AN: An update! I'm so sorry for how long it has taken to continue this story, but continue it I shall! This story reached it's ending a few months back with the release of the Hour of Twilight patch, so there's nothing for me to do but play catch-up here... which I need to do before I start my Mists of Pandaria story or continue my sequel to my Price of Freedom legacy.
I'll be working on getting updates out three days a week. No promises, but I am trying!
In the scheme of things, while the world continued on as if no one else existed, she had learned to do the same. The warm lands of the Eastern Kingdoms had long been abandoned for the colder north, where she lingered in the snow and death to aid the Argent Crusade in finishing up with being rid of the last of the Scourge and those who supported them. Work was something that kept her mind clear, something that made her forget, and she had thrown herself into it with a passion that had left her heart hard and her skin thick, but some things would never fully heal.
She knew this, knew it in the very core of her being, and so when it had become too much to walk the world alone, she had sought the company of those who could teach her what she did not know. The Academy now rang in her ears, laughter and chatter that chased away the darkness that threatened her sleep. When she woke from a nightmare, they were there to ease her fears. She never spoke to them over the device they had given her, somehow feeling as if there was no reason to put herself out where she wound end up hurt again.
It still hurt. She hated the feelings that loss brought to her, those horrible moments where she didn't know which was worse. To live alone, or to die loved? All she cared about, all that she wanted, was merely knowledge. The Academy gave that to her, and when they could not, she traveled. Alone.
The snow crunched beneath her paws, and she no longer sunk into it as many others did. Her feline form had changed, she would have almost said that it had adapted, and was far more suited to roaming in the cold climes of Northrend than the panther-like form that most of her fellow druids fought in. This was, mostly, due to the fact that she rarely felt the need to fight alongside the spirit of that animal. Her passion lay in the bear, and she had grown impressively in the months that had passed.
Her rounded ears twitched back and forth, large eyes scanning the ground before she jumped from one outcropping to the next, the fur on the bottom of her feet providing her with traction that most lacked. The large rams that walked the rocky paths above her watched her with furtive glances, but she was no longer hungry for the wild sheep that roamed so freely. It had been weeks since she had returned to civilization, and though she preferred to remain out where none might find her, there was some small part of her that wanted to hear laughter again.
So it was that she slipped into the gates of Winterguard Keep, a soft growl of greeting granted to the guards who watched her with weary eyes. One smiled and reached out a hand, and she pushed her broad head up into the touch as she passed. They were tired, she knew. All of them were tired, and the watch would not rotate for another few hours at least, but the guard that had touched her seemed just a little more revitalized. A cat lover, perhaps.
Her pace picked up and she delved deeper into the town, snow providing a happy crunch beneath her paws. At the steps leading into the inn, her body changed and bulked, leaving her standing once more as the massive wolf-girl she had become accustomed to. There was a cheery call from the bar when she entered, and she raised a clawed hand in welcome before pointing out the table that she usually took.
She hadn't been sitting for long before she was joined by the barmaid, who settled a platter down of thick slabs of meat that were just barely cooked. "Here you go, darlin'. Practically moo'ing, just the way you like it. You want milk or juice this time?"
"Juice, please." Brinella watched the young woman pad away before she turned her attention to the meat. There was a reason the worgen chose the place she did when she desired to eat. Beneath the stairs in the quiet inn, the corner was shadowed and hard to see into. Which fit well when she tore into the meat as a feral beast might, not really caring about how she looked to others. At least until the barmaid returned and coughed softly to alert the druid to her presence.
"Here you go, doll. Anythin' else, you let me or Michette know. She should be around in an hour or so, and I know she likes to hear from you when you come in." The brunette chuckled as the large mug was taken and drained completely, leaving the worgen breathless. "On second thought, let me just get you one of the decanters. Oh! You have letters, I nearly forgot. I'll grab those, too." The woman scurried off, and Brinella returned to her ravenous tearing.
By the time the maid returned, Brinella had licked the plate, her muzzle, and her claws clean, and sat looking at the fire with the distant gaze that those who knew her up in the cold climate had become used to. She barely responded as the thick pack of letters was dropped down, nor when the decanter of juice was set beside them and the plate gathered up.
"You know..." The barmaid chewed her bottom lip, her free hand rubbing her neck. "You've never opened any of those. I can just toss them if you really don't want to read them..."
Brinella sighed deeply, catching the parchment with her claw and flicking each letter to view the one beneath it. "It's not that." The woman's speech had become better with time, not so halting as it had originally been when she had first changed. Large words still escaped her, still made her fumble and grow frustrated, but she did what she could to make certain that she could be understood. "I may not read them, but I will at least keep them."
'They are all I have, after all...' She did not voice the thought, but it was readable enough on her features as she looked over the names that had been written. Some, she recognized simply by the handwriting. Kalthor's flowing elven script was a stark contrast to the chicken-scratch that Winnie claimed was actual writing. Lydros' thick text was as easily recognizable to her as the thin lines and gentle curves of Eaxoa's writing. On all of them, she could smell the worry and fear that had gone into every letter and every mark.
