Emerald Mosaic

Winterspring – early afternoon


Ianthena seethed as she tramped down the slushy path leading away from the Goblin town of Everlook. She had another “fight” with Niainde again and needed a place to cool her head. Some herbal tea and a long chat with her mother was long overdue and just what she needed. Gripping the reins of her Stormsaber, Gillas, tightly, Ianthena growled in her throat.

“Just what was Nia -thinking- back there!? Saying all those things...even suggesting I could be with...with...that...” Ianthena trailed off, feeling her face burn despite the biting wind of Winterspring. She shook her head bitterly, confused by where her thoughts were turning. Ianthena urged her Saber forward, eager to get home. The Riverwind house was nestled cozily in the Ice Thistle Hills, away from the road, but close enough to town for supplies. As she made her approach, Ianthena looked around instinctively for her mother poking around her prized herb garden.

“Mother?” Ianthena smiled as she tied Gillas to a nearby tree. An elderly Kaldorei with long snowy hair looked up and matched Ianthena's warm smile.

“Well, I had wondered when my only daughter was going to visit her old and venerable mother.” Althae chided gently as she stood, brushing snow from her robes.

Ianthena pouted. “You know I try to visit as often as my duties allow me to. And I -always- bring you back something from my travels on Draenor...” she chided in return as she pulled a carefully wrapped package from a large knapsack strapped to Gillas's saddle. “Now where is that dear father of mine? I have something for him as well.”

“He's just around back, collecting water for our meal tonight. I daresay he'd be pleased to see you. Come along inside 'Thena, you look very tired.” Althae walked back towards the small wooden house and motioned for her daughter to follow. Back inside was the warm fire and soft furs Ianthena knew and loved.

“You can leave your things by the door and change out of that ridiculous armor. That thing on your back looks heavy.”

“I'm used to it.”

“Well, just leave it aside and come have some tea.”

“I won't be a minute, Mother.”

Ianthena shut the door behind her as she walked into the bedroom she'd used as a child. Her mother still kept it in order despite the fact her daughter hadn't really lived here in years. However the thought that her mother cared that much made her smile inwardly. Ianthena took a moment to reminisce before shedding her leathers in favor of a soft robe and slippers. She slipped back to rejoin her mother and found that her father had returned from the hills.

“It's good to see you again, Father.” Ianthena smiled at Leander as she joined them at the table.

“'Father' is it now? I remember back when you used to call me 'Papa'.” Leander sighed dramatically as he sipped his tea.

Ianthena laughed as she accepted a cup from Althae. “I haven't called you 'Papa' in almost two thousand years. You'd think you'd be used to it by now.”

“No parent “gets used” to their children growing up and leaving the nest. Which reminds me...when are you going to provide some grandchildren for your mother and I to spoil before we die?”

Ianthena set her cup down and scowled. “My duties take me to dangerous places. I spend too much time in the wildern--”

“That's the perfect place to conceive children!”

“Father!”
“Leander!”

“Sorry...” Leander fell silent as the glares of the two women fell upon him.

Ianthena sighed bitterly, staring at her wavy reflection in her cup of tea. “I really just don't know...”

Althae stared at her daughter thoughtfully before turning to her husband. “Leander, would you be a dear and fetch some more wood, we seem to be running out.”

There was, in fact, plenty of wood stacked in the corner of the small house, but Leander knew that tone and certainly knew better than to argue. So with a mumbling “Yes dear” and a shuffling of feet, he was out the door and back into the snow.

As the door to the house thudded closed, Althae turned back to her daughter and gave her a knowing smile. Ianthena met her mother's gaze grudgingly and slumped in her seat.

“Am I that obvious?”

“You're my daughter. I raised you and know you best.”

“I had another fight with Nia today.”

Althae sighed. “I do not understand why the two of you have been so snippy of late. You -never- argued growing up. The two of you took care of each other as if you were really sisters. What happened?”

Ianthena traced her finger along the rim of cup. “I don't know, Mother, I really don't. I was elated to see her again when I found her in the north. And I'm sure she was happy to see me again too...” Ianthena paused, gathering her thoughts. “She doesn't talk to me like she used to. She goes all stiff and quiet when I ask her what bothers her, because I know something is bothering her, but she won't tell me what it is.”

“Niainde must still be hurt over the loss of Anariel, yes?”

