I apologize for the lateness of this post. I have made a point to update this story, along with my Harry Potter story, "Butterflies and Hurricanes," every Monday. However, school and work got in the way of my working on this story over the weekend like I wanted to, and so I was left only with this afternoon to fine-tune the next leg of this particular journey.

Nonetheless, I hope that you find this installment enjoyable.


That night, Sythius Sil'nathin found himself waiting on the outskirts of his company's perimeter, grumbling absently in anticipation as he waited for Rayne to arrive. She had sent word to him earlier in the day, which was odd enough; the message had also informed him—or rather, it had informed Big Olrec, who had then informed Sythius, as the exiled druid couldn't read—that Jaquet Bristow would be searching for him, and that he must under no circumstances allow her to find him.

"She is my ally," Sythius had said.

"Not sayin' no way she ain't, lad," Olrec had replied. "Only tellin' ye what M'lady wrote down. Ask me, ye'd better do what she says. Go onna extra patrol 'r summit, an' meet her t'night when the moon sits high o'er yer head." Guessing the reason for the apprehension on Sythius's face, the old dwarf added, "I'll look after the boy, and bring 'im to ye. Now go, Sythius o' the Claw. Afore the Maiden finds ye."

So he went, and so he returned. And so Big Olrec delivered the blood elf to him. All without finding neither plate nor plait of the Iron Maiden. Sythius brooded while he waited for the druidess, wondering in his slow way what she could possibly want to discuss with him. She'd not said a word directly to him—not consciously—for months, since the shapeshifter's first days in the Plaguelands, and for her to suddenly call for him to meet her was mystifying. Big Olrec had no input in regard to this; though he stuck close to his big friend as they waited, clearly curious, he didn't seem to find this turn of events nearly as confusing as Sythius did; indeed, he seemed to have already guessed what this was about.

When Rayne appeared, she looked even more fatigued and paranoid than she usually did. She bowed her head to both of them, and immediately began to speak: "I have been tasked by Mistress Bristow to cease my attempts to heal the boy," gesturing to the bundle in Sythius's arms. "She is of a similar opinion as most officers here: there is no hope for him, and keeping up a pretense of keeping him healthy is taking up resources and time that we do not have."

Sythius's countenance immediately darkened, and Olrec gave him a light smack with the back of one large hand. "Easy, lad," he murmured. "Ye shouldn'a found this surprisin'. What'll ye have of us, M'lady?"

"I can no longer extend my services to you," Rayne said, "but I do not wish to see this child die any more than you do. My work keeps me here at the chapel. But you, Sythius Sil'nathin, with your exemplary service, have earned this chance. I extend it to you personally. Go abroad, and see if you can find someone better able than I."

"I know of no one with credentials like that, M'lady," Olrec said.

Rayne smiled, and held out a sealed scroll to her fellow night elf. "Seek the Cenarion Circle. If you cannot convince any of our comrades to help you, give them this. If I have any influence left with the men and women of Moonglade, I give it to you."

Sythius reached out and took the scroll as though he expected it to snap at him.

"There's nary an elf o' the Circle I can think to sully their hands with a blood elf," Olrec grumbled, "and the tauren ain't much better. Ye're riskin' a lot, puttin' yer name to this errand."

"I risk what I have, and what I am, to fight the plague," Rayne replied stolidly. "This is a part of that fight. Go. Both of you. You two are the only men in this army with the inclination to help this lost child, and I intend for you to take that journey to its end. Find his salvation, or else not cease the search until it leaves."

"I cannae say for certain I'm available ter make such a pledge, M'lady," Olrec said, though he looked pained to be saying it. "Though I don't begrudge the elf takin' leave to mark this task, I'm bound to me work, same's yerself."

"I have spoken to Captain Lingham," Rayne said. "He told me, 'If it will ease the great old idiot, and the great young idiot, to find a grave outside Lordearon for the cursed elfling, let them do it. Light knows the rookies need more practice, anyway. It'd do them good to walk without safety nets for a stretch.'"

Olrec Stoutfeather was chuckling halfway through Rayne's quotation, and by the end of it he was laughing outright. "Well, a'right, then! A quest it is!" He clapped Sythius on the small of his back. "Off we go, then, elf! Let's find us a healer. And if we cannae find one wantin' ter help us, we'll beat the acquiescence out of 'em."

Sythius grinned. Neither in his present company found it frightening anymore. Rayne was smiling, and she bowed again. "Thank you, Master Stoutfeather. I wish you all the luck I can provide." She turned her gaze to the druid. "Sythius," she said, and he straightened. There was a long moment of silence as she contemplated, then: "…Stay well."

Sythius nodded.

"I say we set off afore Vant gets a chance ter change 'is mind," Olrec said, "to say nothing o' Mistress Bristow, d'ya call'er? Let's put the ground to work."

Sythius nodded again.

Rayne approached the bundle, and refrained from touching the boy. Rather, she smiled and said, "Rest easy, little darling. You're in the best hands I know."

And they were gone.

Rayne stood there, watching the pair of soldiers leave, until their steadily-darkening forms melded with the shadows of the horizon. It was a mark of her discipline that she did not flinch, nor did she draw a weapon, as she turned around to see a red-haired, metal-covered soldier clanking toward her.

"Stupid of me to expect you to follow orders," Jaquet Bristow muttered caustically.

"That order?" Rayne replied. "Yes. It was. I am not in the business of dealing death. You know that better than anyone."

Jaquet smirked silently.

She said nothing else, but merely followed the druidess back to her tent.


One of the things that makes me feel like these characters are real people is the fact that even I don't know what they mean by what they say sometimes. I haven't the faintest notion what the history between Rayne and Jaquet is. Not because I haven't invented it yet, but because neither of them have told me.

I think that's a good sign.

I'll see you next week. Until then, stay well.