Author's Note: Shorter update this week. I promise the update next time will be worth it! Enjoy!
It was nearing moonrise of the second night by the time the two night elves approached the crest of the ridge that separated the wilds proper from the flatland that stretched along the length of the coast. Zarabethe grabbed onto the branch of a scraggly bush and pulled herself up beside Elforen, who was gazing intently across the sea. Barely visible in the darkening atmosphere was the kal'dorei stronghold of Feathermoon. It was just a dark smudge against the horizon in the fading light. Zarabethe's heart sank as she leaned wearily against a determined tree that clung to the top of the hill. The last two days had been utter agony, and she was almost at the end of her strength. In her single-minded focus on simply putting one foot in front of another, she had completely forgotten that for added security, Feathermoon Stronghold was actually located on an island off the coast. Zarabethe bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, already ragged and bloody from several of the same motion. She made herself stand up straighter, squaring her shoulders, and pushing off from the tree. The fire that ran down her back at her movement made her draw in her breath, but when the other night elf turned her way in concern, her countenance was arranged in simple determination. Relaxed would have been better, but keeping pain off her face was difficult enough.
She refused to admit it to herself, but her injury had become more and more painful as their journey continued. She could feel the flame of infection starting at the edges of her torn skin, turning red against the pale lavender of her back. Weakness was not an option though. From the corner of her silver eyes, she could see the satchel slung over Elforen's wide back. Even from here, through her near delirium, she could sense a faint hum of magic from its contents. She narrowed her eyes at it. She wanted it back. Elforen had refused to let her carry anything but the barest weapons for her protection, citing her need to heal. Therefore she showed as much strength as possible: pushing through vegetation with no hesitation, putting an arrow directly through the eye socket of a rabbit for their supper. (Elforen had not seen the rabbit she had missed completely due to her shaking hands). She ate heartily under his approving eye, although her stomach turned uneasily, and she ended up losing it later deep in the underbrush. Despite their tense moment in the ambushed campground, or maybe because of it, he kept his distance from her, although his thoughtful eyes never left her.
Spook bumped her head into her hip, and she reached down and scratched behind her great grey ears. The spotted cat was not fooled. She stayed glued to the night elf's side as they had worked their way through the jungles of Feralas. Zarabethe found herself leaning against her steady companion more often the longer they traveled. It was either that or stop completely and rest, and she had avoided calling for a halt the entire time. She grimly stared at the dock just visible at the shoreline, and knew she had to keep moving if she was going to complete this ruse. Her legs threatened to give out against her will to stop them trembling, and no amount of locking them into place was helping.
"On we go then," she said, gruffer than she meant to. She started down the narrow path that led to the small building by the shore that marked the dock. It was barely more than a shack that listed to the side under the wind, but it was the only passage into Feathermoon without a portal or a military escort. She heard Elforen follow behind her, but she did not risk a glance backwards, and focused instead on the bare earth that was the only indication of a path.
Elforen kept a careful eye on Zarabethe as she maneuvered down the path in front of him. He could see the exhaustion in the set of her shoulders, and the listless way she picked out her footing. She refused to acknowledge it, and kept her head held high and her eyes wide and focused. He shook his head at her determination. It was unthinkable that two days before she had needed his help to remove a shirt. He took a bad step, sliding a bit before he caught himself. Up ahead, Zarabethe had paused at the bottom of the path. She made it look like she was scouting ahead, but he saw her lean against Spook to keep her balance. She was still wearing his shirt, and it was big enough on her that even though the straps of her quiver and belt were snug against her body, the folds of the shirt billowed around in the wind. The disparity between their body types was not something he had really dwelled on before, but since the other day...he couldn't get it out of his head. He had tried to be respectful, professional even, pretend he was just helping a fellow soldier with an injury. But to see Zarabethe with her walls completely down, in such a vulnerable state...he hadn't been able to keep his mind in quite the right place. And the way she had reacted when he touched her hair...so at odds with her usual aversion to touch. He'd had to get up and leave quickly before he had done something foolish. The thought of it made him feel uncomfortable in his own skin. He was sure just the fact that she didn't allow anyone to touch her made her seem like forbidden fruit, and it didn't help that she had eased the loneliness in his heart the last few weeks. But her taking down the wall of independence, her actually needing him, was his undoing.
