A/N: although this is technically a sequel to my five chapter short story 'Unless,' I'd like to think that it could be read on its own as well. This is another one of those things I had an idea for the night before, then sat down in the morning and wrote it in less than an hour (don't worry, I did proofread it after that). I hope that the lack of context can actually help add to the flavor.
Errata flapped her wings, desperately trying to penetrate beneath the canopy. So long after she'd escaped her pursuers, fear, anger and frustration still drove her to push her body to the point of exhaustion.
Fear, because she knew that she lived in a world where, as of a week ago, every living thing wished for her death.
Anger, because she knew that the broodmother of her clan had damned them all by aligning the Wormwing with the black dragonflight.
Frustration, because all of her ferocity and prowess availed her nothing when both her own clan and all the civilized peoples of the world wanted her dead.
And so she'd fled Hyjal, flying for her life as the rest of her sisters and aunts tried to sheer her skin from her bones. When she approached camps for the orcs and humans, trying to warn them of the Wormwing's betrayal, she realized to her horror that they already knew. Branding her as a traitor to her people, they viewed her as untrustworthy; even her attempt to redeem herself was rejected, both factions driving her away from their camps. When she stumbled upon a remote outpost of night elf hippogriff riders at the Hyjal - Azshara border, she knew she was screwed. Without even asking questions, the sentinels ululated like madwomen, nearly frothing at the mouth as they cursed Errata as though she were the broodmother herself.
For days she flew, tiring herself out as she led them into the heart of what few virgin forests still existed in Azshara. Like sadistic demonspawn, the night elves soared calmly on the thermals as they trailed her, expecting her to drop from exhaustion eventually. It was just her luck that a residual hurricane spawned by the Cataclysm fell in their path. Knowing she was faster than the bulky hippogriffs, Errata led them toward it, knowing that they'd fall back and give up the chase once the storm winds buffeted them.
That escape plan had sapped almost all of her energy, however. As she lowered herself beneath the canopy of the dark Azsharan forest, she breathed a sigh of relief. So far, she hadn't even had the time to properly consider the misery of her situation yet.
"Grrrrruuuuuu!" the tree growled angrily, shaking her off of its branch.
"Yeeaarrggh!" she screeched, failing to land properly and landing on her hip in a heap on the first floor.
Two eyes blinked at her, and then four, and then six, then eight, twelve. The horrible, ugly trees came to life, revealing themselves as the ironically named ancient protectors that the vicious Kaldorei conjured around the woodlands. How her people and theirs had once shared a common ancestor was far beyond her.
Flapping her wings, she took long, soaring leaps across the forest floor, weaving in and out of the trees. Tapping into her magic, she tired herself out even more by casting her wind magic beneath her feet. Saving her aching hip from more damage, she launched herself in between the trees, leaving the heavy stomps of the ancients behind her until they let her go. Eventually, she felt a figurative heart attack strike her as she realized that she'd left the forest entirely and was out in the open again, where she could be spotted.
"No!" Errata shouted as she flinched and lost temporary control of the gust of wind she'd conjured. Her body was launched too far, and she hit the muddy grass hard, tumbling a few times as she allowed herself to roll before coming to a stop.
Thunder rumbled, though it was very, very far away. The worst of the hurricane had passed, leaving her only with a light drizzle and grey skies. Her deep violet plume was stained with brown mud, and now her hip hurt twice as badly. More thunder rumbled in the storm that lacked lightning, and she forced herself to her knees - that was more comfortable for her kind than trying to stand flat on her talons - to survey her situation.
The clearing was huge, nearly a mile wide; she'd have dubbed it a valley if it weren't so flat. All around she couldn't even hear any crickets or birds, though she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched. The ring of trews encircling her promised no safe haven, for she didn't know how many of those trees could be the unforgiving minions of the Kaldorei. She felt too tired to fly again, and it wouldn't be safe during the storm anyway. For the time being, she was stuck in the mud.
In the very center of the clearing was a lake. Slightly overflowed due to the consistent drizzle, it sparkled as if purified, and was unblemished by animals or the pollution she'd noticed during her flight to Azshara. There was an earthen outcropping the size of a house between her and the lake, possible covering a place where she could get out of the rain.
