While the woman never truly liked me; while she hated my existence at times; while she thought I was an idiot and a fool ; while she despised me touching her, looking at her, and even being in the same room with me; while –

You really need to get to the point. Young one, you are starting to make me question you.

I never thought her capable of this.

You knew it was a matter of time. Young one, maybe she is simply experiencing a hormonal imbalance, leading to odd side effects. Young one, I have heard human females exhibit such oddities during certain periods of time.

That is possible –

You do realize that is called a period? You know that, right, tree? Young one, I do believe I mentioned it was a period of time, yes. You daft lumber, it is an actual thing – it is utterly mute, tree. You have to be alive to experience it. Young one, I comprehend such.

Is this really the time to be having an anatomy lesson?

You know that the Queen is dead, right? Young one, what would a bug know about humans, hmmm? You know I know enough – Nathanus, if nothing else, is a fine teacher of the sorts. Young one, the Angry Faceless One is quite knowledgeable; though, if his teachings stand true, then it would seem that most human females are mentally unstable.

Guys…

You are correct. Young one, it is have been decided: she is losing grip upon sanity. You heard the tree: she is crazy.

Really? Is that what it has come down to? She is a woman: in turn, she is crazy?

You said it. Young one, such is the cycle of life.

Part of me wants to believe that – it really does. It would be so simple to just pass it off as a mere glimpse of time, but it has been three years. One doesn't suddenly initiate a cycle after three years and decide that some random individual in the forest needs to die. That isn't crazy, or is beyond such. I believe the former.

You are also not some random individual. Young one, she even refers to you has an innocent aquatic pet.

Exactly. This wasn't madness that drove her to this. While it makes me angry - infuriated, actually - I know there is a reason behind it. And I hope it is a good one.

Of all the things I feel right now, that is the ultimate truth. I don't even think the fact she tried to kill me bothers me all that much – she is by far furthest from the first. It isn't even the fact I hold some value of her opinion. Honestly…I don't even know what it is; I just…I don't know…

I take a long, deep breath. My eyes drift towards the sky, and I find myself squinting in the sun light. Only a few, seeming inches away from the glowing orb looms a dark, ominous structure. One that houses the army of outcasts: the Ebon Blade, the Death Knights. Despite how close it is, though, it fails to blot out the sun.

Strangely enough, it somewhat agitates me, the sun. If for no better reason than it is hurting my eyes – the strain is making my entire face ache, actually. My eyes drift downwards, yearning for a brief moment from the torment, but I find nothing; instead, merely a pool that intensifies the glow.

It has been some time since I looked upon the glimmering essence of life that flows like a glorious river, the new capital of the Plaguelands, Light's Hope Chapel. Not so much a chapel any more, I guess. More like a booming village. A town? City? Doesn't really matter, I suppose.

Still, it is a sight to behold. Less than five years ago, it was decrepit, shell of light. A faint reminder of death's passing fancy. Now it stands tall, a testament to the power of faith and the resolve of man. Amongst the trees, it weaves a blanket of life and prosperity within these lush forests - civilization and nature harmonizing almost perfectly. But…it doesn't really matter, I suppose.

I turn, taking a glimpse down the road I travelled. Like the forest, and the Chapel City, it fits in splendidly. Even the large, glimmering lake linked upon the end of the trail and the forest's girth is nestled gently in place. The only anomaly that can be seen is a small, darkened house. No open windows, no fresh pain, nothing but a dry sense of despair. It is the only thing that seems out of place.

But it doesn't matter, I suppose.

Another deep, drawn-out breath follows. With it, my legs drag upon the freshly molded path, and I take down the main road at a rather hasty pace. My attention drifts from tree-to-tree, absorbing everything, yet not really seeing anything. Try as I might, to enjoy this lively scenario, I cannot. My mind is simply elsewhere.

You always have your mind elsewhere. Young one, look at that healthy, climbing squirrel.

As if compelled, my eyes drift downward. I don't know how long I have been doing it, but my fingers fidget in a rather rhythmic fashion. In between them rolls a small, glinting piece of metal. A dull, empty face flips, revealing an intricately decorated side.

Though complicated, its pattern is true. It may be hard to see, but it is there, hidden among the seemingly random lines and etchings. It may be hard to see, but it is there, those piercing eyes of a pale enchantress. And how she stares into my very soul.

"Good day, stranger," a surprisingly close voice shatters my trance. A hooded figure rests upon a rather quiet, white horse. He is no more than a couple meters away. Given from his relaxed posture and his stead's rather content existence I am going to assume that they didn't sneak up on me. It would seem the Lady caught me again. "You lost?"

