~* Author's Notes *~

"Like anyone would be

I am flattered by your fascination with me.

…

But this... is not allowed."

Alanis Morissette, Uninvited

~*~Chapter 66~*~

No sooner had she turned around than she found the Scout standing behind her, like some dumb shadow waiting for her to pass right through it even though it needed her to stop. Across his back hung bag, enchanted most likely judging by it's semi-shrunken look. He was without the beautiful bow: it gave an incomplete look to his outfit. Perhaps he lost it getting rid of the necromancer? Kayas had a small mental image of the bow flying through the air and taking off the 'mancer's head before returning like a boomerang. Some sorcerers say objects have souls and if it were true, did that make the bow the hunter's pet? Judging by the wide-eyed stare he had witnessed her Elune-forsaking deal with the two demons.

"Don't judge me." The druid pushed past him, headed north and hoping he had the sense to keep his mouth shut. If word got back to her people somehow she'd be thrown out without a second though. Assuming they let her back in with the Plague in her system. Maybe I can't transmit the plague? The though was hopeful but she wasn't willing to infect some poor, living animal in order to test her theory. Humans were defiantly out as well, though the Priest told her tales about the Cult of the Damned who worship death. He wasn't able to explain why, mainly because his Light-loving brain couldn't understand it himself. Maybe her infection was like a cold after the first symptoms show: nasty but no longer contagious?

With any luck perhaps the Quel'dorei hadn't sunk all their ships and she'd find one home. They still traded with Stormwind, no doubt, or docked on Menethil Harbor. She had only been to Menethil once, when she'd gotten passage on the wrong ship. Curiosity had almost taken her as far as Theramore, but the idea of a place ruled by magic wielders was almost as unappealing now as it was then.

He doesn't stop her passing but the way he stares after her, as if words were lodged in his throat stops her. She feels a fight coming and tries to stop it. Though she was no spring chick she pointedly ignored the way he was gazing at her. Puppies look at their mothers like that. Though a half-undead Druid wasn't the most attractive thing he had ever seen, she was Kaldorei and their males couldn't help but fawn after their females. At no time in her life had she ever wanted the attention of a male, especially after getting the lecture from her female instructor about what happens when female druids go into heat.

"Can I-"

"Whatever it is, the answer is no." She keeps walking. He seemed cowed somewhat, like it took nerves he didn't have to stand here without either Serz or Mr. Meows to protect him. Skinny boy would soon grow into Not-So-Skinny boy and he wouldn't need a Warlock and battle cat to stand between him and the oncoming world.

He follows. "You haven't even heard what I have to say." The accusation was back in his voice, the same tone he used to constantly tell her she was a hypocrite.

"I'm leaving." she said, not stopping. At first it seems a polite thing to inform someone, but upon understanding the inflections in her tone one would figure out it was a command not to follow. I'm leaving, she said, and you're staying right here. Bye.

He rushes forward, swings around in front of her, and comes dangerously close to getting nails in his eyes. Her hands clench, the sharp points biting into her light-skinned palms. "I wanted to give you this," he said hurriedly, wondering which of the million Night Elf rules he broke this time. Apparently speaking was not ok either. He holds out a bag which had been slung over his shoulder and bows in what is suppose to be a show of respect. It looks silly when the lose ends of his braids come around and hang down in front of him like a mop end. The look is so silly, as if offering her a green-wood gopher or rare type of writing paper, that she has to stop and pay attention.

"What is this?" She pokes the bag, curiously, wondering which rule or custom he is intent on trampling upon this minute. It's warm. "Is it alive? I spent enough time in a bag that-"

"It's food- Pies!"

Perplexed. Is he shaking? He's shaking! "Pies?"

He nods, vigorously, as if it's taking all his will to hand her the bag. Were he made of weaker stuff – or stronger, perhaps?- he would set the bag down and walk off. It would be awkward, but a very human custom of forcing someone to deal with something they clearly have no interest in dealing with.

