Hebellina didn't have an excuse for the state she was in; she was a torn, muddy mess, she thought it would be downright stupid to pretend she wasn't. The marsh called Dustwallow had proven itself to be a difficult area to travel through, perilous, odious and in a way the atmosphere almost felt merciless, she supposed that part was in her mind, but it didn't take away the sensation of being watched from every corner.
She took a deep breath to gather herself and immediately regretted it. The air was sour. She was in worgen form, as going about on all fours was faster. She should have bought a mount when she could have, she frowned. She didn't have the currency to buy a new one. Beside her Ranaldo and the still nameless hyena trailed her steps, glancing up at her in confusion now and again, as if to ask, where did she think she was going?
She didn't know, damn it. She was on the path, always the wisest route, that didn't mean she liked where she seemed to be heading. Deeper it went into the marshland, where she personally didn't want to go, but knew she must. So, onward the three of them trekked. She'd heard there was a place famous for its association with the Alliance archmage Whatserface Proudmoore around here somewhere.
She was determined to find it, even with her discouraged thoughts. Hopefully the residents there wouldn't be frightened or hateful—or both—of her appearance, worgen were fairly common knowledge these days, but she had to take it into consideration. She lost count of the times she'd been turned away from someplace because of what she was, in the beginning. Lately she'd been encountering more and more of her kind on a normal basis throughout her travels. Maybe that was a good sign.