scourge?!" she gaped. "I must tell the forest."

"What?" he asked.

"It's a...talent I have. I'm no Druid, but it's something I can do. Since the fire that nearly claimed my life. Just rest. We're safe," she soothed and rose up to head outside. He was stunned at this news. Even as he finally succumbed to sleep, he heard a whispery singing outside. It was haunting. Soothing. And it fully lulled him into the healing sleep he desperately needed.

If he was awake, he would have seen the forest vines shift and move to cover the small hut. He would have seen small animals take shelter quickly. He would have seen the forest come alive. After the forest was made aware, she moved back into the hut and sat back down at her chair. She had some writing to do.

**Author's Note**

So, yes. I caved. Decided to start writing this and not sure why. Maybe it was because of all the Heroes of the Storm I've been playing lately. I'm also a Blizzard junkie! However, I have been referring to the WoW wiki, and, yes, there will be smidges of Thalassian language. If someone notices something off, please let me know. I'm not going with an exact story timeline here for the WoW universe, but I do like to try and be somewhat realistic. However, I do know that most of it is based off of Warcraft 3 for characters.

Anyways, I hope you all enjoy!