A/N: I probably own nothing. Blizzard, however, owns a small chunk of my soul.
Family
They'd learned long ago that they were better off going their own ways. They were just too similar in temperament. Too similar all around, really. When Hravn dyed her hair brown instead of green or pink, it wasn't rebellion because Vermyllion hadn't dyed her hair at all. When Hravn got angry and froze her needles and stained her fabric, it didn't mean anything, because Vermyllion had access to explosives, and had been known to use them. But when Hravn had thrown that first fireball, probably saving Vermyllion's life, that had stood out. A mage, in a family of warriors? Tempers flared, things were said that couldn't be unsaid, and really, they were better off going their separate ways.
They both, of course, on reaching the surface, had hoped that the other had been rescued from Gnomeregan. It would have been awkward, to think either of them could have been one of the leper gnomes slain in the fight to get out of the city. But they had too much history between them, and neither was willing to look for the other, too afraid of what they might find.
Vermyllion first heard Hravn's name at, of all places, the Nesingwary expedition. It seemed that her sister had hooked up with a hunter—friend of a friend who was now simply a friend—and they were running around Stranglethorn, terrorizing the local fauna. That sounded like fun to Vermyllion, and she was more than eager to join in the hunt. She tracked her sister down the Cape, always a step behind, glad that Hravn seemed to have found a few good friends. Vermyllion wished she'd been as lucky. All she had was a cat, one that tended to wander off when she charged into the forest to tackle trolls more than twice her height. She wasted far too much time hunting her own "lost" cat. She had to admit, a friend would be…nice.
She just missed Hravn in Booty Bay, but her sister had sure left an impression, the way the goblins were talking. Maybe Vermyllion would ask about it, when she was done dealing with these pirates, who, it seemed, just kept coming back. Maybe…
Sitting in the Salty Sailor, recovering from being nearly exploded and nearly drowned, Vermyllion decided that the world was changing too quickly, and was becoming far too dangerous, to let old quarrels stand in the way of family. She found a scrap of parchment and began to write. "Dear Hravn…"
"Love, Myllion."
Hravn blinked, folded the scrap of parchment into an inside pocket, and started to move again. She'd been standing frozen at the mailbox since she'd received her sister's letter. Now she hurried down the corridor, head whirling with conflicting emotions, wanting nothing more than to curl up in her customary wagon. She'd only teleported back to Ironforge to train; Oryane was waiting…Oryane could wait.
Hravn knew she had to respond, but she didn't know how. She felt guilty for not writing to Myllion herself, but she was also relieved that Myllion had taken the initiative. She spent quite a while wondering how to reconcile old arguments with this new world.
Hravn paid no attention, generally, to the gryphons coming and going. She'd learned long ago to block the movement out. But this gryphon…she ducked suddenly behind the lip of the wagon, suddenly nervous. Just her luck, that in all this time she'd never once run into her sister. And now, the very day she received this letter, there she was. The gnome, dressed in a collected-from-the-grasp-of-my-dead-enemies hodge-podge of mail, could only be Vermyllion. Those sharp green eyes, that so quickly undercut the cute look of three little pigtails in stubborn plain black, glared at the world in a familiar expression. It was part curiosity, part anger, and part sheer pig-headed determination, the same she'd worn when she couldn't get her latest project to tick just right, or to explode with the force she wanted it to…Hravn wondered where she had been.
Only one way to find out.
Vermyllion didn't stop to think. The moment she saw her sister, cautiously emerging from one of the empty wagons scattered around the Forge, she threw herself at the other gnome and caught her in a crushing hug.
"Ow, Myllion, your pauldron is sharp."
This was not what Vermyllion had been expecting to hear first after all this time. She pulled back, and they stared at each other, getting used to this new all-grown-up-and-a-hero-now look.
"Not nearly as sharp as your tongue, Hravn," Vermyllion said, softening the gibe with a grin.
And then they were both laughing. Somehow, all was forgiven.
The moment didn't last, however. Too soon, Hravn was looking, surprisingly regretfully, at the gryphons. "I've got to go. Meeting a friend of mine…"
Vermyllion nodded, wondering which one, of all the names she'd heard linked to Hravn's. "Promise you'll write?"
"I will if you do," Hravn said, smiling. And then she took off. Moments later, Vermyllion followed. If they were going to write, then she was damn well going to make sure she had something to write about.