Author's Notes: If these chapters would stop getting so out of control, maybe I could write this faster. Slowly but surely, though.

Review Replies: Astrid: I have really had to re-invent the mystery of the island in my head to get into this space. Because obviously it would not be able to be the same place as in game, but it has to keep a lot of the elements. It's a work in progress but I hope it feels realistic to the readers.

Ihsan: That is exactly what I was going for, actually: not exactly evil, just unnatural. The idea of the island is actually pretty strange, Elf and Zara's reactions are pretty similar minus the obvious one. This is 31 years post-Cataclysm, btw.

Only a few miles into their impromptu race, and Zarabethe started regretting her pride. She would never admit it to a soul, but she had gotten sorely out of shape in the last few years of being a homebody. She remembered briefly, how she had ran almost twenty-four hours straight with very few breaks to get as far away from Tanaris as possible before her good sense caught up to her. It had been, without a doubt, one of the worst decisions of her life, but now as the humid air burned in her lungs and her legs were beginning to resemble the consistency of strawberry jam, she thought longingly of the stamina she used to possess.

The trees whipped past her in quick succession, and Dagra took the position of point just ahead of her. She ran in a half-crouch, ducking through thin branches and long needle-like leaves. The nightsabre was finally in his element: no longer surrounded by distracting people, his training was taking over and he led her through a safe path in the jungle, his nose and eyes constantly on alert for danger. She began to feel a little better about taking him along. He was obviously over his past reluctance, and moved forward swiftly and with confidence.

She took in as much of the surrounding jungle as possible as she ran faster. Vines, more ruins, startled cranes getting out of her way, a patch of darkness in the otherwise late afternoon sun, and a dilapidated well...wait. She slowed her steps, her heart pounding as she turned back to the way she came. What had that dark spot been? She paced out a widening circle, looking for a rocky crag, a ruin, an odd tree, anything that would cast a shadow. She tried to remember it: it had only been a flash, but it had startled her enough to paint the picture in her mind. There had been the usual verdant shades of green, then a space of black, and then green again. It wasn't darker green, like a shadow or a hole. It was as if something dark covered up the background for just a breath. Just long enough for her to see it. She stood still, listening. It could have been some kind of magic, or perhaps some kind of ethereal creature. Whatever it was, it didn't appear to be returning.

There was a muffled crash in the underbrush, and she whirled around just in time to see a flash of long white hair and the muted steel armor of her husband as he ran past. Cursing loudly, she took off again.

It was neck and neck the closer they got to the stone column. The trees started to thin out as they approached, and they no longer bothered to keep a distance from each other. Zarabethe's lungs burned as if they were on fire, but her legs at least had numbed to the harsh treatment she was putting them through, and she pushed herself harder, faster, until finally she was eking out a lead. She heard a breathless curse just behind her, and she made her focus zero in on her destination. Less than a mile now. She noted in a detached manner that the column didn't make a lot of sense in its surroundings: there weren't any other ruins around it, for one. It didn't seem to connect to anything. There was another column near it, and the two seemed to make a kind of path to the stark cliff that rose straight out of the small clearing and obscured view of the coastline. Dagra gave a growl in front of her, and a flash of orange and black stripes quickly vacated their path. Zarabethe panted out a laugh at the idea of the giant native tiger dashing away from a nightsabre half his size. She burst through the underbrush at full speed, Dagra seconds ahead of her. The column was only a few hundred yards away.

She heard Elforen's clomping footsteps right on her heels, and tried to put on a last burst of speed. She was the wind; she was the whisper of grass; she was the wild hawk as it flew. Her attention was so focused on seeing only the column that when the shout came from behind her, she startled and almost missed several steps. She turned to look behind her, and there was her husband, BAM, a solid mass of armor and muscle and strong hands that literally picked her up and propelled her forward with his momentum. With a terrified shriek they both slammed full speed into the column. Both of them rebounded off, and Zarabethe ended up landing hard on her backside, with Elforen stumbling backward and nearly into her lap. Zarabethe's ears rang from the impact as her husband started laughing.

"What the hell was that?"

