Birdsong and gardening tunes could only drown her thoughts out for so long. It was a rather unfortunate fact that Rowan learned shortly into her 'vacation'. Even with all the work to do —trimming the runaway shrubs, marking burrows to avoid and preserve, tending to the Everbranch's every need- the unease in her stomach sat like a boulder in shallow water.
Rowan sat up, wiping the sweat off her brow as she looked out to the horizon. She had started the day's work at dusk but already sunlight was beginning to trickle down the canopy. It illuminated her hands, covered in a thick layer of mud and mulch. The herbalist could only imagine how the rest of her body looked, though from the whiff she got from her hair, it couldn't have been a pretty sight.
A worthy sacrifice. The herbalist thought to herself, taking in her progress.
Most of the burrow den entrances and holes were easier to spot now, along with makeshift foot paths throughout thick vegetation and the occasional stone placed to mark boundaries. She had even started rolling larger cobbles to spots around the clearing, imaging shrines to a Wild God at each location, their monuments watching over the little safehaven they were building here. Perhaps they could have sacramental bowls before them, for offerings of honey plums from the tree once it's fully grown, where their chosen would occasionally grace them with an appearance. She could already imagine the awe of the younger druids at the sight while others swung from the high tree branches above with ample mirth.
The Falah'kalar smiled. There was still so much left to do before her dream could become reality, but who knows? Perhaps a tree of the Dream would make it come true faster…By Elune, Rowan hoped so.
In the here and now, the herbalist would have to tend to the matters at hand.
Like taking a nice, relaxing bath.
Aching muscles complained as she stood up. Rowan must've been sitting down for one too many hours if her creaking joints were anything to go by. She huffed with quiet amusement. She was starting to get older, like the rest of the Council of Stars, or perhaps her position on it meant her youth was cut short by some unspoken requirement for advanced aging. The herbalist wouldn't be surprised if Astraani or Lunene had some hand in a 'playful' curse like that. She would've helped with such a trick only a few years ago.
Fond memories of pranking old lovers and messing with her elders danced in her mind as she made the long trip to the Izer'rhok River. Slowly but surely, the sound of rushing water grew louder as the mud beneath her feet became thicker, lush with life along the banks. She could almost feel the cattails under her fingertips, waiting with bated breath for her mother to find her and-
Rowan shook her head. She wasn't along the Falfarren River or anywhere near her childhood home in Ashenvale. She wasn't a child anymore. She wasn't playing some game with her mother, no matter what the older woman thought.
Upon reaching the water's edge, she peered down. An instinctual response, but one she immediately regretted. Amidst gentle ripples, she could see her own reflection, although she could hardly reconcile the woman reflected back as herself.
Just like her hands, Rowan's body was covered with mud and bits of vegetation, no matter if thin linens already graced the skin there. Her cheeks were caked in mulch, the stuff running up around her ears and into the wavy green hair that had long since come undone from its pristine ponytail. In the midst of it all, silver eyes shined dimly back.
Rowan wanted to blame it on the ever increasing sunlight, but deep down, she knew it went deeper. Still, she'd rather not think about it.
She stripped off the ruined clothing, quickly rinsing it in the river water before hanging them from a nearby tree branch. They would have to be cleaned more thoroughly when she made it back to Maseras, along with the rest of her soiled attire. For now, the river beckoned the Falah'kalar back.
Who was she to deny nature?
Mud squished between bare toes. Rowan focused on the sensation, smiling with each step as the ground 'plop!'ed. She could almost imagine it as applause, a roaring crowd from nature herself as she finally took care of herself. A mighty feat, she had to admit, for the Shanari were known for anything but.
I would like to thank my wonderful Shanari. Without the Quel'kalar cutting my rope and watching me fall into the river, I never would have drawn the academy's attention. Without my comrades, I never would have learned the fine art of sparring with thorns. Without-
Another glimpse at her reflection as she waved to the 'crowd', in the midst of the gentle stream. Rowan had seen her body many times before, knowing each curve and pudge like the back of her hand. Still, so much had changed. She had been slimmer once -more like a willow tree than a mighty rowan's trunk- but now, she could make out muscles hardwon from training. Her hair was obviously longer, though its waves had become more defined as the higher humidity. It hadn't been this chaotic since she was a little girl-
"Lay back, In Anath'surfal." ('My Beloved Soul' in Darnassian)
The youth -standing upon the gangly legs of childhood- pouted at her mother. "I know how to swim, Min'da." ('Mother' in Darnassian)
"I know. I taught you, remember?"
"No, that was An'da." ('Father' in Darnassian)
"No, no, I was there. I distinctly remember."
"No, no, no. I did."
"Nonononononono-" So on repeated the little Rowan.
She remembered her mother smirking then. Rowan had been confused at the time, since she should have been realizing that Rowan was winning with how many 'no's she was using. But then, the woman's arms wrapped around Rowan's torso, lifting her up before suddenly dropping her in the middle of the laidback Falfarren.
The little Rowan made the mistake of gasping before hitting the water. Water rushed into her mouth, trying to make its way into her lungs. Moonlight found her in the chilly depths, guiding her back to the surface. She broke through the surface, coughing up water before turning to her Min'da. "What was that for?"