Carefully so as not to twist her hip, she flapped her wings to take bounding leaps toward the lake. The water soaked in her plume slowed her down, but eventually she reached the lake, washing the mud out of her feathers and drinking until she didn't feel thirsty anymore. Only when she had finished did she actually turn around to see the side of the earthen mound that had faced away from her previously.
Beneath an awning that offered some safety of the rain was a most peculiar sight. A large, flat boulder sat next to a small, twisted tree. Upon closer inspection, she cocked her head sideways, confused by the tree's visage. It bore no leaves, and was no larger than a man, almost twisted into the shape of a person sitting. Two bulges in the trunk looked like arms if the tree had been shaped to look like a lonely man hugging himself, and toward the top of the leafless tree was a flat surface that looked like a face. That face was contorted into a depressed expression, somewhat akin to a person who wanted to cry.
The sight was unsettling at first; though the Wormwing had formerly been the only clan of harpies that maintained good relations with the outside world, Errata's broodmother had changed all that. Staring at that tree, she realized that seeking solace in the form of other people was no longer an option. She was homeless, without a family or another soul in the world. Even as the rain gradually stopped and the thunder died away, she couldn't shake her own depression that finally crashed into her, pummeling her psyche with the reminder that there was no place left for her in the world.
At first, she didn't believe the shimmering sound of druidic, wisp like magic was real. When the green swirls and strands of the natural energy caught her eye, she backed up, confused as all hell.
"What...what is this?"
Slowly, those swirls intensified as the green light intensified. Though the shimmering sound never increased in volume, the light became brighter, obscuring the tree from view as she heard the sound of decayed wood cracking. Mesmerized, she found herself unable to even flap her soggy wings, perplexed by the sudden movement of red behind the green light. That green light faded away until red fur remained, breathing slowly like a person waking up from a deep sleep.
Errata crouched in the grass, not in anticipation of a fight so much as due to not knowing what else to do. Slowly, the horned man opened his eyes, blinking a few times as if his vision had blurred. Slowly but surely, he turned his head to gaze at the lake and the trees beyond before his eyes fell on her. What stunned her more than the fact that the sad looking tree had just turned into a satyr was that he didn't seem at all perturbed by her presence.
For the longest time, the two of them stared each other dow beneath the night sky, the grey clouds eventually dissipating. Though her talons were always ready for conflict, she sensed no hostility from the satyr, who only seemed to be halfway focused in her.
"When...ack..." the red man hacked, his throat sounding raw from disuse. After coughing a few times, he tried to speak again. "When was the Sundering?"
At first, Errata didn't even know how to react. Here she was, hunted and driven to the most isolated place she could find, hungry and homeless. A tree had just turned into a man right before her very eyes, shifting via druidic magic instead of demonic magic in spite of the fact that the man was very clearly a demon. And the first thing he asks was...about ancient history?
"I...what?"
"How long ago did the Sundering occur?" he asked in a calm, almost exhausted tone.
Errata just stared at him, a dozen different questions floating through her mind. "That...that was ten thousand years ago," she replied, not even quite knowing why.
Upon hearing her answer, the man's blank expression turned into one of disappointment. He raised his furry paws toward his face, inspecting himself as if he didn't know what he looked like. "Almost five thousand years, then...why...why am I still cursed?" he mumbled.
After furrowing his brows in his own confusion, he noticed her staring at him. "Has the Legion returned?" he asked.
"What?"
"The Burning Legion; have they returned?"
Her awe finally melting away, she found herself better able to answer. "That was years ago...they returned and were defeated again, after the lost of Nordrassil-"
"The World Tree has fallen?" he asked urgently.
Doing the mental math, Errata felt a bit startled as she realized why the man was so ignorant of current events and asking questions about ancient history. "Yes, the blessing of nature has ended; the Kaldorei are mortal, but the Legion was stopped. The black dragonflight is taking their turn, but...they will lose very soon. As will my..." She stopped herself before divulging too many details to the stranger.
The look of sadness came to the man's eyes again. He clacked his hooves together, gazing upon his own body in disgust. "I don't understand...unless...my charge is to participate in the cleansing..." When Errata cocked her head at him in confusion, he looked up at her. "I allowed myself to be deceived by Xavius; my corruption was wrought by my own hands. But I prayed to Elune for forgiveness...I don't understand why I am still a demon. Unless..."