This time, even Triadae had chosen to write. There was no fear or worry on the parchment, but Brinella felt something close to loss and heartache. A strange thing to come from so strong a woman, but it was silly to see how even the smallest thing could make a mighty warrior fall. The worgen might have dismissed it, but in the back of her mind, she could not. A part of her still saw the warrior beg and plead, though it had been at least two months since they had seen each other. Brinella looked up to notice that the barmaid had slipped away, and she cracked the thick wax seal and hunched over to read.
Druid,
It has been hard to write anything, let alone to you. A thousand times I have started a letter, and questioned if I come off too friendly, or distant, or rude. I crumple the page and start again, and then wonder later if something I had written before would be the better start. I've picked pages out of my trash to continue, and then toss them away again. No matter how I try, nothing seems to come out just the way I would have wished it.
The nightmares happen often now, so much so that I wonder if I'm really to have any other dreams in my life. The walls close in around me, I feel fire on my body, I hear laughing in my head. It's only when I'm awake and screaming that I realize the laughing, so manic and strange, was my own. In these times, I stay awake and fear the sleep that will eventually take me.
They have moved me back to Silvermoon City, and I remain in the home I once shared with the man I loved. It drives me mad, to be locked here while they continue about their lives. I can understand their concern, in some cases. In others, it is simply a problem that I cannot escape. I am haunted by days that I let go of, that I walked away from willingly. I know the truth now, Druid. Yet I cannot look him in the eye and tell him that I want that life back.
Why? I do not know. Where I once looked forward to a life with the one I loved, I see only the shadows of a dream that has become tangled and thorned, grasping at me and threatening to choke my sanity from me. I keep the door locked against all who come, even the troll and tauren who have become irreplaceable to me in so many ways.
You will be happy to know, I think, that Kalthor and his woman do well together. I do not see them so often these days, not after I flung myself at the Priestess in hopes of clawing her face until it was nothing more than ribbons of shredded skin. Alas, I was stopped from it, and all my strength left me. Perhaps now they remain away from me in hopes that my dislike of her is merely misplaced anger.
I don't know what it is, truthfully. I have gone from thinking it was hate, to believing it to be some sort of misplaced jealousy. Once more, my past haunts me. I wonder, then, if you suffer as I do. You were not even given the chance to say farewell, nor to explain. I know that explaining anything would never heal the rift that has come between me and Kalthor, but some naïve part of me wishes that mere words could heal what words tore apart.
You seem to have become all but forgotten to those who wander Eversong with me. I know that those who are close to you worry. They say that you do not answer their letters. At first, I wanted to know why... but then I crumpled that letter as well, realizing that the answer was clearer to me at that moment than if I had gone searching for it myself.
I hope, Druid, that you find the peace you seek. I can offer no words of wisdom from a body older than yours. In your haunting eyes, I saw a soul far older than mine, and I believe that you will return to your friends when you have found what you need. I cannot promise that I will be here if you have need of me. The days pass quickly, and I admit that I lose track of them when I once watched the rise and fall of the sun and moons as if my life depended on it.
… but I do hope, and pray to some misbegotten being that you will find what you need. A place in this world where you don't know fear, or hate. I would hope for love... but I think we both have had our fill of that bitter fruit. No, I wish only that you will find peace. Is that enough for a stranger to want for someone who rescued them?
I ramble. I hope that this missive finds you well, no matter where you might be.
Regards,
Triadae Gildedsun
Brinella read the letter twice more before setting it down beside the others, her nose twitching slightly. Of all the people to write her, the warrior had been the last that she had expected. As far as she was concerned, any debt was repaid between the two. Despite Triadae's initial coldness towards the druid, she had indeed been crucial to the plan that had delivered her to Eaxoa. A life for a life, and all was well in the world again. So she believed, yet the warrior seemed to need more than that.
The letters were tucked away, and Brinella stood from the table, grasping the decanter in her paw and moving towards the stairs. The barmaid saw her and nodded, offering a slight wave as the worgen vanished up into the cozy room that she had rented upon her arrival a few weeks past. The door closed behind her, and she set the decanter down and stowed the letters away with all the others before collapsing in a curled up ball of leather and fur in front of the fire.
The knock came softly at first, so much so that Brinella wasn't sure if it had been someone at the door, or the window moving in the wind. She opened one eye, peering at the window to see that darkness had fully fallen, and the smell of smoke and lack of warmth was her telling sign within the room that she had slept longer than she had intended. Her eye closed again only to snap open as the tapping started once more. Like an overgrown dog, the druid stretched her limbs and then stood.
"Coming, coming." The words were muttered, her steps stalling as the tapping became a staccato of wooden notes against the door; whoever was out there was amusing themselves immensely. Brinella grumbled beneath her breath, pulling open the door and peering out for a few long moments.
"My! You are a tall one!" The voice came from low, but there was nothing but floor where the druid glanced. Confused, she stepped out into the hall and saw no one at all. The floor creaked behind her, and she whirled to find an odd sight clambering up onto her bed.
