Though they had been in Orgrimmar only a month past, it felt as though more time had passed. Crowds that hadn't been present before now pushed at them in the streets of the cities, and Triadae found her patience waning with the setting sun as every step was accompanied with a complaint from the elven woman who hadn't released Kalthor since they had first met. Where she had first just focused on stocking her supplies and making certain that her armor and weapon were at their finest, now she had turned her focus elsewhere in hopes that it would drown out the rest.
Beside her trudged her valiant hawkstrider, his reins twined around her hand and through her fingers, their packs thrown over his back and saddle with a careful disarray, as much as one could manage it. Twice she had paused to keep a lopsided and poorly packed satchel from tumbling off the others, muffling her discontent with Leybright's behavior behind a wash of canvas and rope. She wasn't sure which bothered her most; that she had to stop at all to redo what should have been done in the first place, or that Kalthor didn't stop to help her.
By the time they finally met with the Tauren who oversaw the Moonglade portal, sunset was turning the cliffs of Orgrimmar into a dazzling display of scarlet and gold, and she had lapsed into a stubborn silence that would not break. She was careful to keep her features neutral, and if not that, at least make it seem like she was focused on her plans for their mission, instead of becoming more and more upset with Leybright's coy laughter and Kalthor's indifference.
"Easy, Tikros." Her hand lifted, inching fingers beneath the feathers over the hawkstrider's brow, feeling his uneasy shift against her. As beloved as the bird was to her, he did not cut the splendid figure that Ruusos did. It was an unfair comparison, Ruusos with his snow-driven plumage and gold-trimmed armor. Tikros was simple, his coloring a dusty grey-black, but he was the best to bring when there was the possibility of needing to move much with little time to do so. He was sturdy, slow, and obedient. All that she cared about, at the moment. All she needed.
Triadae turned to speak to the two, but found there to be no need for it. Like a nobleman with his adoring entourage, Kalthor faded through the portal without so much as a backwards glance or a thank you. It took every bit of her control to not simply turn around and find the first flight that would go to Moonglade instead, or to request the assistance of a mage who would return her to Silvermoon. Without a doubt, Triadae found herself regretting her choice to have her friend accompany her on this favor. It had been so long since she had slighted Kalthor, she had forgotten just how bitter he could be.
She tightened her grip on Tikros' reins and nodded to the Tauren who had said nothing the entire time, though he certainly looked like he might speak now. If he did, she heard nothing more than the clang of armor and the distant churning of the newly installed elevators before it all melted into nothing more than a memory. Orgrimmar faded, sand and stone, reds and golds, all of it becoming nothing compared to the quiet of Moonglade.
The warrior was never really certain just how it always managed to be so peaceful in the town of Nighthaven, especially with the countless druids that milled about on their various duties. Her own trips to the haven were relatively few, sometimes managing to peel from her duties to enjoy the events of the Lunar Festival, or take the time to fish in the lake that took up a good portion of the middle of the area. Time like that had been rare in the beginning, and even more so now. Perhaps when she was done...
"This place reeks of beast." Leybright sniffed, her white robes colored green by the moonlight that came through the dense canopy of trees. Kalthor's face, already pale, took on a sickly hue in the light. Triadae passed them both, choosing to ignore the callous comment and inwardly hoping the wardens and druids nearby, many of them wandering around with four paws, thick manes, and claws made for tearing. Light help her if they had short tempers.
"We're not here to cater to your refined senses, Leybright. If you move quickly, we'll be gone from this place before you suffer anymore slight to your sensibilities." Triadae paused to glance back over her shoulder, eyes narrowed. "And if you would carry yourself with some dignity, instead of having yourself draped on his arm like a common tart, I would be most appreciative."
She watched Leybright quirk a grin, the same that had been flashed towards the Magistrix that she had been hitting every visible button on, and Triadae realized with painful clarity that she had handed her a weapon that the woman would use at any moment she deemed worthy. Swallowing the bitter pill, her eyes went to Kalthor, expecting some measure of sympathy and finding none. This enraged her, and she turned fully to hold out the reins of her hawkstrider out to him. "Take Leybright and make your way to the dragons. I'll find our contact myself, and will meet you there."
She detested that momentary pause before he took the reins with careful practice, not even daring to touch her, and for the smallest fraction of a moment she craved to grab his hand and plead with him until the wall that he had built came down. Until the coldness was gone, and he would laugh with her again. She had believed that he would be alright in the Spire, where his mirth at the argument between Leybright and Escalia had given her hope that everything would survive. It was not the first time she had been wrong, and her hand dropped slowly away as her turned his back on her, Leybright moving with the grace of a cat to his side as they left her standing alone.
