The water in the fake moonwell glittered in the sun, casting ever-changing shadows on the stones. Seated at the edge of the pond, boots removed and feet soaking, Damaris Satinsun pushed a wisp of hair behind long elven ears and sighed. Real moonwells don't need the sun to shine, she thought somewhat petulantly. She looked up at the sky.
She missed her home.
Damaris still had mixed feelings for Stormwind. The city was amazing, she had to admit, and she liked it better than Ironforge. At least in Stormwind you could see the sky. Still, even the park was cultivated and somehow structured, lacking the wildness Damaris loved. There were no saplings fighting for light among old, giant trees, and weeds were plucked out quickly and mercilessly.
In Stormwind she felt penned in by the buildings and tall stone walls. The wind rarely ever reached down into the narrow streets, and people were always shouting, or fighting, or getting drunk. Cutpurses and pickpockets moved easily through the crowds, striking unsuspecting innocents. Everything was paved over, closed in. Nature only grew where the humans willed.
"Mm. Exotic."
Damaris glanced to her side, where a human woman leaned her elbows on the well's stones. She was dressed in dark clothes, and a dagger was attached to the belt at her waist. To her other side was an imp, green flames licking its feet. It bounded up to the well and stuck a hand in.
"What?" the elf replied, belatedly.
"Looks pretty in the sun," commented the warlock, pushing herself off of the stones. She tucked an errant strand of red hair behind an ear, and rested her hip against the side of the well. Her arms were crossed over her chest; her piercing green eyes were predatory.
"It's not as nice as the actual thing," Damaris replied, somewhat hesitantly. She didn't like the look in the other woman's eyes.
"Oh, the well is rather plain," the warlock agreed. Her eyes swept down Damaris's figure, and the human smirked. "Of course, I wasn't talking about the well."
Damaris felt the blood rush into her cheeks. Beside her, waking up from a noonday nap, Arithe growled in warning. Bastet, stretched out near her, slept peacefully on.
The warlock's attention shifted to the big cat, and she raised an eyebrow. "Lovely beast."
Damaris hesitated for a moment, then answered, "Thank you."
Arithe bared her teeth, ears back. Damaris knew not to doubt Arithe's strange, innate power to sense people's true intentions. Her hand strayed to her dagger.
The warlock took the hint. "My name is Kethryn Roweia. Send me a message, when next you're in Stormwind." She smirked again. "I could show you a bit of…magic."
"I don't think so," Damaris said. Arithe was still lying down, though she hadn't relaxed her position. The commotion was starting to wake Bastet up.
The warlock shrugged. "As you say. A pity, though." Her eyes swept along Damaris's form again, and she grinned. "You're very pretty."
Then, even as Damaris drew her dagger (blushing simultaneously) and Arithe stood, the warlock turned and called sharply over her shoulder, "Biztal! Come!"
The imp ran after her.
When the warlock was out of sight, Damaris sheathed her dagger and relaxed. Arithe laid back down with a disgruntled noise. "I agree. Good riddance."