Ianthena gazed up at the ceiling. “I'm sure she is, perhaps, but is that really it? Is that really the reason she refuses to talk to me? She's had more than one “love” before she met Ana, so I know it can't be just that.”

“Perhaps she's found new love out there?” Althae smiled serenely at her daughter.

Ianthena shook her head, completely missing the pointed smile her mother had given her. “No...I know Nia. If she found a new skirt to chase, she wouldn't be drinking herself stupid every night and trying to pick fights with me.”

Her mother laughed and propped her chin on her hands. “Oh my poor daughter! What have you gotten yourself in to?”

Ianthena glared at her mother. “Don't 'poor daughter' me...and what do you mean by that anyway?”

Althae laughed again and shook her head. “You'll figure it out eventually. But now, it is time to prepare dinner. Go find your father for me.”

Ianthena sighed in frustration. “Fine...fine.” Getting the hint, she lifted herself from her chair and picked up a long cloak from the rack by the door. “Would you like me to pick up something while I'm out?”

“Some flowers would be nice.”

“Flowers. Right.”

Ianthena shut the door behind her and kicked furiously at the snow. “Why doesn't anyone tell me anything around here?”

“Bear nibbling your shoes, 'Thena?” Came a voice from her left.

Ianthena turned to see her father sitting on the bench under the window ledge, smoking from a long pipe. “Couldn't help but overhear.” Leander tapped the pipe, a few ashes falling from the slightly glowing end. “Sounds like your friend is dealing with some confusion. Confusion of the heart, I daresay.” Leander winked at his daughter.

Ianthena plopped down next to her father. “What in the world could she be confused about that she can't talk to me about it?”

Leander put his arm around his daughter's shoulders. “I think it's because of you she is confused. She's had to deal with the loss of one she loved dearly and then you come along and more or less save her from despair. I am thinking she has a new feeling to deal with and it confuses her.”

“That still doesn't explain -why- she won't talk to me about it!” Ianthena kicked at the snow again in agony.

Leander sighed, stored away his pipe and got to his feet. “Well, it's not my place to tell you. You should talk to Nia abou-”

“I've been trying!”
“That you should talk to Nia about her feelings. Keep trying to see through to her.” Leander continued patiently. “I'm going back inside as I hear your mother calling. I'm sure you're hungry, you should come too.”

Ianthena conceded defeat with the scent of stew and baking bread that had invaded the father-daughter moment. She nodded once and followed her father inside.

--Later that evening--

The night sky was crisp and clear, the moon reflecting brilliantly on the snow-covered ground around the Riverwind home. The residents inside had long been asleep, full on good food and warm beds. Ianthena's Saber, Gillas, was restless. He felt something disturbing in the wind howling against the house. The other animals who took to the skies and earth at night felt it too and were equally disturbed. In the distance, something grumbled. The grumbling grew progressively louder and caused Gillas to lunge fitfully at the door. Once outside, it seemed the ground would split itself in two. Birds screamed in the air and deer plunged through the snow, away from the mountains. Inside the house, Ianthena and her parents were roused from a deep sleep by a commotion at their front door and Gillas' accompanying roar.

Ianthena jumped out of bed and was in the main room in seconds. Gillas had knocked the door flat and was pawing desperately at the floor of the house, growling. She ran to the door and Gillas moved back to let her out. Ianthena gazed out into the pitch black for answers. Peering up into the hills, she saw it's cause. A massive wave of snow, broken trees and rocks was speeding down the incline towards the house. Ianthena paled. “Oh Elune....” she whispered as she ran flat-footed back inside to wake her parents, hoping she would make it in time.

“Mother! Father!” She screamed. The were already in the main room, equally frightened and pale.

“'Thena! What is happening!?”

“Avalanche!” Ianthena grabbed her parents hands and made her way back to the door. At the point the house was already beginning to splinter. “RUN!” Ianthena sped back to Gillas' as the the ground around them began to shift dangerously, unware that her parent's hands had slipped from her grip.

“Grab the reins and g--” Ianthena looked behind her and saw nothing but white. Then blackness....followed by nothing.

(( O.o ))

(( LE GASP))

---Part two: Niainde's POV---

The Blue Recluse was crowded. Raucous voices spilled out the tavern door in a heady cloud of pipe smoke and beery fumes. On the terrace, two reedy youths -- pupils from the nearby Mage Tower, no doubt -- supported a third between them as he retched miserably into the hedge. An older man, an Archmage by his robes, glared frostily at them as he strode by in the dim-lit path below. A man staggered out the door of the tavern, cried, "Lanthos!" and crumpled into a boneless heap by the mailbox, giggling helplessly. A window banged shut somewhere in the courtyard.