Not for the first time, she felt the bitter pang of anger at being the one on the outside, as their heads turned towards each other in obvious conversation and she heard him laugh. She knew that she had brought all of this down on herself in telling Kalthor that there could never be something between them more than what they had, but she had wanted to believe that he could accept it and understand that she needed him more as a friend than something that could end up like Tiroth had. Light, she had honestly believed.
Disgust filled her as the two left her sight, and she combed a hand through her bangs in an effort to brush the thoughts from her mind. What was important was doing what she had been sent to do, and she could not do that with thoughts plaguing her about social events and behaviors. She would find the contact they would be continuing with, and then they would be on their way.
As it turned out, finding a Stormhoof was not as simple as she would have hoped. In the entirety of Nighthaven, there resided six individual members of the Cenarion Circle who bore that name, and yet none carried the name she needed. By the third hour of talking to the guardians of the glade, hoping that one of them might know where the one she sought was, Triadae's hopefulness had turned to annoyance, and then despair. With a grudging step, she made her way to the place she had told the others to meet.
It took her a few moments to spot them, given that she expected them to be waiting beside Tikros and not sitting at the well. Even the fact that they were sitting wasn't that much of an annoyance to her, not one to be unkind when they had just waited for her for three hours. But after having just gotten her mind clear of her frustrations while she searched for the one they were looking for, it was a blow to her to see Leybright resting in Kalthor's lap, his arm wound around her back while she leaned against him, her head on his shoulder.
It shouldn't have hurt so much, but it did. Especially when she pulled her eyes from the two to look for Tikros not seeing him near them, nor anywhere in the vicinity. Her pain flared into dull anger when she approached, and neither looked to her when she cleared her throat. It took another, and then a resigned sigh, before Leybright turned her eyes on her with all the arrogance of a pampered cat who had spotted a housemaid. "Yes?"
"Where is Tikros?" Triadae gestured with a hand, encompassing the area around them.
The other woman shrugged, and even Triadae couldn't miss the shiver that ran down Kalthor's body as the priestess released a long and bored breath. "I don't know. He likely ran off after becoming bored with waiting for you. You took your time, after all." The green eyes that lingered in the depths of the hood scoured the area around Triadae before she continued. "And I see that you are alone. Clearly, your father's sense of duty did not pass itself down to you."
She ignored the slight, her hand resting on her hip. "He's carrying our things, the same you refused to carry. I doubt that you would allow him to simply wander off with countless gold in supplies, most of which you purchased yourself."
Leybright gave another languid shrug, shifting in Kalthor's arms only enough to breathe in a manner that would have centered the minds of most males firmly on her chest before she simply settled back against him.
"That's not an answer - ..."
"Stop it." Kalthor's voice was muddied, but stern. His eyes left Leybright for the first time since the warrior had approached, his brows furrowed. "It isn't Leybright's fault that your beast wandered off. I'm not a stable master, either. You should have kept him with you. If you want him back so bad, then go and look for him. It's not as if you've reason to come here, when you do not have the one we're looking for."
For a moment, she stood dumbstruck. Her mouth hung open just a bit, lips parted just so, as if she had been struck silent in the middle of voicing a thought. Indeed, her entire mind had ground to a halt. It was a little bit of everything that left her stunned; the empty tone that still carried that hint of disdain, his flagrant disrespect for her as both superior and friend, and the way he could treat her as little more than a meddlesome insect while never batting an eyelash. She had accepted distance, had accepted the wall... but her mind reeled at the thought of accepting this.
The silence was deafening around them, the few who had heard them turning away and focusing their attention elsewhere so as not to seem as though they were spying on the situation only a few feet from them. There were no words, nothing more than the gaze of one being held by another, and yet volumes were being spoken. She had every right to command him, to discipline him and the priestess... but not the heart to do so. Guilt chewed at her, and after moments that could have been an eternity, she broke his gaze first and turned on her heel.
"We'll be here, waiting on you."
Triadae's fists clenched, her entire body rigid as she fought back words that would have made no sense. There were only so many ways to express distaste without repeating herself, and she wasn't even sure she could form those words into a coherent sentence without hearing her voice crack. Ignoring the softly mocking laughter behind her, Triadae relaxed so as not to look as if she was made of stone, and set off in search of Tikros.