"Pies...?" Like the kind a baker makes? Or like the kind Mell'marie's cow makes? Her priestess friend liked her morning milk, so had four oxen brought in all the way from Stormwind where she used to study. They were completely wild now. Turns out Night Elves are nocturnal, and do not rise with the sun, which trumps the ritual of "morning milk".

"Yes, pies! Just take it already!" Somehow he's upset with her, holding the bag out like it was the latter variety of pies and not the former. Surprise.

Kayas bet he didn't understand what was going on. Kaldorei males were drawn to females of their own species like moths to a flame; like slugs to beer; like water to the ground from great and crashing heights. All animals were the same really, from the lowest forms of humanity to the Aspects themselves. They all needed each other, especially the Kaldorei would could literally die of loneliness (3).

Exhaling slowly she takes the bag, balances it on one hand, opens the top. Neat wooden boxes sit in rows, made smaller by the magic of the bag. Six in total. She was about to pry the top off one when neat handwriting along the edge indicated what was in each box.

"Moonberries..." Her breath misted the night, the electric-moonlight taste of sweet-tart berries turned her mouth into a lake. It had been months. They'd just have ended the season in Darkshore. This must be the last of the harvest... Closing the box she brought her glowing yellow eyes up to meet his silvery ones. Behind the glow she saw the pupils dilated in stress, anxiety. "Where did you get these?"

"A vendor... in town." His voice caught, his eyes dropped. Now he was wondering what rule he broke this time. Too many rules for his liking. Perhaps he'd just get used to being the only elf in daylight loving, Forsaken owned Taren Mills.

She sighed, aware of how close he was to tears. "I'm sorry," she said, "but I cannot accept this. Stealing or accepting stolen goods is against the balance. Work must be repaid in kind or it throws everything off kilter."

She tried to hand the bag back. For one second she though he might take it. His hand did come up and it did take the strap – but he shoved it back into her chest, forcing her back a step. He's close enough she can feel the warmth of his body. It's very out of place in a land full of cold death.

"Can't you just accept a gift without leveling judgment on me? Can't any of you just Not. Judge. Me?" There was a high-pitched pain in his voice, cords in his soul breaking loose and flying about, making him express the frustration which swelled under his skin.

"It's stolen. You knew that when you bought it."

"Actually, the Forsaken have trade agreements with the goblin cartels, who have trade agreements with everyone else. Pays to be neutral faction. See that? A logical reason where you assumed wrongdoing."

"Only, the Keldorei do not trade with Goblins."

He looked stunned for a moment, taken aback. The entire argument centered on his understanding that goblins trade everywhere. "Goblins trade everywhere."

"Goblins trade with the Orcs, who are logging our homelands to fuel war machines to fight our human allies. The Keldorei do not trade with Goblins.(2)"

"Hypocrite."

A low growl escaped her throat. If he were not used to the company of a cat five times her size he may have been impressed. "I'm about tired of you calling me a hypocrite," she said. A wise man would be guarding his soft spots. He was not a man yet and did not know better.

"I'm about tired of being exiled by two-faced Night Elves for having the audacity to be rescued and raised by a Forsaken. I see where the High Elves get their superiority complex." The speed of breathing increased in his lungs, poised and waiting to retort the coming judgment.

"Kaldorei." How long had it been since she stood nose to nose with a male of her own species and argued like this? She would not admit how good it felt to at least converse with another elf after a week amongst a purely human population. How did Mell'marie do it? The fel-infested Blood Elf Priest had been the only elf around for miles for months as they traveled: he was not good enough to count, in her humble opinion.

The wind left his sails, deflated like a squashed grape, "What?"

"We don't call ourselves 'Night Elves'. That is a bad and somewhat untrue human translation. We are Kal-dor-eye, the Children of the Stars."