Neomi sighed and stepped over the fallen drunk and into the oblong of smoky lamplight slanting from the tavern door. She hugged her burden to her chest, braced her shoulders, and wedged her way into the laughing mob pressed into the hall. Someone patted her on the rear and she jabbed her elbow out hard behind her; there was a satisfying, shoulder-jarring thump and a corresponding yelp. She smiled grimly and pushed in further, her boots squelching stickily on the floor.

All the way inside, under the high-beamed ceiling of the pub proper, the crowd opened out and she could breathe again. She sighed and rolled her stiff shoulders, then made for the bar. A woman in a low-cut red dress two sizes too small stepped out from a table to the left and bumped hard and deliberately into Neomi. She giggled. "Sorry, darlin'. Don't s'pose you'd buy a girl another? Be worth your time." She winked blearily.

Neomi grimaced at the woman, who hadn't been a "girl" since the Second War, at least. She reeked of cheap grog and peacebloom, and her eyes were sunk in bruise-colored shadow. Neomi smiled thinly. "Not my type, sister."

The woman looked startled, made a show of drawing herself up and sweeping her skirt away from contact with the paladin's leg. "Well, I never. Took you for a fella."

Neomi nodded at her gravely. "I get that sometimes, yeah. Excuse me." She brushed past.

At the bar, she set her parcel down with a thump that snagged the barman's attention. She nodded at him and raised a finger, and he drew a tankard of stout and brought it over. She grinned and slid some coins across the bar. "Thanks." She pulled the drink toward herself protectively, then looked around again at the crowd. She turned back and quirked an eyebrow at the barman. "Full house tonight."

He rolled his eyes and mopped at the counter in front of her with a grimy rag. "Criers been spreadin' word of some big Shatter-Sun victory, I guess." He shrugged a shoulder at her.

Neomi laughed. "Three-fourths of these people or better haven't seen a blood elf in their lives. What do they care?"

The barman grinned and waggled his eyebrows. "What do I care? Any excuse for 'em to drink 's all right by me."

Neomi acknowledged this with a wry tilt of the head and raised her drink to him in salute. He sketched a mock salute back at her, then moved off down the bar to see to his other customers. The paladin sipped at her warm stout and watched the crowd for an idle moment, then stood again, tucking her parcel under her arm and taking up her drink. She picked her way through the milling mob to the staircase, which was blessedly free of the press of bodies. Cautious of her drink, holding it now in both hands with her bundle firmly under her elbow, she went up the stairs two at a time, leaving the noise and sweaty crush below.

The balcony was hazy with rising pipe-smoke, dim and stuffy. Still, better than the throng downstairs. She stood a moment to let her eyes adjust to the shadowed corners. Only one table was occupied up here, and Neomi began to turn to a table at the opposite end when she was struck by familiarity and turned back.

Under a battered, wide-brimmed black hat, the lean figure sat hunched over the table, whether weighted by some private unhappiness or simply because her height made the close-raftered ceiling and low chairs awkward wasn't clear. Her hands, in fingerless black gloves, were wrapped possessively around a tankard of something dark, which the silent Kaldorei seemed to be watching rather than nursing. Neomi dithered an uncertain moment, then cleared her throat and strode over to the table.

"Stormlight." She dropped her parcel on the tabletop with a thud. The elf looked up, startled. Her slanted silver eyes were dull and there was a dirty smudge on her cheek. Her mouth thinned briefly at the sight of the human, but then she nodded and gestured in silence at an empty chair. Neomi sat.

The two women regarded one another for a moment, but the Kaldorei's strange level stare unnerved Neomi and she disguised her discomfort by picking up her tankard and taking a long swallow. She glanced around the otherwise empty balcony. "Have the place to yourself, then?"

Niainde nodded gravely and said nothing.

"It's a mess down there." Neomi hooked her thumb over her shoulder at the stairs, and as if on cue below there was a clatter and then the clash of glass breaking. Upraised voices began to dicker. Neomi winced and took another drink. The elf stared at her, bland and silent. Neomi wondered suddenly where Inkie and Adjutant Steelwidget had dug up Niainde Stormlight. She had a way of being ... not very nice. Maybe she wasn't good with human manners, yet. Maybe she was just rude.

