Cenahria felt so soft in Vol'jin's arms. The moment his lips met hers, the screaming in his head vanished, and the minutes began to melt into one another, as his entire world became her. He never wanted it to end, never wanted to let her go.

A loud crash announced the arrival of Thrall, and in shock, Vol'jin pushed Cenahria away, whilst lying down. He felt that for her sake, it might be best for Thrall not to know of their newly-developed affections for one another. Thrall might be one of his closest friends, but Vol'jin was unsure of how the orc might respond if he knew just how deeply he cared for her. Vol'jin felt pained as Cenahria refused to look at him, and moved to the other side of the room, allowing Thrall to begin inspecting his wound. The pain had subsided, and Vol'jin barely felt a thing, but that could have been because Cenahria's reaction to their kiss had left him feeling numb.

"I am glad you are awake, Cenahria. Help yourself to water. You were exhausted after your healing of Vol'jin last night. You must regain your strength." Vol'jin couldn't help but watch as Cenahria poured herself water, still deliberately ignoring him. Saddened, he turned his attention to Thrall, who had begun to unwind his bandages. A slightly puckered, blue scar slowly appeared from beneath, and Thrall gaped in disbelief. "What is it, Thrall? How bad be da wound?" Thrall's shock worried Vol'jin, as the memory of Garrosh's attack flooded into his mind once more. "Wound? There is no wound, Vol'jin. Cenahria has healed you more completely than even I first thought. See for yourself." Thrall gestured to a small mirror that had been resting on the table, and Vol'jin felt a slight chill run down his spine as Cenahria brought the mirror and came to kneel next to him. She held the mirror so he could see the wound. Except, there was no wound. All he could see was the faint scar, and he slowly ran his hand over it. "I feel nothin'. It be like I never been wounded at all! Dis be very impressive. Thank you, Cenahria." He dared a look at her, and briefly met her eyes. He smiled at her, trying to fit all his emotions into that one smile, but she looked away quickly. That was the last time she looked at him for the rest of their stay in Orgrimmar.

The next few weeks passed in a blur for Vol'jin. His fight with Garrosh had caused chaos between the orcs and trolls, and he spent a great deal of his time trying to calm his people. He saw Cenahria several times over the weeks, and despite desperately wanting to talk to her, his people came first. He tried his best to be as friendly as possible to her, and resolved to speak to her properly the first opportunity he got. All thoughts of Cenahria and their kiss were forced to the back of his mind as Vol'jin worked to mend the fragile relationship the Darkspear had with Orgrimmar.

Several weeks after his return to the Echo Isles, Vol'jin sat in his hut updating Thrall on events with the Darkspear. "Things seem to have become calm here now. Da Darkspear understand why I fought with Garrosh, dey respect my decision. I think things might finally be at an end." A small gust of wind distorted the image of Thrall for a second, as someone stepped into the hut. Thrall began talking of things in Orgrimmar, and how fights were still breaking out between orcs and trolls.

Vol'jin was vaguely aware of someone kneeling on the floor of his hut, but his people took priority. Thrall's image kept turning to look at the figure, and eventually said hello. Vol'jin blinked in surprise when Cenahria responded, and he felt her move closer. Torn between Thrall's report from Orgrimmar, and wanting to speak to Cenahria, he dared a sideways glance at her. Her head was cocked to one side, and she was watching him. Blushing slightly, he turned his full attention back to Thrall. Cenahria obviously wanted to wait. "Vol'jin, may we talk?" Cenahria's voice had an odd, pleading tone to it, and he waved his hand to beckon her closer; he needed a few more minutes to devise a plan with Thrall, and then he was all hers. He was about to turn to explain this to her, when Cenahria exploded.

"Vol'jin! You may be the Chieftain of the Darkspear Trolls, but that title does not give you the right to ignore me! I understand that things may be a little awkward since Orgrimmar. But you kissed me. It happened. And. And! I liked it! I liked our kiss, it made me happy." Vol'jin turned to face her in shock. His mind went blank, he could not think. Cenahria had liked the kiss. It had made her happy. Vol'jin's entire body was set on fire, as all thoughts of fighting in Orgrimmar were replaced by the memory of her kiss. He could do nothing but stare at her, this tall, beautiful woman, standing in his hut. Without looking at Thrall, he put out the brazier. He wanted to be alone with her again. "Aren't you going to say anything, Vol'jin?" There it was again. That pleading tone. Vol'jin's mind suddenly snapped to her words. Cenahria felt he was ignoring her? Vol'jin went to stand, to go to her, but her body went tight with anger, and he hesitated. "You know what, Vol'jin? Be as arrogant as you wish. Clearly the moment meant nothing to you. I expected more from you. Not that you will care, but that was my first kiss. So, it is not my fault if it was bad in any way. I just wanted to know if you enjoyed it as much as I did, but clearly I was stupid for even trying to talk to you!" Tears were threatening her, but Vol'jin was rooted. He stood, trapped by his own shock, as Cenahria turned and fled the hut.