Elforen continued to laugh as he flopped flat on the ground in exhaustion.

"I was trying to tell you to move. But that worked too."

Zarabethe blinked in rapid succession, trying to bring her vision back into focus. It felt like her eyes had impacted the inside of her skull and she scrubbed them fiercely as she tried to get her bearings back.

"Did you have to hit me so hard?"

He stopped laughing abruptly and pushed himself up so he could see her.

"Are you hurt?"

She got to her feet, determined to ignore her dizziness. "Just my pride, mostly." She put a hand on the column and pretended to examine the symbols carved into it as she fought for control of her body. Her legs were starting to scream at her now that she had stopped running, and the inside of her chest felt raw as she gulped in air as calmly as possible. As soon as she felt she wasn't showing weakness, she turned back to her husband.

"I guess call it a draw then?"

"I sure as hell am not going to call a redo." He got to his feet and ran a hand through his hair to get the grass out of it. "I am completely out of shape. Too much riding the horse to town, not enough exercise."

She nodded in agreement. "I agree. We need to do this more often, instead of spending the weekends gardening."

Elforen shrugged off his pack and dug around inside before producing both his canteen and the vague map of the island. Zarabethe followed suit, taking a drink before pouring some of the water over the back of her neck to cool off. Her husband studied the map, comparing it with their surroundings, and she stepped over to join him.

"If I'm looking at this right, I think this cliff here," he indicated the wall of rock behind them, "is the beginning of the mountain range on this side of the island. But the distances are all off."

Zarabethe chewed her lip in thought as she got another good look at the abrupt incline. It went up too sharp and bare to climb, and all she could see from here of the top was patches of vegetation.

"I'm pretty sure that no one with any mapping ability has explored enough of this part of the island to do any good."

With some reluctance, she shouldered her pack again. "Where to then? Any direction is fair game at this point."

Her husband glanced at the sky. It was still crystal blue with the disturbing edge of amber at the bottom, but the sun was getting much lower in the sky. "Let's be pro-active and find a campsite. We'll do more scouting tomorrow and actually do some hunting."

"As long as we don't race anymore."

"That was your idea, not mine." He pointed at her before turning a slow circle in front of the cliff face. "Head south then?" He indicated the right hand choice.

Zarabethe peered in that direction. It was into more vegetation, but it seemed less dense than what they had just run through. She didn't get a strange foreboding either way from the area. She briefly remembered the spot of darkness in her vision earlier and felt unsettled, but shrugged off the feeling. There was nothing there now, and if she saw anything else, she would investigate. She waved a hand into the trees.

"Lead the way, o fearless warrior."

Elforen woke abruptly, his senses on high alert. His hand was on his axe before he had even fully realized he was not asleep anymore and he sat up, breathing hard. The night was eerily quiet around him and the only things in his vision were the inside of their sparse tent and their undisturbed belongings. He took a breath and ran a hand through his hair. They had found a half-concealed ruin to shelter in for the evening right after nightfall. A beginning search of the area showed minimal animal traffic and Dagra had immediately laid down as if he were home, so they considered it as good as any place. They had shared rations, fought over who made the better campfire, and made love fiercely before falling asleep. Dagra had stayed at the door of the tent to keep watch, and Elforen could see him there now, an even darker shadow against the already dark backdrop of the jungle. He glanced around again, and slowly slid his axe back into its sheath. His nerves were still jangled, but if Dagra was asleep and nothing obvious was amiss...

He rolled over and put an arm around his wife to pull her close. She stiffened in his arms and whimpered. He sat up again and drew his hand back.

"Zara?"

He put a hand on her shoulder, and she made a noise as if she were in pain. Foregoing sensitivity, he pulled her over to her back. Her face was scrunched up and her breath was harsh as he shook her shoulder roughly.

"Zara! Wake up!"

She did not respond. He sat up on his knees, and took her face in his hands. She stiffened again, and for a moment he thought she was going to start screaming. Instead she gasped loudly and sat straight up, her eyes searching the tent wildly.

