Farstriders' Square was alive with citizens. Several were jarring together, practicing their training with wooden swords. A pair of Blood Knight adepts squared off near the gritted steps, each holding duplicate ranseurs that flashed in the daylight, cerise and crimson leaves crunching under their feet. In a remote corner, a gathering of rangers and hunters witnessed and cackled as a fledgling hunter struggled to control his infuriated lynx. An adjacent merchant's stall sold fresh, exotic fruits, the rows of colourful produce catching to the eye.

The soft air was shattered with the snap of an arrow and a brash groan.

"Again!"

A small, freckled elven woman flung the ruined shaft to the cobblestone floor and her longbow trailed soon after, disturbing a heap of crisp, red leaves.

"Shut it, Halduron, or my next arrow is going right between those pretty little eyebrows." She wilted to the ground, and the laugh she received was vigorous.

"You can try, but by the way this training is going, it will soar well past my head and kill a civilian." The blonde haired woman let out a snarl as she laid back on the floor, causing the Ranger-General to call her a 'spitting kitten.'

She was caught mid-pounce and mid-yell, inches from Halduron.

"Now, there is no need to exasperate her to the point where she would contemplate slaughtering the Ranger-General of Silvermoon," the voice of the hands around her waist said to the man in question. The woman stuck her tongue out at the blonde man before the voice turned on her. "And there is similarly no need for you to allow him to exasperate you to the point you would contemplate slaughtering-"

She smacked his hands away until he let her go. "Shut it, Theron," she bit out in a parallel manner to her previous words.

She turned to him and he was feigning a wounded expression, a hand on his heart. "Your words, they claw into my chest and rip my heart to shreds." The novice huntress' face knotted as she strained to supress her mirth. The duo were soon shrouded in a fit, Halduron lastly joining in amidst the gracelessness. Lor'themar drew the woman into a quick hug before freeing her.

She watched as the two men shared a similar embrace before the Ranger-General clapped his best friend's shoulder.

"Welcome back, brother. How was Pandaria?" She deliberated leaving them alone, but amid her inquisitiveness and ogling at the man's exposed arms, she decided to stay. She observed the two as if they were pieces of art in a gallery, noting how the vivacious reds of the city behind Lor'themar's snowy crown made his uninjured emerald eye brighter.

"Besides a slight falling out with the Warchief, it was swell. I have plans to instantaneously excavate areas with the Requilary once we capture the Isle of Thunder."

"Sounds risky," The huntress murmured, causing both men to face her. "I mean, the Isle. Yeah. Isle of Thunder? Spooky." When she comprehended they were giving her disapproving gazes, she reddened.

"Yes, well," Lor'themar started, "I had to return to help Rommath with something calamitous, and I must be getting to that now. Corri, Halduron." He left her standing with his Ranger-General, who shrugged at her injured appearance.

She spoke first. "If you think I'm going to continue training after what you said to me, you need to re-evaluate your life."

The man exhaled, shaking his head nonchalantly. "Any true ranger would use criticism to help improve themselves."

"I'm training to be a huntress, not a ranger," Corriana bit back, already irritated at how he blew her words off so fluently, but the look Halduron gave her silenced her promptly.

"The archery is the same. I am willing to help you train for the time being." Though she truthfully desired to decline, she was conscious that a man like him would not habitually be so ready to give one-on-one training to anyone.

"You want to take me on as an apprentice?"

The older man shrugged. "I would not put it that theoretically, but yes, I suppose so."

He took the longbow from her and began walking towards a flight of fragmented stone steps, gesturing for her to shadow him. "You seem like you could use a break."

She was immediately mindful of his words and his manner. "What do you want to know?"

She eyed him diagonally as they strolled, side by side. He seemed to be taking a lengthy amount of time to discover his words, and it began to concern her. "Not many would have the impertinence to communicate with Lor'themar that way," he finally thought.

The huntress knew precisely what he was trying to say. "I've been penning him for years, if that's what you mean. We met, a long time ago, once. The day I left home to move to Orgrimmar."