"You needed to wash up, Shelysse. You knew that coming here."
"Yes, but-"
"Ah ah! You know what happens to little girls who don't clean up?"
Young Rowan closed one eye tightly as she made her 'thinking face'. "You'll drop me in the river?"
"That's an option, I suppose." The elder Everbranch mused before smiling mischievously at her daughter. "But that's already happened. What happens if you still won't clean up?"
The little girl's eyes widened like the full moon. "You wouldn't-"
"Oh, I would. I'm sure your An'da would absolutelylove that wild hair for a sculpture. Or we could use them to braid ropes. Or swing from them like vines! Or-"
Amethessa was interrupted by the sound of a loud splash . Her young daughter had flopped onto her back like a humpback whale, accidentally dunking herself again until she corrected course. She smiled to herself as the little girl finally floated on her back, with her arms spread out as though she was completely innocent.
Not that her Min'da complained. No, instead the little Rowan could feel her mother's gentle fingers work their way through her hair. Shelysse knew her Min'da was talking -probably explaining something about hair care or Elune's bounties- but she wasn't really listening. She simply remembers how careful Min'da was as she washed each muddy bunch of waves and how the White Lady's reflection shone upon the river, rippling out against the dark water.
A millenia later, there was no moonlight to accompany her mother's touch, nor flowing water to carry her laughter. Instead, there was an icy blade to her neck and a snarl on her mother's lips.
"Where is she?"
The primalist kept making that demand. The Falah'kalar desperately wanted to believe it was about her, but if that were the case, she wouldn't be the focus of such ire. "I've told you already; I don't know-"
"Liar! I will not fail another daughter, you hear me! I will not be the last Everbranch. I will-"
Rowan looked up to the primalist's face. She hadn't recognized her yet, what with the woman suddenly appearing only a few minutes ago from some portal in the Sanctum of the Arcana, the fight already in full swing with her accomplices. But now, all other foes lay dead or dying on the ground around them, the herbalist could really look at her.
There were many differences, true. Her dark pink hair was cut just above the shoulder, the top parted into a proper bun atop her head. The Night Warrior's eyes were only partly concealed by a sheer blindfold, its fabric reminding her of the icy glaive she wielded. The shield to her sword, if Rowan was to guess.
Yet so much more remained how she remembered.
Mulberry skin speckled with scars, many brushed off at the time as simple 'accidents' or 'training exercises'. Rowan knew better though. At least one of those had been from a night spent in Naraethi's bed, the details of which she hoped to never know. Others had become the subject of many an argument between mother and daughter, the latter desperate to know why her Min'da would leave her alone for so long only to come back hurt and walled off even more.
The way that despite how short her hair was now, her hair was starting to curl like hers did when the humidity got so high. Those fingers, though rougher and more calloused, were still the long, nimble digits that used to tame her wild waves so many summers ago.
Though what hurt the most -in that moment and in her dreams to come- was how the mouth Rowan remembered once laughing with her and singing hymns when she'd been afraid of the upcoming storm now bared the fangs within.
"Min'da?"
"Imposter! Illusion!" Even within the narrow caverns, imprisoned and restrained, her Min'da still growled like a nightsaber on the hunt. "Whatever you are, you're not welcome here!"
It was almost funny. Rowan was the Falah'kalar, well within her right to 'inspect' the Shanari's prison, while the other woman had stormed into Athalien to break another prisoner out. Another primalist, taken during their campaign in the Ohn'ahran Plains.
'Her real daughter.' Some traitorous voice inside her mind whispered.
From then, the herbalist was embarrassed to admit that she didn't remember much.
She knew afterwards that she'd opened the door to enter the woman's holding cell. From the bruises on her arms, Rowan knew she and her Min'da had fought, not unlike the worst of their spats during her adolescence, She knew that she'd lost her temper, 'seeing red' as the humans liked to saw, only being drawn back when the sentinels on guard broke them up.
The herbalist had spent that night washing her mooncloth robes -the ones she was supposed to wear to the Assembly of the Stars instead of her foolish detour- rinsing and scrubbing the blood with cold water and heavy soaps. The Falah'kalar prayed that the Quel'kalar wouldn't find out what had happened, but knowing her, she'd already heard from Alaryn (who had heard it from her sentinels) or Lunene (who heard it from her spies) or from the gossiping townsfolk.
Still, hopeless as it may be, she prayed and prayed to Elune above as her reflection rippled in the murky water.
Rowan blinked.
The Izer'rhok still flowed, its waters rippling as they moved past the Falah'kalar. One moment, she would see that little girl staring back at her, the one who still looked forward to playing with her Min'da whenever she came home. The next, the nightmare-ish form of her mother would scowl at her from the water's depths. With every ripple, the figure would shift but the basic face would stay the same.
It was her.
Shelysse 'Rowan' Everbranch.
Falah'kalar of the Balance Quarter.
Herbalist of the Shanari.
Aleral of Maseras.
Daughter of Amethessa Everbranch and Myltherian Silverclaw. But not her only daughter, her Anath'surfal.
All alone, without even Elune to keep her company.
As the tears she'd waited a lifetime for came crashing down, threatening to drown her in sorrow and snot, she could at least take solace in that fact. No one would have to see her like this.