"Zarabethe," he said as gently as possible. She whipped her head around to his voice, and to his shock, bared her teeth and growled. He sat back abruptly. Almost instantly, her face softened, her posture melted and she brought her hands up to her face. Dagra stirred then, and nosed his way into the tent. He whined in the back of this throat as he laid down beside the bed pallet and shoved his big head into her lap.

Elforen tried again, this time with some distance in between them. "Dearest-"

"I'm sorry." Her answer was quick and quiet. She kept her eyes down in her lap as she spoke.

"I was dreaming. I didn't mean to lash out at you."

"Must have been a hell of a dream." He crawled back onto the sleeping mat and sat beside her. "May I?"

"Yes, sorry." Without meeting his eyes, she leaned over and buried her head into his chest. He put his arm around her, and got them both tucked back into bed. He held her a moment, sliding one hand through her hair, but she didn't say anything, just snuggled closer to him as if she were cold.

"What was your dream about?" He finally prodded. She shook her head against him.

"No idea. Can't remember."

Within minutes she was back to sleep. He didn't quite manage to shake the strange feeling in the pit of his stomach before he was asleep as well.

The next morning dawned bright and early, and there was only Dagra laying beside the bed instead of the door as a reminder to the events the night before. Zarabethe at least was pleasant and kissed him before getting up to get dressed, so he tried to shrug it off. People had bad dreams.

It was chilly the next morning, despite the time of year. He built the fire up as soon as he left the tent, and sat poking it with a stick moodily as Zarabethe broke some flat bread in half and passed him a piece.

"I think the first thing we need to do this morning is go hunting."

"I agree."

He vaguely indicated the direction of the jungle that spread out until it reached the shoreline. "I've seen some of those big cranes over there, by the water. I think they catch the fish that live in the shallows."

He could hear the grin in her voice as she answered him. "Can't be any harder than catching a chimaerok."

He groaned aloud as he remembered. "By Elune those things stank. I still don't even want to know what Narain's obsession was with eating them."

"Gnomes are strange."

"I remember I had to just throw a pair of pants away after that. Didn't you get it in your hair, too?"

"Ugh, don't remind me." She shuddered as she wrapped her bread up and stuck it back in her pack. "I thought I was going to have to cut the whole mess off." She slipped her feet into her boots and started lacing them up. "Cranes, by contrast, do not smell, and they are so big here, they must be good to eat. We can collect eggs, as well."

Elforen had already put most of this armor on, but he started the lengthy process of checking his weaponry and arming himself. "So do you want to try setting a trap, or kill one in the more traditional way?" He slid a dagger into its hidden shoulder sheath with gusto, joined shortly by its twin on the other shoulder. Then starting from the bottom up, he continued with his arsenal. Most warriors carried a variety of weapons: after all, the mastery of all fighting styles was the mark of his trade. But Elforen took it to the letter. He armed himself so that he would never be caught in a situation without the appropriate weapon. Skinning knife? Tucked into his boot, along with hidden short daggers in the lining. Throwing weapon? A lightweight hatchet on each hip sharing a holster with a short sword. The short swords were for up close fighting, with or without his shield. He nearly did not bring his shield with him: it tended to get heavy on long trips like this and unlike the rest of this weaponry, was a little flashy. But the Royal Crest of Lordaeron had been with him since his campaign in Northrend. He had received it, along with his battalion, for his service in bringing down the Lich King. It had started out as mostly decorative: the two swords in it weren't even real. But it was a solid shield, and with some special modification, it had turned into a weapon of its own accord. The bindings were reinforced with titanium, the grip was adjusted until it was perfect, and the two dummy swords had been replaced with identical replicas that were both fully functional. Finishing up with a pair of daggers hidden underneath his chainmail shirt, he stood and strapped his battleaxe to his back. He was actually running a little light today: his mid-sized axes and an assortment of different sized knives were stashed away inside his pack just in case. But everything fit close to the skin and allowed him full movement in a confined jungle climate, and he felt pretty prepared for whatever the unexplored wilderness threw at him. He shouldered his pack, and saw Zarabethe had finished arming herself and was tightening her belt tighter. She pulled an arrow out of her quiver and sighted down it into their verdant surroundings.

