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Death is the one common factor that everyone shares. As much a part of life as living. And in the midst of battle, you never feel closer to someone as when you do with 6 inches of steel between their ribs. Watching their light die is a precious moment to be remembered, and she had so very many of those memories.

Things change and people move on. Adapt and adjust. The Sundering changed millions of lives. But they adapted. Now the scars of that fight were just that. Scars. And scars heal over time.

TTT

It had been a year since Alliance and Horde forces had landed on Pandaria. Tempers were escalating with the discovery of the heart of the old god. Alliance and Horde alike were gathering resources to beseige Orgrimmar, where the Mad Warcheif sat. Led by Vol'jin, the Darkspear revolution was coming to a close, the Seige of Orgrimmar was begining.

None of this mattered however, to a night elf sitting in the Jade Forest. East of Nectarbreeze village, across the river, in a feild of grass she sat. Her hands gripped the long grass as she sat on her hands and knees. Sweat beaded on her brow as she concentrated, her hands curling reflexively but to no avail. No change took place. She took a deep breath and dug deep inside herself, scrambling desperately for that wild part of nature that she held so dear, before slamming her fists into the ground as she screamed her defeat.

A year after being awakened and she still couldn't shape change. Her bond with nature had taken lots of time and nurturing to return to its former strength, but her skin remained as steadfast and stubborn as ever, refusing to slip away. Sighing, the woman laid down on her stomach on the grass, closing her eyes as it tickled her cheeks. The wind in this forest was always so playful. She supposed it had somthing to do with the Pandaran and their steadfast peacefullness. The moment foreign forces had landed, harsh words about the other on their lips and a quick hand for violence, they had accidentally released something. Something they had never seen. A force made of the collective emotions of everyone on the land. The Sha.

This new threat was able to burn its way through hearts and minds with its dark fire. Worming its way through you with negative emotions, reading your deepest fears. What made you explode in a rage. What did you fear most? Why did you need to take orders from others when you are so much better? It was like that dark part of your thoughts that you kept locked away had been opened and set loose, and Luna had so much darkness inside her. She avoided the Sha at any cost. It would be so easy to destroy her.

The Alliance had grudgingly agreed not to try to kill her on sight anymore. But she was far from accepted back into the ranks. And she wasn't sure she wanted to be. This new land offered more opportunites for her. Places to explore, people to meet. Maybe one of the Pandaran masters could help her change shape again. But until that time, she had taken a different path, quite the opposite of her Feral roots. She had earned a new reputation as a cold and calculating healer. Even more frightening than her panther claws, she could heal many people at once with a calculating eye, never healing too much, saving every bit of energy she could for when it was needed most. Anyone with a dangerous mission, a personal quest, or an explorer of the depths of the world wanted the healer with the opalescent hair.

And she hated it.

She had too much darkness to take a balanced path, and guarding people wasn't her forte. Killing was her proffesion. Destroying her enemies and a shower of fur and claws was her calling. But it was the cold knowledge of how to efficiently kill someone that made her an efficient healer. She knew the bodies workings. What cut would kill them fastest, which the slowest. What parts needed reignforcement for optimal performance in battle.

It had taken alot to claw her way back out from death, only to find out she had lost everything. Her abilities were gone, many of her friends had died in the Cataclysm, her own personal possesions were gone. Mamiru had died on Darkshore, drowned and washed ashore. Her brother had lived, barely, but she hadn't been to see him. Elune had granted her wish to spare his life for hers, she wasn't sure how she felt about it. She wondered if he could feel her life in him. Her heartbeat, her breath.

After saving the Tauren upon her awakening, she became weak, unable to move. The young bull had helped her. She grasped the bit of horn hanging from around her neck on a leather thong. It had been polished and smoothed from her constant rubbing. She considered it a charm of good faith. She smiled against the grass as she recalled the Tauren hunting for her, giving her some old leather clothing from his pack and the packs of his former comrades, helping her relearn to walk on shakey legs. Elune had sent him there to help her she beleived, knowing she would need him.

Before going their separate ways, she had kissed him on the forehead, between his horns, and was shocked when his fur turned white where her lips had been. She had almost paniced, but he hushed her with a booming chuckle and a pat on the shoulder. Motioning to her piece of his horn, he pointed back to his new spot. They each had a momento of eachother now. Smiling solftly, she watched him until he was out of sight, absorbed by the mountains. She had walked back to the remains of her amber chamber, the tall oval of the tree was completely smooth inside, shards of amber glass littered the ground around the roots. Something caught her eye among the amber. It was a fetish. Decorated with beads and bright colored feathers, painted with old troll runes. They were good luck charms. Trolls rarely parted with these willingly, having them since childhood made them precious to them.

Reaching down to pick it up, she saw a flash of fire to moment her fingers brushed it. Parting her lips she gasped lightly and jerked her fingers away. Taking a steadying breath, she bent down and grabbed it, mewling when she was cast into memoriam.

"Jak." She whispered. She felt his tears dripping onto her cheek. Heard his shakey breath rattle next to her. Her hand was clasped tightly in his. She wanted to tell him it would be alright, that she was ok, to entwine her fingers through his. But this was a memory, and she was dead.

"Who said ya could die." He whispered to her. "Leetle elfie."

She had been thrust into reality with a pain in her heart and tears on her cheeks. Suddenly the fetish held much more meaning to her. Wiping her cheeks, she used a piece of twine from one of the orcs boots to tie the fetish into her hair so it fell over her shoulder to rest on her collarbone. She could hide it if need be by flipping it over her shoulder. A year later she lay on her stomach on the green green grass, the fetish in hand, eyes closed and breathing deep. She dreamed of him.

TTT

Welcome back! I hope you like this intro chapter. I know its a little short but I'm still working on how to tie this all together. I promise to update soon since I wanna know what happens as well!