He sneered, one pointed tooth showing, "Of course you are. My mistake." He still had his side of the bag; if either let go it would fall. In the space between them she could see the pores of his skin and the slight bit of fuzz that would grow into a beard in the next decade. No doubt he could see her as clearly: the course mats of hair which Salira had plated into two Gnomish braids the morning it all went to fel, and the dull purple lips which faded into the gray of her skintone.

"The land here is dead," he said, voice softening as he yielded to pulling cords of emotions inside, "I can't stay here."

Perplexed she tilted her head like the she had seen the Dark Lady do, "You feel the land?" Her habits are rubbing off on me already? This does did not bode well. People who admired each other tended to pick up their habits and despite her firm understand that the Queen of the Forsaken was evil and out for her own good, she couldn't hep but acknowledge a certain amount admiration for what she understood of her accomplishments. As the Forsaken say, better her than him.

He looked disgusted at her question but explained, "Of course I can. Father says it's an elf thing." Hesitantly he added, "The Dark Lady says "Quel'dorei" instead of 'High Elf'. I never though about it before, but that must be a true elf thing."

Pain pulled at her heart, instantly wanting to correct the assumption. "I said we are children of the stars, not me. We. Us. Kaldorei." She pulled her side of the bag out of his hands, shrunk it down. As she did, making a show of accepting the gift, she asked, "Have you never tried to find us?"

He tugged one of the long aqua braids around, displaying what could have been a tiny bird pelvis hanging from the end. "With this hairstyle?" The detailed shape looked like a bird itself, wings folded, and white from the sun.

She put a hand up, "Change the hairstyle?" The obvious solution surely must have rattled through his head at some point in his life. Why even get such a silly hairstyle? Maybe he lost a bet with Trolls?

His face blanked, as if the idea terrified him. Maybe it did. "Never. I earned it. If they can't accept me for me then-" Oh.

"That's your first problem. Uniqueness may be all well and good where you're from but our culture values continuity and tradition. … And our language." When did she go from irritation at his presence to offering advice on how to infiltrate her own society? What was becoming of her?

His eyes burrowed into hers, soul searching and full of powerful truth, "Who's going to teach me. Night Elves – Kaldorei- don't exactly come vacationing to Tirisfal Glades anymore. You're the first one to visit in a decade." The sad, lonely woods around them must have been spectacular at one point. Now the hollow bones of sleeping trees, faded dirt and random, surprisingly colorful mushrooms had taken over the landscape. Not to mention the random mindless Scourge.

Kaldorei used to vacation here? It took great effort to resist correcting his assumption that she had "visited" to begin with. Or maybe he was correct. After all, she was only passing through and not staying.

"I am sorry. Truly. This isn't- and can never be- my home. I'm not like you; I wasn't raised by Forsaken. I'm ..." How did she express to someone who had never seen the beautiful forests of Darkshore and Ashenvale how truly alive the world was and how good it felt to be a part of Elune's great Mystery? He'd never know what it was like to walk and have plants come alive under your feet, greeting you and telling you their troubles or singing 'good evening'. He had never experienced satyr corruption or had to deal with Naga invasions. He had never defended his ancient home from invaders who were keen on simply destroying the thing they wanted if they couldn't have it. How did she explain her role in the existence of her world to someone who didn't have roots in their society? "I am a Druid of the Wild. I know you don't understand what that means, but I belong in the wild. There is no wild here. Everything - and everyone - is dead."

A deep exhale accompanied a drop in eye contact. His body relaxed and took a step back. "Fine." The word came out so soft she almost though it was just lip movements. Maybe it had been. He made to move away, vacant eyes seeking the path by which he would flee her presence.

"Wait." His head came back up, the ends of his braids clinking together as the bones jerked about. Hope showed in his open expression, as did caution. Digging through one of her bags she pulled out a silver bracelet. "It's Naga forged. If nothing else they make very beautiful jewelry. It represents their sea deity, Whats-his-name, but it always reminded me of Elune. She pushes and pulls everything, even the ocean." Holding out the heavy silver cuff she offered a stolen gift in for a stolen gift. Is this one way of keeping the balance? I'll have to ask my teachers when I get home.