Ahead of him, Zarabethe was waiting for him with her eyebrows raised, clearly irritated at him taking his time down the path. He realized he had stopped walking altogether, gazing off in her direction. He hefted the bags on his back and quickly covered the distance between them. As he got closer he saw her sway a bit in place before grabbing Spook and starting across the rocky beach. He frowned and jogged to catch up, meeting up with her just she reached the small dock. It was nearly twilight, and the waves lapping against the shore were grey and moving inward. She was staring at the island in the distance with a weary look on her face. Up close, he could see how her injury was taking its toll on her body. Her hands trembled even though she clenched them into fists. Her eyes burned with an unnatural intensity, which he suddenly realized was fever.
"Zara, are you okay?" he asked, concerned. He wondered if she would punch him if he felt her forehead.
She turned her bright eyes to him and tried to hold herself taller and straighter. "Sure," she said, her voice curt and breathy. He tried not to roll his eyes as he loaded the packs and satchel into the boat moored at the dock. He turned back to her just as she lost her battle with the weakness. Her face turned pale and she swayed again. He caught her as she stumbled forward, and he gasped at the heat radiating off her back. Without bothering to ask, he yanked the back of her shirt up and saw the skin around her wound red and inflamed. She pushed weakly against his arms and shook her head.
"No, it's fine Elf, I can keep going." He ignored her and scooped her up in his arms. She pushed against his chest a little harder. "Put me down."
"Like hell I will," he said as he carried her to the boat. He laid her down against the packs and she stopped struggling. Grabbing the oars, he pushed off from the dock in one frustrated movement. "Why didn't you tell me it was infected? Do you want to be miserable? You are going right to the healer when we get to Feathermoon, no arguing."
Zarabethe did not answer, she just stared blankly at the water as she sat in the boat, leaning against the packs and half on her side. Spook lay at her feet. Elforen's frown deepened at her silence. If she wasn't going to argue, she really must feel sick.
They passed most of the journey with only the sounds of the waves hitting the boat and the oars slapping against the water. Elforen had long given up on conversation and was just focusing on making it to the other shoreline when he heard her speak.
"I'm sorry."
Elforen nearly dropped the oar. He looked back at the other night elf. She had her arms wrapped around herself and she was still staring at the dark grey water. As he watched, she shivered against the breeze and hunched over further. He sighed. They were almost to Feathermoon Stronghold, but he drug the oar, slowing the boat's progress. He unhooked his cloak and draped it around her as she looked up at him with glassy eyes. He sat down across from her, close enough that his knees pressed into Spook's side. The grey spotted cat grumbled and scooted over as much was possible in the small boat. Zarabethe looked confused as she took in their surroundings: the approaching shoreline, their vessel all but stopped in the water. She sat up, still shivering despite being wrapped in his cloak.
"Why have we stopped?"
"Because I want to settle this before we get to shore." Elforen leaned forward on his knees and regarded the other night elf
Zarabethe narrowed her eyes. Some of the delirium left her gaze and she seemed to draw her focus around herself. "Settle what?"
Elforen leaned back and spread his arms. "I am not your enemy. Despite what you think, I only have your best interests in mind. I know you're still upset about Zar, but we've done nothing but argue since Darnassus. If we're going to go on this quest together, we have to be on the same page. Otherwise we're just endangering ourselves."
Zarabethe had closed her eyes at the mention of Zar's name. She took a deep breath, and looked off into the water as she spoke.
"I know I am difficult to travel with. I'm not used to being around other people. I guess this quest just feels so important, and no one else is giving it a chance. I NEED to complete it."
Elforen reached up and brushed her messy violet braids back from her face. She had not bothered to do anything with her hair since they had been ambushed. He suspected she would not admit it was too painful to fix her own hair. She did not pull away, and he was careful to not touch her skin. When she finally looked at him, her eyes were pained but not as guarded as they usually were.
"I am sorry. I can't just turn off what I've lived centuries with. But I would like you to stay, if I haven't scared you away already." She laughed quietly. "It takes a lot to admit that I need help, but I couldn't have gotten this far without you."
Elforen held his hand out. "Truce?" She looked at his hand like it was on fire and automatically pulled away, but seeing the expression on his face, she hesitantly reached her hand out. She took a deep breath, and grasped his hand firmly. He couldn't keep the grin off his face as they shook hands. She had voluntarily touched him. It was progress. He grabbed the oar and started moving them forward again.