AN: We leave Brinella behind as we move onwards, at least for a bit. Don't worry for her, Eaxoa is a very good caretaker! When we return, we'll be following Tria a bit more, as well as some others who deserve a bit of screentime. In other news, Fang and Spell was put up as a rec'd fic over on TVTropes, much to my surprise. Thank you for the rec. I'm considering making an actual page for it, but that's for another time.

So we've seen Dragonsworn, Felsworn, Savagekin, and Nightmare Druids for our 'special classes' so far. I wonder what else is lurking in the wings. Will Tria and Kalthor ever get together! Will we find out why Winnie dislikes Horde so much! What is Lydros seeing out of the corner of his eye! I know. I'm only adding in more and more loose ends. Woe is me.

- Asha.

The world kept turning.

As it had for thousands of years, the world always turned. Green fields died and became amber ground, trees reached for the sky and then fell, even mountains crumbled beneath the weight of time and all that it entailed. Beauty came and went, anger eventually dissolved beneath apathy, and hope would be crushed beneath despair and then find its way free to fly again.

This was the world, and in some ways... the world was the same, no matter where it was in the universe and what it was called by those who lived upon it, and these were the things that were thought on by those who had lived so long that they had viewed the rise and fall of nations, had viewed war and desolation, and had learned that the world would continue turning, always and forever.

Sometimes, though... sometimes it felt as if the world stopped for only moments. Where everything ceased to move and instead stood in place, and screamed. Simply screamed, with all the pain and anguish of a woman wronged and a child angered. These times were not so easy to see for some, but for others it was all too easy. Sometimes, what the people believed was the most important was not what the world itself believed.

"Why can they not see the way I do?" Earth melded beneath her fingers, arching and dipping and then joining to the cliff again. Around her, the rumble of elementals was a soothing backdrop to the crash of water and the song that rang out from the spirits who danced in the waters. This was her calling, beyond just the flow of nature that the druids united with. The world screamed, and she sobbed. The world laughed, and she danced.

For Eaxoa, the world did not simply turn.

Above her, the zepplin she waited for broke from an overcast sky and dipped into the trees no more than a mile away. She had not expected the raven that had found her in the graveyard of Stormwind, understanding that the one who sent it did not do so easily. Some scars were simply harder to heal than others. So the message had been delivered, and the flowers left behind as she left the walls of the city and stepped into the forests of Elwynn.

By foot, the trip would take a little more than a week. A little more than a week to walk and watch the scenery fade from bright to morose, and then to the vivid colors of a rainforest torn asunder. She never grew tired, never ached the way others did after walking endlessly. There were no feet to bruise on stones and burrs, only hooves that clicked on stone and made it easier for her to tread on uneven ground.

Eaxoa had long settled her differences with the races that lived on Azeroth before her. Like life, they were varied and beautiful in their own ways, with boundless potential for those who lived such short lives. Only the night elves could understand how it felt to blink and watch the world jump centuries ahead, but they were far from willing to associate with her unless it was needed. Aiding the illness of one, finding the relics of another, could never hope to begin the mend the rift that her very appearance tore through them.

The Draenei were an elegant race, graceful in a way that surpassed the elves. The men were built like walls; even the ones who dealt in magic were still formidable opponents simply in appearance. In contrast, the women were curvaceous and lovely by most standards. As long as those standards were perceived by fellow Draenei.

She was lovely, in an alien way. There was pride in her stance, shoulders back with more than just the way her spine curved. Average in height and even in her build, she became extraordinary only in how she looked. Pale blue skin was marred by time, old and nearly faded scars littering the flesh. Her horns swept back along her skull, holding back the dark chocolate curls that spilled to her waist.

While she would normally be wearing the leather and chain that afforded her the protection she desired and channeled her latent powers, the haste with which she had been summoned had made it impossible to gather her armor from the smith who was repairing the damage from a night of adventuring that some might have called fun. Eaxoa didn't find chaining the elements against their will or running from things that wanted to step on her fun, but she went where she was needed.

Like now.

She would wait where she was, knowing that there were some who would not welcome her appearance, no matter how pure her intentions. To her, the division between the Horde and the Alliance was a pitiful squabble, but she knew that others did not share her ideals. Assumptions were for the younger, shorter-lived races.

Regardless, she stood once more and let her hands smooth down the silver-blue robes of mageweave that she wore. There would be time to muse as she wanted on the way back to the city. Musing was almost normal for the shaman. Her steps were slow, picking an easy way down a slope that she had scaled with ease. Rocks and sand slipped from beneath her, but her steps did not falter. Meeting solid ground again made her long for plains that had been long abandoned.