"I don't see why we should have to do anything fancy. It's just a bird."

Those words would come back to haunt them as they worked their way through the thick underbrush toward the coastline. Dagra scouted out ahead, Zarabethe next, and he pulled up the rear. They moved slower today, feeling out the area and making notes of landmarks. Zarabethe drew symbols and marks on the back of what they were realizing was actually a very crude map. Abandoned fishing hut. Toppled quillen statue. Two palm trees that grew together so that they formed a V in the center. A large pillar of rock that looked abnormally like a member of the male anatomy. His wife indicated that on the map with a smirk, and before she could react, he stole the stylus and drew a picture next to it. She snatched it back from him, but she left his crude drawing as they continued.

They saw plenty of wildlife as they went: mostly of the smaller variety, but just as the jungle started to thin again as they reached the far southeast coastline, some evidence of larger fauna. They even startled a small flock of cranes. Zarabethe drew an arrow back, but he caught her arm.

"Let's get a big one. Those aren't even a challenge."

She lowered her bow with a nod. Even though her mind was settling into the serious routine of hunting and cataloging, he could see the gleam of excitement in her eyes.

Along the shoreline they found some of the nesting areas of the larger cranes. These were brilliant pink in color unlike the smaller grey and white ones, and Elforen thought to himself as he paused to knock some mud off building up on his boots, that it was only their sheer size that caused them to have a major population on the island. Even in the dense foliage, their feathers stood right out.

Behind him, closer than he thought anything could sneak up on him, he heard a rustle of leaves. He whirled around, his shield already up in defense, and found himself face to face with a pair of large black beady eyes. It tilted it's head to the side in a faux intelligent manner, and slowly, so he wouldn't spook it, he reached above his shoulder to unclip his battleaxe. His sword was closer and easier to get to, but the sheer enormity of the creature in front of him made him second guess himself. His sword was like a toothpick to that bird.

"Zara!" he whispered as loudly as he dared. He sensed her come up behind him, and just as the bird raised its head to look behind him, he heard the familiar zwip as she released an arrow. The crane reared up, and he set his feet to make a killing blow. An arrow wouldn't take it down completely, but it should knock the wind out of it at least. To his surprise, the bird let out a baritone squawk, and rushed at him, completely uninjured. He yelped in surprise and jumped to the side. Another arrow shot past him, but it imbedded itself in the tree beside him instead of in their quarry. The crane squawked again, more angry than any kind of fear, and Elforen did the only thing he could think of: he dropped his shield.

The crane rushed him again, its beady eyes focused on tearing him apart. He flung his axe to the side, and took a flying leap onto the crane's back. He held onto its neck for dear life as it let out a strangled noise, and dashed into the trees.

Branches whipped past him as the bird tried to scrape him off its back. His vision was entirely taken up by the ruff of spindly pink feathers that protected the crane's neck. As it ran, he started to tighten his grip on its neck. He shifted slightly so that the front of its throat was in the crook of his elbow, and he flexed as tightly as he could. The crane's breathing immediately became labored: its speed lessened as it fought to take breath in around his forearm muscle. His arm burned as he tried to hold the flex against the creature's windpipe, but he was winning: soon the wind stopped blowing his hair around and the bird's steps faltered. With a massive lurch, the crane fell to the side. Its breath was only a weak gasp as he fumbled for his sword. He wished belatedly for the longer swords that were still in his shield somewhere farther back in the jungle, but he would make it work. He released the bird's neck at the same time that he drew his sword across it. Blood poured out of the wound much more vigorously than he expected. He cursed as it splashed over one arm, soaking into his bracer and through it to his shirt sleeve. Still the creature flailed about, trying to gain its feet as if it weren't leaking its lifeforce all over the green earth. Gritting his teeth, Elforen tried to ignore the flood of red as he stepped right up to the bird, and hoping that Pandaren birds were built the same as they were on Azeroth, plunged his sword into its breast. With a final messy convulsion, the crane ceased its movements.