His eyes twitched, mouth turned down and then quivered at the corner.

"Stop trying to keep composure." she instructed, "It only shows you were raised by humans."

Slowly his hand rose to accept the ornament. She half-smiled at the dirt under his nails, wondering what he had been digging at. The palms of his hands were tattooed in grit along the destiny lines. She fasten the bracelet around one wrist and once locked in place, felt the magic of it sink into him, binding it to his spirit. Not till the day he died could it's magic be used to benefit anyone else, nor could it be turned against him.

She turned to go, not knowing what else to say. He grabbed her wrist, fingers strong but soft. "Please don't go. Don't leave me here. I can't... I can't stand it here. Dad tries, but – but- it's just not the same-" There is desperation in his voice, movements, hesitation and glass-fragile hope.

That was quick, she though, assuming he wouldn't give up that composure so quickly.

She feels his pain, his emotional current like cool wind up her back and across scarred shoulders. "I can't take you with me." Gently she puts her hand on the back of his. A moment passes while he tries to silently plead his case. Finally he lets go. "I don't even know if they will accept me back-"

"Then stay here! … Please." His voice broke, raw and full of emotion. "I saw you... in the clearing. When the vines sunk back and that man was alive. You – you – you were a tree. And then you were normal. I saw you. How you looked before – before – what she did to you..." His throat closed and he forced it open once more. He needed to breath after all. "Please don't leave."

Oh, my Elune. Have I misunderstood this whole time? In the clearing she though he rejected her when he witness the life being pulled out of the trees and back into her body, which then corrupted as the Plague resurfaced. No, it was the opposite: he saw her beauty and power and potential and it horrified him to see it fade behind the Plague. He had not fled in disgust of her, but in horror for what had been done to her. For Kaldorei to reject each other was the worse thing possible. Here she had done it to him again and again for her stupid misunderstanding.

So many emotions warred inside. She put a hand on his bare arm, sorry now that she had knocked him down no less than two times and threatened to end him as many times. The dried mud flaked under her touch. He shuttered, longing in his pale silver eyes. His long ears quivered. How he survived without another elf around was unknown. Maybe Serz had tracked the Priest down to give him lessons just so he'd have another elf to spend time with? Or at least another Kaldorei-like being. What on earth possessed the Priest to agree was beyond her. That one made no sense, and she did not try to understand him.

They argued. Hushed tones of "I don't belong here" and "Neither do I" preceded haggling of a kind. Her human friend had taught her the concept of exchanging non-physical promises for another; a sort of balance the humans keep. He knew this concept well, mostly because it was the only one he knew. They argued and bargained and in the end she won. Barely.

"I'll come back," she said, touching his face lightly, reassuringly, "I promise I'll come back for you."

He sobbed, rolling his face into her palm, "I feel like I"m being denied something deep and fundamental and it's not fair." Long aqua eyebrows quivered at the tips, almost drooping. A flash of the Priest's ears doubling over went through her mind. The effect was roughly the same. The more drooping, the more sad the effect and the more it pulled at the consciousness of the target. Right now it really worked on her.

Abruptly he pulled her in, pushed his lips onto hers. A horrid sucking sensation proved to be his attempt at a kiss. Most likely more romantic in his mind than in the flesh. Under his lips the corner of her mouth turned down in hot anger and then twitched up again in understanding. He was human, after all. He couldn't possibly know the extent of transgressions he committed with this gesture.

Mell'marie had said human boys did this all the time at this age. Her human priestess friend had been flabbergasted when, upon arriving in Ashenvale, the first boy to look at her got slugged in the gut by a second boy for daring to glance at anything lower than her nose. The first one to glance down her bodice was exiled from the village for over a week. Votes don't get taken on those sorts of things – people just get mad and the transgressor flees out of sheer self preservation.