She did not want to look at him then. She chose to glue her eyes to the decrepit floor underneath her feet, or the spiralling leaves that pirouetted in the air, to the sun-bleached walls, or everything else that permitted her to keep her eyes from his.

The pair were hushed for a few minutes, only exchanging alternative breaths. "Is your connection greater than just ink?"

She knew it was coming. She had felt it in her bones, the shuddering ache of expectation that came before an inquiry she did not want to have to answer. Her mouth felt parched. Her tongue chanced her lips, and she coughed carefully.

"I'm far too young for him, and he's far too old for me," the elf gave him a smile, one with the pale trace of hurt and sorrow. The words sounded like a quotation, even to her, as if they were articulated in the same way, once before.

The man disregarded the words, disregarded the melancholy that hid behind her teeth. "He is very protective of you, Lor'themar that is. It is rather peculiar."

She once again knew what he was trying to tell her without having to really say it. She knew he was interested as to why her sister was sent back to Orgrimmar while she was kept in the security of Silvemoon, where Theron or his eyes could watch over her at all times.

"Lor is a concerned friend, looking out for a powerless trainee. That's all." He did not believe her, and she couldn't blame him; she wouldn't have believed herself.

They stopped at the fountain, near the head where a golden woman raised proudly with water cascading around her figure. It was customary for them, when they had these walks. This was where they would part. She would watch him from the water as he ascended the infinite steps up to the Spire. Sometimes he would watch her cautiously tread along the rim of the fountain, each time nearly slipping where the wet stone slanted downwards with the grey steps.

Today, she would leave first. The huntress felt his eyes on her back as she stepped up onto the porous stone trim. One leather-clad foot in front of the other, she took her time circling around with the lapping water. A pair of children splashed each other further inside the fountain, a few rogue droplets managing to find their way to her pleated hair. As she came to the slope, she broke her tradition by hopping back down to the ground, picking up her stride as she jogged down the moist steps.

Her mother was waiting on the steps when she arrived home, an envelope sandwiched between her fingers. The two women noiselessly exchanged words with a glance, the quilted paper switching from one small hand to the other as Corriana passed by.

"Dinner is waiting for you," Ardis called, but her words fell on deaf ears.

The parcel in her hand seemed as if a ball and chain were tied to her wrist. The white paper of the envelope was stained with red, the curves of the ink spelling out her name in Orcish. The Horde's insignia was embossed into the same shade of red of the wax on the reverse side.

The huntress' breath was shallow and strenuous as she clambered up the twisting steps to the second floor. She almost stumbled over her own feet and a sheepskin runner before she sightlessly made it into her room. She closed and sealed the door, flinging the letter onto her round bed. Corriana stood in a corner, holding herself, eyes wide and locked onto the rectangle of bound paper in front of her.

Her mind had shut down; null and void. As soon as she was unaccompanied, the distressing scenarios that played through her head as she mounted those steps were gone. It was just her and the letter. Just her vacant mind, garish breaths, and arched red lines. The rubicund drapery that clung from her ceiling wavered, just as she did, in the air. The tree outside her open window, full of leaves, rattled, just as she did.

After one last inhalation of air to gather herself, she stepped forward and picked up the envelope. She turned it over in her hands, eyeing the daub of beeswax that divided her from her blending apprehension. With one painted fingernail, she shredded it open, ripping the letter out with diminutive tolerance.

She read. There was an instant where her heart stopped beating, before her pulse skyrocketed and she let out a dismayed wheeze. She felt the complex muscle in her chest palpitate as the hairs on her skin raised and her eyes dilated. In spite of the crackling fire to her right, she felt chilled, chilled to the bone.

When she was done, she threw the paper into the fire, fell to her knees, and watched it burn, along with her entire world.


A/N: Holy shit, I've finally gotten around to editing the first few chapters of this story. I originally wrote it with no real plot planned, as per usual, but I've finally gotten my shit together to fix this so I can move onto part 2 and 3. Fair warning, this part is going to be super short compared to the next two installments. Anyways, I hope you enjoy.