He stood for a minute, breathing hard, making sure it didn't have some sort of weird anatomical abnormality, like a backup heart or resurrection, before he finally lowered his sword. He went to wipe sweat off his brow and remembered, in disgust, that he was covered in blood.

"Perfect," he grumbled to himself as he inspected his clothing. He'd have to take everything apart and wash it this evening before they did anything else. Zarabethe would have to butcher the bird by herself.

He had already removed his breastplate and was using whatever clean place was left on his shirt to wipe off his blade when she finally arrived. Dagra came crashing through the underbrush first, then turned immediately around and ran out. After a few moments he came back, with Zarabethe in tow. She was carrying his shield and battleaxe with her, and she looked out of breath.

"Did you really have to bathe in its blood?" she remarked as she opened her pack and fished out a spare cleaning cloth. She avoided his gaze as she handed it over, instead moving right to the crane to inspect it.

"I am a warrior, you know." He cleaned his face and hands as best he could, then retrieved his shield. He slung his breastplate over his shoulder by the arm strap. He'd have to clean the inside of it and let it dry before he put it back on. He stepped gingerly through the carnage on the ground and joined his wife as she was tying the crane carcass up securely.

"Since you already drained most of the blood, we'll just drag it behind to the campsite and butcher it there."

"So answer me this," he began, and he already saw her shoulders stiffen as he spoke.

"Did you miss?"

"I miscalculated."

Even though her back was to him, he could see the tips of her ears turn dark pink. He couldn't keep the smirk out of his voice as he pulled the creature's wing in so she could tie the ropes tighter.

"So you missed."

"I didn't see you take it down with one mighty stroke either."

She turned to face him and her entire face was set in indignation. She pulled the ropes tight with a yank and looped one set over her arm before handing him the other.

"I'm just saying, I have never seen you miss before."

"Maybe it's just too hard to aim around your giant head."

She refused to look at him as she set her feet and pulled on the ropes to get the bird moving. He pulled the other rope, and they started back to their base camp. They had covered about half the distance before he couldn't resist teasing her more.

"So that takes your grand total of losses this adventure up to two then? One for the race, and one for killing our supper?"

She turned and shoved her ropes into his arms. "Haul it back to camp by yourself then, smartass," she hissed, and with an angry flash of her silver eyes, she was gone. He chuckled under his breath as he looped the other rope around his arm and yanked. He probably deserved that, but it didn't mean he would stop giving her hell about missing a shot. She never missed a shot.

She was not at camp when he arrived, sweaty, and wishing for his bathing room back in their house in Elwynn forest. He took the time to hang the creature up in a tree to keep it from predators, and started the lengthy process of cleaning the blood off his armor. The cloth items he would have to either take down to the shore or he'd have to find some kind of spring to wash in.

He had all of the metal pieces hanging up to dry and was nearly done scrubbing the leather when his wife finally showed up. He saw Dagra first, then saw her enter the campsite, her eyes downcast and gripping the straps of her pack. She hung her pack beside his on the post and sat down on the log next to him.

"So I did some scouting," she started without preamble. He caught her eye, and her face was flushed but she wasn't angry anymore.

"I might have found a place to wash your clothes at. Do you think supper can wait a bit?"

Although time ran along at a strange pace here, they seemed to still have hours of daylight left. "How far is it?"

She indicated the direction of the mountain range. "Not too far. We'll have time." She stood, and offered her hand to him. He grinned as he took it. He recognized a peace offering when he saw it. She answered his smile with one of her own as she pulled him to his feet.

"Come on. This is worth the hike. Dagra, stay and guard the camp."

She led the way through the tangle of underbrush, and soon he could tell by the rocky ground that they were close to the mountain range. She made a sudden turn, and ducked under a particularly dense patch of vines, and disappeared. He followed, and on the other side of the curtain of green he saw the barest minimum of a path that led right up into the rocky crag that rose up before them. It had to be no more than an animal path: it was barely wide enough for them to climb up single file, and he had to grip the rocks to not lose his balance.

"Where are we going?" He tried not to yell too loud: they were particularly vulnerable in this position.

"You'll see." He shook his head and followed, his curiosity piqued.