Men did not absently kiss women like the Scout did just now. Not if they didn't want to end up on the business end of her nails in his eyes or feline jaws around his shoulder blades, shredding his means of drawing a bow. Worse comes to worse she could part her tightly clamped lips and maybe he becomes infected with the Plague. Does he even think about that right now? Thankfully he had no idea what tongues could do to improve the quality of a kiss. Kayas did not either, but it had not stopped her prowl-spying on furbolgs, orcs and naga to find out how all this went along for other races.

When he didn't break away quickly enough – enough for those few seconds of anger and anxiety to turn into understanding and then just annoyance – she firmly but gently pushed him away. The affect was a lesson in personal space ownership vs flight. The latter encouraged bad social behavior. It was not a woman's place to retreat; it was a man's place to move out of her way. That's what her mother had told her once and so far it kept her on the right end of all her friendships with the opposite gender. Right now it made him upset even more. Of course it did; typical human and Kaldorei response: personal rejection on top of race rejection.

It wasn't his fault, she understood. He didn't know how he was suppose to act. Kaldorei males took quite a lot of convincing from a Kaldorei female before she would be allowed physical contact. He would spend the next several minutes blushing shades of purple not found in nature before losing all ability to speak. Then she would jump him, mark him and that was that. If he wasn't ready he would turn a natural shade of purple and the courtship would continue. It may take weeks before she sought permission to touch him again. It would take a decade or more for a woman to convince a man that he could look at more than her eyes. When a man did "pop his purple" they threw a rather elaborate gathering to celebrate. The humans called it a "wedding", but elves did not think their celebration had much in common with the human one, even if they end result was a public display of a newly bonded couple.

Kaldorei males were notoriously shy, but so were female Druids. Things were different for them. They would not be the ones going after their chosen male, chasing him down and cornering him in a grove, sharing him down, seeing if he bashfully offers a shoulder or knee to touch. Female druid in heat for the first time would be the ones running and being pursued by many male druids at once. There was no help for it; a side affect no one had anticipated when Cenarus opened His teaching to female students. Inexperienced females who were not ready went on the offensive most of the time, once they got tired of being chased, and sometimes it ended in death of one or more of the males. Experienced females had a great deal more self control and found the whole thing rather enjoyable, as did her mate once the running and fighting were done. New traditions had been created around those first few runs and society move on.

The Scout had no idea why she pushed him away after several seconds of that sucking kiss, or why the idea of being touched by any male sent steel rods of adrenaline stiffly through her bones. "You need to get permission to kiss a girl first, else she understands that you think she's a soulless object who's purpose is for you to use up and throw away."

"There you go judging me again." Accusations.

"That's a human standard, actually." Counter argument.

"Because you know so much about being human...?" Sarcasm.

"Because my best friend is human." Top that.

"My best friend is a two hundred pound cat who won't talk to me and and an imp who regularly tries to steal my soul so I'll have to stay with her forever." Topped.

"Isn't that the sweetest. I remember when I had this argument with my first lover." A voice purred like water over shards of broken dreams, "I'll have to thank the imp for giving me such specific directions in finding you: I'm not ready for grand-kittens just yet."

The Banshee Queen had found her.

I knew better than to deal with demons!

Grand-kittens?

~ End Notes ~

1). This is my best guess to explain multiple 22 slot bags on one character and them not bieng bogged down with 12 different changes of gear (for druids who like to do it all, especially), a portable refrigerator and several severed heads. Cause at one point my mage was carrying around four severed heads from quests in just one zone.

2). I don't know if this is true or not. I'm making an assumption based on not remembering seeing ANY goblin NPC on night elf ships during BC (or recently, as I recall). Goblins are found a-plenty on human and orc ships, however.

3). Not unlike guinea pigs.