The paladin forged on. "It was a good night's work, that. Yesterday." She smiled at the elf.

Niainde leaned back at that, draped an arm over the back of her chair, and nodded once. "Yes. The gnomes are well?" Neomi could barely hear her, the hoarse voice pitched low against the background uproar.

She nodded in return. "The Captain's furious, but sound enough. He's gone off to Quel'danas, I think, to finish the negotiations with the Sun. Inkie's catching up on paperwork at the Lamb -- supposedly -- I think she's actually been drafting Top Secret Plans for an adamantite pinkie." She snorted.

At this, a slow smile quirked the corners of Niainde's mouth. She nodded again.

There was a brief silence. For want of anything else to say, Neomi tapped a finger on the cloth-wrapped parcel she'd dropped on the table. "She gave me this."

The elf eyed the bundle disinterestedly. Neomi flicked back a corner of the linen wrap to show the cracked and creased corner of a leatherbound volume. "It's the Chronicle."

"The Chronicle?" The elf tilted her head in a polite show of interest. Neomi shrugged.

"The Company's always had one, I guess. Since the start. Kind of a ... log, I guess. Or a group history." She flipped the book open, idly paged back towards the beginning, frowned at the stained pages and the unfamiliar, crabbed handwriting of some vanished author. "Inkie's kept it some lately, but she's not very ... hm. She's not much of a writer."

The night elf's slow smile flickered to life again. Encouraged, Neomi pulled a face. "She palmed it off on me. I guess I'm the Chronicler now." She sighed, slid her tankard of stout to one side, and leaned over the brittle pages. The Kaldorei leaned in also to squint at the narrow, faded lettering. As she did so, Neomi's eyes watered at the sudden acrid reek of liquor that settled over her. The elf had either bathed in bourbon earlier in the evening or else gotten a serious head start on her drinking. Neomi felt awkward, as though she had just seen the other woman's shirt unbuttoned or caught her picking her nose. She sat back again, glanced around the dim alcove. Niainde paid her no mind, frowning abstractedly at the hand-lettered page.

Neomi cleared her throat and groped for the thread of the conversation. "So. Will you be coming to the wedding, then?"

The Kaldorei glanced up, her expression chill. "You are getting married?"

Neomi laughed, startled. "I? No! Light, no. I meant -- I was talking about Xaiden and Slyff. Their wedding. It's soon, I think."

"Ah." The elf shrugged a laconic shoulder and dropped her gaze to the book again. "I do not think so."

"Oh? That's too bad. It'll be a nice party for the Company, I should think. After all of, you know ... lately."

Niainde pursed her lips and lifted a page in the old book, craning her neck to read the other side without turning it over. "I do not care for that kind of thing."

"What kind of thing?" Neomi's brow creased. "Parties? Or weddings in particular?"

The elf gave no response. Neomi sighed and sat back in her chair, crossing her legs at the ankles, and considered the other woman. She knew, it occurred to her, almost nothing about the tall Kaldorei. "Have you got family, Niainde?"

The elf's expression flickered briefly. "My mother is dead."

"No, I -- oh, I'm sorry. But no, I meant -- I don't know. A husband, children. Siblings. Anyone, really."

For the first time since Neomi had come up to the balcony, the Kaldorei reached over and picked up her neglected drink. She swirled it thoughtfully for a moment, then tipped her head back and took two long swallows. She set the mug back down. "No."

"Huh." Neomi scratched the end of her nose, folded her arms across her chest, and waited. No other information appeared forthcoming. "Got any friends?" She tried not to make the question sound sarcastic. The mild look the elf gave her in return meant either that she'd been successful or that the other woman was being -- perhaps willfully -- obtuse.

"Not many, no."

Neomi sighed and glanced around the stuffy balcony. Niainde sat back in her chair, wrapped her hands around her mug again, and watched her. The paladin, suddenly irritated, picked up her own tankard and drained it to the dregs. She leaned forward and closed the Chronicles with a snap, tossed the linen wrapping back over it, and pushed her chair back.