The farther they traveled up the side of the mountain, the more the path widened. By the time it was starting to level out and join the ridge, Elforen could see her reason for coming up here.

The sky above the Timeless Isle had looked a little strange ever since they arrived. Even forgetting the color, which was disconcerting enough, the atmosphere managed to look thicker than regular air. It lent an air of surreality to the entire island, as if reality was a little unsure how it wanted to exist in this space. But as they finally emerged at the top of the ridge, and Elforen took in a deep breath of sulphur and other minerals, he thought he might understand at least part of the reason why it looked this way.

Zarabethe was waiting for him at the top, and she turned to him with her finger on her lips before taking his hand and leading him on further.

"We are near the wind serpent nesting grounds." Her whisper was quiet enough to be only heard by his ears. She pointed to the mountainous peak that was closest to them. He could see flashes of sinuous red and gold as the dragons wound around the tops of them, much closer than he would normally choose to get to them.

"Uh, Zara-"

She stopped him with a hand on his mouth. She shook her head, and led him away from the peaks, down into a secluded basin at the far side of the ridge. The fog was getting thicker, and he could taste the humidity on his tongue. It was bitter and salty, but not the salt of the sea. This was something harsher, and it felt like it was cleansing some of the exhaustion out of his body. He inhaled deeply. Ahead of him his wife carefully navigated around a jutting crag and finally, their destination was in view.

Tucked into the smaller craters around the mountain ridge, were a series of hot springs. The steam they produced rose into the air and made everything in the distance looked wobbly. Zarabethe pulled him right up to the first spring, and the heat coming off if it was nearly stifling.

"I think the wind serpents are attracted to the warmth. There are more springs up at the top, but from what I can see, they are bigger and impossible to navigate. The serpents don't have nests down here."

Elforen crouched down and dipped his fingertips into the water. It was pleasantly warm, but not too hot, and whatever minerals were in the water didn't burn his skin.

"So," he began, glancing up at his wife slyly, "do you want to try it out with me?"

She crossed her arms across her chest and leaned against a rock. "I might."

He sat down on the nearest flat spot and started to unlace his boots. "You might not want to go in wearing all that, though." He indicated her leather armor. He was rewarded by a flush in her cheeks as she stood up and started pulling at the lacing of her chestpiece. He purposefully turned around and gave her her space as he removed himself of his boots, shirt, and pants, along with a small pile of concealed weapons. He heard a snort behind him.

"Are you sure you found them all?"

He stood and caught her about the shoulders. She was in the process of unlacing her shirt and he took the strings from her and loosened them. He pulled her shirt over her head slowly, grinning at her wolfishly as soon as her face was clear.

"I think I might have missed one."

"You're terrible," she countered, but her voice was a little too rough to be convincing. He kissed her languidly, pulling her back with him as he started into the pool. The hot water hitting the soles of his feet was jolting, but it quickly turned pleasurable as he went further in. He submerged waist deep, feeling his leg muscles relax finally from the workout they had been through this trip. Extraneous activities aside, that was worth the climb up the mountain. He reached up and tugged at the waistband of his wife's pants.

"You forgot something."

"I was getting there!" She laughed breathlessly. With typical Zara-like efficiency, she divested herself of the rest of her garments and stepped into the pool. He took her hand and led her in, grinning at her gasps as the hot water hit her. They quickly turned to sighs as she submerged to her shoulders.

"I think I could stay here the rest of the trip." She stood back up, shaking water off her arms. She started to pull the pins out of her hair, and he joined her, reaching around her to help take down her hair, keeping her body flush with his. He kissed her temple, then her jawline, and moved down her neck, unable to keep from chuckling at the noises she was trying not to make in her throat. He nipped her lightly on the shoulder and she moaned before catching herself.

"Stop, at least let me get my hair down first."

"I don't think you want me to stop." He obliged by running his fingers through her woven braids, shaking them out until her hair fell into soft violet waves down her back. She sighed in contentment as he combed through her hair, relaxing fully against him.

"No, not really."

Grinning, he wrapped his other arm around her waist and kissed her again.