She smelled metal and gunpowder, first. The familiar scent of loaded weaponry, and that matched what her eyes saw. The short figure stood no higher than a young human child, but bore all the characteristics of a fully grown adult. A thick toolbelt around the gnome's waist held pouches that were packed so full that she worried they might burst all over the bed, and a set of thick clockwork goggles were perched high on bubblegum pink hair that was streaked with sky blue. Her – for there was the distinct scent of female – bright blue eyes peered back at the worgen as she sat, small feet rocking back and forth.
"They said I could find a bear up here, but all I found was a wolf! Not that I mind, I tend to be attacked by bears. It's awful nice to meet you, Bear! Or are you Wolf? I can do either. I'm Kika! Well, actually, I'm Kikimira Togglefront, but everyone calls me Kika. You can call me whatever you like. Hey! That's a nice knife you have there, I bet I could make it work even better. Why don't you let me look at it?" The gnome rummaged through the bag of supplies that Brinella had dropped onto the bed nearly a week ago and had yet to touch again.
"Oh, yes! Such a simple thing, I don't see why you don't fix it up just a little bit. I like to fix things. Contrary to popular belief," the gnome stopped her rapid-fire speech to tug her leather gloves off with her teeth, trading the knife from one hand to the other, "I don't let things explode nearly as much as everyone likes to believe. Now, goblins," Kika waved the knife around while leaning to the side a bit, her free hand rummaging in one of the bulging pouches on her left hip, "they'll blow you up without a second thought!"
Brinella opened her mouth to speak, a claw lifted to emphasize whatever she might have said, but it was lost as the gnome chugged on as if the worgen didn't even exist. Kika turned on the bed, sitting on her knees and dropping several items onto the neatly arranged bedspread. "Let's see, a little of this... some of that! Yes, yes! I can see it already!" The gnome pulled her goggles over her eyes, and Brinella barely muffled the growling laugh that formed as she spied the small woman's magnified eyes. "So! I was told I'd find a bear here, which is what I need. Well, really, I just need someone with a thick skin and the ability to take a few good hits. Not that I think there will be any hits!" Kika glanced at the worgen quickly as if to calm her, but turned her attention back to her work even faster. "Jordan can't go four steps without whining about how she'll break a nail, and Tanthy can't take a hit to save her life. You poke her and she starts whining! Can't get anything done, which is why I'm here and not them. I get things done!"
The gnome peered closely at her work, which Brinella likened more to a tangle of metal and wire more than anything actually useable, but she didn't feel that her input would have been welcome. Indeed, the gnome continued on as if she had forgotten Brinella even existed. "Anyway! We need someone who knows their way around here, which is why we asked and they told us they knew someone who could help! So we traveled all the way over here to find you, and I figured that I'd talk to you first before the others did. I'm far more eloquent than them, after all.
"So we're looking for something, but that something is in a cave, and there's rumors that there are bad things in the cave. So we need someone who can handle all that! I'm thinking there's nothing a bear-wolf can't handle, so you'll do! We leave in the morning, and we're going to travel through the snow, so you might want to dress warm. Then again, you have fur, so you might be warmer than all of us! Well, except me. I've got augmented wiring in all of my armor that transfers my body heat and conveys it in a much better way than average leather on it's own! So I'm nice and toasty even in the coldest environs! Pretty nifty, huh?"
Brinella had moved to the window by the time the gnome paused for breath, peering out through the frosted glass. As she expected, the gnome continued on without waiting. "Oros says there's decent ore in that cave as well, so we're kinda going in to find a bunch of things. Let's see, you like green, right? Course you do. Bear-wolves always like green. You look like a green lovin' person anyway." There were a few mercifully silent moments, and Brinella took the chance to open her mouth again only to snap it shut once more as the gnome continued.
"Anyway! It's great that you're gonna help. Here's your knife. It's much better now, and it won't explode, either! We'll see you in the morning, so you'd better get some sleep! We've got a long way to walk. Ride. Fly. Whatever you bear-wolves do. Ha! A flying bear-wolf. I bet I could make something for you that'd help with that. Wouldn't that be nifty? Anyway! I need to sleep. We're all staying here at the inn as well, so we'll see you then! Kika, out!"
Silence fell, and Brinella paused in her rhythmic thumping of her head against the window to peer back at the room. Kiki had, in what was a blessed and confusing turn of events, vanished without a sound. Nothing remained of the sprightly and talkative woman except for the imprint of her knees on the bed, and the augmented knife. Uncertain, the worgen strode to the bed and picked up the palm-sized apparatus.
It fit comfortably within her hand no matter how she held it, rectangular in shape with rounded ends. Peering closely, she could see ridges along the sides, and she carefully plucked at them until what lay within was revealed. She was surprised to find that each little arm that she pulled out was something that had once been littering the bottom of her pack. Her knife, a bit of flint, and even a ridged bit of metal that she brushed along a claw and found it filed just so. There was just one thing that puzzled the woman about the contraption.
Where the gnome had gotten the fork.