"I was looking for one, actually." The Kaldorei's voice was pitched almost below hearing. Neomi froze halfway to her feet and stared at her. Niainde raised her eyebrows ruefully and motioned her back into her chair. "I am sorry. I have no manners. I have been -- disappointed. It makes me rude." The night elf woman took her hat off and dropped it on the floor beside her, rubbed her eyes with both hands. She cracked a wry smile. "Please pardon me."

Neomi sat warily. "Hey, sure. Sure."

They sat in uneasy silence for a minute. Neomi shifted and glanced at the stairs. "You were looking for a friend? Here?"

Niainde shrugged and propped her elbows on the table. She looked tired. "Well. She knew I would be here. I hoped she would come." She narrowed her eyes briefly, scratched absently at a mark on the tabletop with her thumbnail. "We had a -- what do you say? Falling-off?"

Neomi smiled crookedly. "Falling-out."

"Right." Niainde sighed.

Neomi squinted at her. "What about?"

Niainde shrugged. "A lot of things, I think. I think probably neither of us knows them all." She made a face, ran a hand over her silver hair. "There is this man ...."

"Ohhhh." Neomi raised an eyebrow and nodded. She could see where this was headed. The Kaldorei glanced at her cautiously, then gave a peculiar tight smile.

"He is a druid. Celedar. I had not seen her -- my friend, Ianthena, you see -- in a while. Then, yesterday, when I was travelling. The two of them were in the forest. I think -- you know." The elf spread her hands and shrugged. "So I made an ass of myself, and we fought, and I went away."

Neomi smiled her sympathy. "And you hoped she would come here so the two of you could sort it out?"

Niainde nodded, not meeting the paladin's gaze.

"Why don't you go out and find her, instead of hanging about the pub?"

Niainde frowned, tracing an invisible pattern on the table's surface with her fingers. "I cannot find her in the city. She was with an order, you see, of druids -- but she has left them, I think. I saw one of their members in the Park today, but she says 'Thena has gone to a different order. I don't know who they are, or where to find them."

Neomi grinned. "Well, then if she's going to vanish on you, even better. Maybe you can try getting the bloke alone in the forest now."

The Kaldorei looked briefly startled. "I could -- ah?" A peculiar flush crept up her cheeks and Neomi stifled laughter. The elf, despite her plain discomfiture, regarded her gravely. "I don't think -- I do not think that would be a good thing."

"No, you're probably right." Neomi gave a good-natured shrug. "I've never been very good at this boys-and-girls business."

The night elf gave her a strange sly look. "Nor I."

Neomi leaned back and laced her fingers behind her head. "Shame to lose a friend over it, though. I hope you two can patch it up."

Niainde nodded solemnly and said nothing. Neomi stared at the ceiling.

"Maybe she's gone to that tree-city of yours?"

"Darnassus?" Niainde looked startled.

"Well, sure. Especially if she's swapped companies so recently. Might have paperwork, training, professional sorts of things to see to."

Niainde tilted her head. "I had not thought of that. Or the Moonglade, perhaps. To the Cenarions themselves. If it is another druidic order."

"Aye. There you go. She's probably ducked out of town to mind her business and cool off some." Neomi nodded.

The Kaldorei woman sat back, looking thoughtful. "You are right. I should not worry."

"Worrying's bad business. I always advise against it." Neomi flashed a smile. "Meanwhile, you can think about what you'll wear to the wedding." She winked.

Niainde rolled her eyes, but it was a good-natured gesture. She stood abruptly, sweeping her hat up from the floor as she did, and stretched catlike. She was remarkably steady on her feet, Neomi observed, for someone who stank of booze as she did. The human raised an eyebrow. "Come here often?"

"What?" The elf looked puzzled. Neomi shook her head.

"Never mind. Kind of a -- joke."

"Oh." Niainde tugged her hat back down to shadow her face, then tipped her head up again and peered at Neomi from beneath its brim. "What are you going to write?"

"Write?" Neomi blinked.

"In the book." Niainde pointed at the bundled Chronicle. "What will you say?"

Neomi cleared her throat and squinted at the book. "Haven't decided. Dunno, I guess. Not much of a historian."

Niainde nodded gravely. "Good luck." She hesitated half a second, seemed on the verge of saying something else, then instead turned silently on her heel and vanished down the stairs. Neomi barely had time to mutter a quick cleansing blessing after her, and hoped it would suffice do her head some good in the morning. She sighed and looked glumly at the parcel by her elbow.

"Just you and me now, book. I guess we'd better get to know each other, hey?"