Errata's hunger momentarily faded away, and she ignored the growling in both her stomach and the man's. Curiosity drove her, if anything for the simple fact that aside from that clearing, in that moment, she had nothing else.
"Unless what?"
He looked at his paws again, turning them over as if unused to them. "Unless my redemption is not complete...unless my awakening is my second chance," he replied, partially to her and partially to himself. Though the disappointment she senses radiating from him decreased, he still didn't look happy.
Maybe it was delirium from flying for days without eating or sleeping, or maybe it was the loneliness that only a person who was literally hated by the entire world could understand. Whatever it was, she relaxed, her talons inexplicably no longer ready for a fight at the mere thought of being near another person.
"Everybody deserves a second chance," she mumbled as well, also more to herself than to him.
For a good while, they both sat there, wallowing in self pity until the man spoke again.
"You'll dry off more quickly here."
Confusion seemed to define her existence as she frowned to herself, tired of not comprehending the world around her. She tilted her chin up to find the man patting his paw on the flat rock next to him, which had conveniently been protected from the storm by the earthen awning. The stone was completely dry, and even though the storm had disappeared, the grass was wet and squishy in a way that bothered her greatly.
When she didn't answer, he tried again. "If you sit in this rock, you'll dry off more quickly," he repeated.
His stomach growled again after he spoke, though he didn't visibly react. Afraid that he was trying to trick her at first, Errata wondered how she'd stumbled upon him at the convergence of two exact points of separate opportune moments; her final escape from her tormentors and his awakening from five millennia of cursed sleep couldn't have been a coincidence.
Everything on Azeroth was out to get her. Her own clan would view her as a traitor, and both the Alliance and the Horde would view her the same. Everyone aligned with Deathwing would try to kill her; everyone opposed to Deathwing would try to kill her. She had nobody and no place, no safe haven at all.
Except for that rock.
Cautiously, she climbed on to it, crouching as she hummed at its surprising warmth and dryness. He didn't react, neither leaning away from her in fear nor rearing up as if ready to fight her. A sense of calmness she hadn't known in so long settled in, battling for control with her mental exhaustion and his disappointment.
"Do you have any family?" she asked.
It was a silly question to ask a stranger, perhaps, but at that moment the stranger was the only other being not openly hostile toward her. The world was a harsh place, and nobody could survive alone. Would she...would she be able to settle in a demon den? Was the world so heartless that she'd be driven that far to survive?
"No," he replied in a low voice. "None surviving. I'll be killed in sight at a barrow den, and I refuse to serve the Legion again. I have nobody."
Sadness tainted his voice again, infecting her on a deeper level than she could understand. Too tired to consider her words before speaking, she just said whatever she felt come naturally. "My clan had sided with the black dragonflight...I refuse to serve Deathwing, but all of the world will hunt me down." She paused, working to maintain control of the tone of her voice, at least. "I have nobody."
Closing her eyes, she felt the full weight of her situation hit her. Even if this demon wasn't her enemy, he still couldn't lead her to a community; he was also alone. Just like her, he had nowhere to go. Her inkling of hope had been a foolish one, and she chastised herself inside until she herd the rustling of a bush. Opening one eye, she noticed him fiddling with something on his other side.
"I planted the seeds five thousand years ago," he explained while pulling on plant matter. "They're still growing today, just a few inches away from the original spot."
She turned and found his paw outstretched, offering her several mouthfuls of fresh berries. When he seemed to realize that she couldn't eat with her wings, he placed the berries in front of her on the flat rock. Waiting for him to start eating first, she sated her hunger, pecking at the berries until they were all gone. When they finished, she noticed him leaning his elbow on the rock, not suggestively so much as comfortably, as if he felt relaxed around her.
She scooted a bit closer, watching the stars shine on the lake. "Thank you," she told him, finally finding herself able to calm down and put the cruelty of the world out of her mind.
He shook his head. "No...thank you," he replied. Instead of becoming confused again, she just accepted that her situation would remain unclear for the near future, and didn't rush to demand an explanation immediately.
There would be time...without anywhere to go, there would be time. The two of them resigned themselves to resting before considering the bigger question of what the world had in store for the likes of them. For a harpy and a satyr alone on that night, in that clearing, the cruel world was temporarily held back, respecting the boundary created by that most remote lake, in that most remote clearing.