But only for a moment.

The path she had followed from the main road was clear, hidden from casual sight by a framing of thick leaves from the tropical plants that grew in the Vale. The click of her hooves on stone joined the rustle of foliage as she pushed past and waited, her eyes turned down the path, an immovable sentinel for two hours time.

'You may not see it at first, but I assure you... you will feel it long before you are near her. Do what you could not do for me. Save her.'

Her skin itched almost painfully, a surprising and sudden contrast to the dull ache in her bones that being so near to the elements in agony inflicted on her. Eaxoa knew the itch that she felt as the herald of fel energy, and she fought back the urge to flee as far as she could, swallowing back a sense of disgust that pained her. It was not her own feelings, no. While she did not have any love for the Legion's power, she could not bring herself to hate those who used it as easily as it used them. Her bond with the elements allowed her to feel their revulsion, and Eaxoa had spent years trying to build up walls against that.

The first to appear in her sight was a slender woman in brown leathers that covered all of her skin but that of her face. Her hair had been bound back, a vibrant red that matched the sheath of the sword strapped to her back. A belt around her waist held a variety of pouches and a thin-bladed dagger that gleamed in the setting sun. Eaxoa likened her walk to a prowl, her eyes watching the surrounding forest with a caution that might have bordered on fear.

The second was blonde and male, similar to the other in that they were both Sin'dorei. He was only slightly taller than the woman, both of whom were still shorter than Eaxoa herself. Despite the way the elements fled from around him, angered by his taint, there was a conflicting aura of fear and gentleness. He wore flowing robes, dark blue with silver threading woven into runes that would aid in his own castings.

His hand held the last by her wrist, and Eaxoa knew what Rylien meant in an instant. Had the druid not written her personally, and she had only found the three in the wild by accident, she would have been lead to believe that the human woman was little more than a servant to the others. A servant who had been beaten to the point where her very will was shattered, and even then that was not the proper comparison. Eaxoa muttered an oath under her breath and stepped into the road.

The woman paused for a moment, muttering something back to the male who only shrugged and glanced back at the last. His grip was firm, pulling her forward so that he could plant his other hand at her lower back. Eaxoa withdrew the servant ideal quickly; the girl was not afraid of these two as much as she was simply deadened to all the rest of the world. She waited patiently while he spoke to the one he held, and her eyes finally lifted from the ground to settle on Eaxoa.

To any who might have passed by at that moment, the scene was tense. Even the shaman felt how tightly wound the three were, and for once was completely lost on how she might proceed. She did not want to move closer, seeing the fright of the the human girl clear in her eyes, but she did not want to remain so inanimate when so much time had already been spent. More words were spoken, and the male wrapped an arm around her shoulders in a brief hug before releasing her and stepping back, his hand pushing at the small of her back again.

A vivid memory painted itself in Eaxoa's mind, bright and real as if it was happening all over again. Her throat tightened, steel resolve melting under her, and for the first time in a very long time, her hands knit together in worry. Then it was gone, stability returned once more and she could breath, extending a hand as the human crept towards her. It was not taken, and though Eaxoa felt no insult at it, she could not shake the haunted look the girl leveled on her as she paused in front of her.

"You have not slept well in many days." Her fingers traced over her skin, catching on the oddly ragged portion along the left side of the girl's face. The hiss of intaken breath could not be missed from either side, though one drew away out of shame while the other tightened her grip just enough. "Bid your friends goodbye. It will be a long time before you see them again," Eaxoa let her hands fall to the human's shoulders, turning her around and lowering her lips to her ear, "but you will see them again. Fix their faces in your mind, and never forget."

There were no words traded, no gentle touches or tears. The three simply stood watching each other, as if understanding that the rift between them was only going to grow wider with time. The blonde was the first to turn away, his elven companion following only a few steps later. Eaxoa lifted a hand as they both looked back for just a moment before passing the curve, and then they were gone.

It took only a touch on her arm to turn the human about again, and Eaxoa offered a gentle smile that barely showed the tips of her fangs. "Come." She moved off down the path a few steps, pausing as she heard the woman's voice.

"Who are you?"

The shaman looked back at her for a few moments, and her lips pulled in a cryptic smile. "I can't answer that, until you can answer it for yourself." Her head tilted, fingers motioning down the road and she turned back again to continue walking. She didn't need to turn to know that she was being followed.