Coming to his senses, Vol'jin ran after her, shouting her name, but her midnight form was already disappearing into the night. His mind raced; she had liked the kiss. She thought she was bad at it. He had been her first. She thought he was ignoring her. Vol'jin walked back into his hut, and kneeled in the centre of the room. What had he done? Surely, Cenahria understood how important his duties to his people were? Then again, Vol'jin had not taken the time to explain to her why he was so busy. He shook his head, and tears of his own threatened to spill. This was all his fault. He had isolated her, pushed her away. He wanted her closer. He wanted her to smile. He needed to make this right. But how?

Vol'jin sat for hours, thinking of what to do, thinking of every single moment he had spent with Cenahria since she had arrived in the Isles. The evening they had spent together, on the beach, kept coming back to him. Watching the rays of the sunset move across her face as she spoke of her home, Vol'jin had never been happier. He wanted that again. An idea began to form in his mind, as one of her stories came back to him. She had spoken of her parents and her brother a great deal that night, and the love she had for them was plain, as her eyes shone with it. Vol'jin smiled to himself, as he remembered her telling him how whenever her father upset her mother, he would pick her flowers, and cook for her. It never failed to make her mother smile, and this was clearly something that had meant a lot to Cenahria. Vol'jin stood, knowing what he had to do.

Several days later, the plan was ready to be put into place. He had sent word to Orgrimmar, to the finest tailors, who happened to be Blood Elves. He wanted this meal to be special for Cenahria, and had asked them to make a fitting gown for the occasion. He had no idea what they had made, but, he had placed the wrapped package in her hut as she slept the night before, with a note, asking her to meet him. As the Isles were painted with the oranges and pinks of the sunset, Vol'jin began to get nervous. He had laid out jungle stew, the only dish he knew she liked, on a cloth in the centre of his hut, with a small vase of flowers. He desperately hoped it was enough. It was beginning to get late. Vol'jin paced nervously. What if she didn't show? What if she hated him? What if he had lost his only chance? He was about to give up, convinced he had effectively ruined everything, when a small breeze stirred the candles, and Cenahria stepped into the room. "Vol'jin?" Taking a deep breath, he turned to face her.

And stared. He could not help himself. The elves in Orgrimmar had done everything he had asked, and more. Cenahria stood, in a simple gown, cut in an elven style. It touched the floor, and appeared to be made of silk, silk which clung to her body in a way that caused heat to rise through Vol'jin. But it was the colour that stopped him. The simple dress was the exact silver of her eyes, and in the candlelight, it shone, just as her eyes did when she smiled a certain way. She smiled like that now, blushing, and Vol'jin stepped towards her. He did not trust himself to speak. He pulled her close to him, and kissed her, a short, sweet kiss. He felt her smile, and this time, it was his turn to blush. "Cenahria. D'ya like it?" He swept an arm around the hut, while keeping her close to him with the other, and she nodded. Someone, likely Zaria, had woven flowers into her hair, and he could smell their perfume as she looked around the room. "You look beautiful, Cenahria." She finally raised her eyes to meet his, and smiled. "Thank you, Vol'jin, although some credit must go to whoever made this dress. I love it, Vol'jin, I really do. Thank you. For all of this." She cocked her head as she breathed in the smell of the food, and immediately her eyes lit up. "Is that… jungle stew, Vol'jin?" Grinning at her, he nodded, and led her to the cloth.

As the first stars appeared in the sky above the Echo Isles, Vol'jin and Cenahria sat, and talked. They stayed this way for hours, long after the last of the stew had been devoured. He explained to her the situation in Orgrimmar, and why he had ignored her, and she apologised for her outburst. Happy that things were good between them again, Vol'jin lay on his side, head propped on one arm, as he listened to her talk. He asked her more about her home, and she asked him about the many brawls he had mentioned with Thrall when they had been in the Horde Capital. She found these stories very entertaining, and the sound of her laughter filled the hut more than once.

For the first time, in a very long time, Vol'jin felt at peace.