That voice…that voice is very familiar. I cannot quite place my finger on it, but it resonates in my mind. It almost feels like an entirety since I have heard it. "No," I say with a half-hearted shrug. "No, just passing by."

"'Passing by', you say?" A hint of condescendence is peppered upon his words. "I haven't seen you pass by this tower in years." I take a quick glance at a nearby hill, following its base to another crafted of brick and stone. It would seem I was distracted way longer than I imagined.

"Things change, I suppose."

He takes a quick glance at his surroundings, "I suppose, indeed."

The air grows heavy. Awkwardness tip-toes upon every breath, dancing between us. For some reason I feel as if it should be stronger, this awkwardness of ours, but for some other reason, the silence almost feels…well-placed.

Without uttering another word, I continue onward, a trotting horse clapping at my side. We don't say a word. We don't need to. Of course, my mind, once again, is elsewhere; locked upon a small piece of metal; focused upon a pair of piercing, prodding eyes.

"What do you have there?" It would seem that there is another set of eyes upon me.

My mouth opens, but I hesitate. "A sign," I mutter just loud enough for him to hear.

"'A sign'? Mind if I intrude?"

"No," I swallow, "just a sign that led me to passing by."

"Ah," he adjusts the reins in his hands, "any reason why this sign – which I couldn't' help but notice belongs to the Forsaken – lured you out of your seclusion?" His words are soft, as always, yet seem to stab deeper than a screeching banshee.

I take a good, long look into the metallic eyes before replying, "I wish to ask her a question."

"Oh," he pauses, "so you are seeking death again, hmmm?"

A smile creeps up my face. It would seem, even after all these years, the old man still has his talents. Good to see that in the land of change there is some consistency. Even his look seems relatively the same. Say besides his now completely bald head, thick beard, and a couple more, barely noticeable wrinkles, he hasn't changed much. Well. Almost.

"Carlin," my eyes fall upon his back, "where is that shiny sword of yours?"

"The Ashbringer?"

"If that is the name of that big, sparkly thing you carried last I saw you, then yes."

He shifts his reins again, delaying his answer briefly, "grew too heavy for me."

"Really? A shame. You looked fine with it."

Oddly, he chuckles.

"What's funny?"

"You haven't changed a bit, Hope," he leans back in his saddle. His eyes peer into the heavens, yet it he looks at nothing particular. "Let me just say, Hope, that I just wasn't fit to wield that weapon."

"How come?"

"Well," his weight falls forward, bracing his world upon the back of his stead. A stern, almost unsettled look befalls his face. The old man skims the length of the road, falls upon the forest, and pierces deep into the thicket. For a moment or two he is silent until he sighs heavily. "This reminds me of a story, Hope."

I do like his stories.

"Many years ago, a young man spent his eyes wandering the wastes; scouring the vast fields of decay for almost nothing. One day, when he least expected it, his world was changed by a deep, crushing voice." A brief pause. "It was that day when the man decided to venture forth from the only world he has ever known. But he couldn't do it alone."

He leans forward. "With him went: an unruly, undead hunter, a set of rising paladins, and an old, lost man." A smile creeps up his face. "When they first set out, the young man turned to the old codger and for whatever reason, told him a tale of a little girl."

The smile fades.

"A little girl that had long lost her delightful little life – a ghost of an unfortunate soul. He told the old man of how the little girl was sad. Not sad because of town, or her parents, or her own life, but because she couldn't go on to her next delightful little existence knowing her Uncle wept for her every passing night."

Forlorn eyes fall upon aged, leather gloves. They scan every crack, every broken fiber of their worn and weary aspect worth and not worth finding. "It has been nearly ten years since that little girl died, yet every-single-night, I still think of her." Once more scans the forest. "No matter how full this forest becomes; no matter the prosperity; no matter the fortune; no matter how much life returns – all I will ever see is death. All I can taste…is death."

His eyes drift forward, falling upon something at the end of the road. "The last time I truly felt alive was when I left this place; when I decided to follow a wandering, lost man cross a strange bridge for his first time." They land upon me. "If you plan to cross that bridge again, Hope, then I follow you. I will follow you wherever you go."

My mouth opens. There are a thousand things I could say. There are a thousand things I should say. "OK," but that will have to do.

Once more awkwardness creeps in, but it is no more than a distant dancer. Instead, my eyes fall upon the old, silent man. They are slowly pulled away from him, down upon my vexation; upon the metallic piercing eyes that scream exactly what that old man just said. They tell a story of death. I should let them be a warning. I should listen to them.

But it doesn't matter, I suppose.