The book didn't say anything at all.

---Part three: Ianthena's POV---

Somewhere in Winterspring


The sun was setting on Winterspring, and on any other day would have left streaks of brilliant color across the snow-capped hills. Instead, dark grey clouds hid the evening sky as fresh snow blanketed everything in sight. Most living things who called this region home were now tucked away in warm houses or holes, waiting for the storm to pass. “Only idiots go out in this weather.” The residents and shopkeepers warned passing adventurers. “Best to stay in tonight, these snowstorms are brutal.” Some out there, though, never got this message.


A dark figure, weary and broken, stumbled through the thick snow as flurries swirled around her bare skin. The elf, as noted by her long ears, had long blue-black hair currently matted to her head by congealed blood. A torn robe clung to her shivering figure, offering no protection against the chilling cold. She seemed oblivious to her surroundings as blood and fatigue clouded her vision. All around her, everything looked the same. The same trees, the same hills. A pale point of light guided her way. She hoped, desperately hoped, that she was near town. Town meant warmth and food. Confusion reigned as she plodded through the snow. The light guiding her remained unchanging. If she was near a settlement, surely the light would get brighter? Bigger? She tried to think, tried to focus, on someone or something. Nothing came. Her mind's eye saw nothing but blurred shapes. The screaming in her head left her gasping. Her famished body could go no further.


With a strangled cry, she collapsed face first into the snow, the fractures in her arms and legs unable to support her weight. She had hit a decline, her limp body tumbling down a steep hillside. Death awaits. She braced for an end that never came. She slid gently into a pocket of earth filled with snow. She lay there, stunned, as swirling snow settled on her hair and frozen skin. Her lungs and throat ached as she labored to breathe, her chapped lips dripping blood on the snow. She let her head fall to the side. Up the hill a short ways was a patch of black against white and appeared to be a space of exposed rock. The elf flipped her body on to her stomach and, grabbing hold of a nearby sapling bent almost double by the wind, dragged herself up the incline. She could have cried if her body allowed it. Thanking Elune, Cenarius and every diety she could name in one breath, crawled gratefully forward. It wasn't a cave, but the exposed jet of rock protected against the falling snow and the wind seemed less harsh. She curled her body into a ball and peered out through heavy-lidded eyes. The guiding light she had followed was gone alongside her willpower. She closed her eyes against the darkness and waited for death.

---Part four: Niainde's POV---

The snow had fallen all night, silently choking the roads, changing the shape of the terrain. It had ceased midmorning, but the landscape continued to move, rising and falling in new drifts with the wind. Everlook's walls had held off the snow's soft siege, but it lay heaped and banked around the town, so that the goblin outpost was now barely more than a white hill with a hollow at its center.

Just south of the town, in the lee of the hills, a small cemetery nestled in a windless hollow. It was a pauper's graveyard; the goblins shipped their dead off to be buried with fanfare in the hot sands of Tanaris or Stranglethorn, and most Kaldorei preferred to stay near their homes, or in the darkness of the wild places. Only the nameless slept in this hard ground.

Two more had joined their silent number, just before the snowstorm. The goblin mountaineers, gone to salvage what they could in the aftermath of the Ice Thistle avalanche, had pulled two Kaldorei corpses from the debris. They had buried them without ceremony in the cold-packed ground.

The two brittle hillocks had their fresh edges softened overnight by wind and mounded snow. Niainde stood over the indistinct shapes. The wind was like a knife blade, slipped through her layered furs and grey frostsaber leathers, its touch shocking to the skin.

She stood over the two graves, her eyes stung by the whipping air, and wondered what she was feeling, exactly. Did she feel anything? She felt the cold. She felt tired.

When Ianthena had come, months ago now, and found her at the old place near Saber Rock, almost her first question had been, "Why haven't you visited my mother?" And it was true, Nia should have visited. Althae had looked after both of them as children, was more of a mother to Niainde than Naeve had it in her to be. And all these last years, since Hyjal, Althae was still there, in the little house in the hills. And Niainde had stayed away. 'Thena's indignant question had made Nia laugh, embarrassed, at the time. But still she hadn't gone to visit, and now she could not.

Well, this was a visit, of sorts.

She crouched down and studied the barren mound. Too bloody late, of course. Too bloody late for everything. Given the news after the fact and a thousand miles away, by a dwarf, of all things, in the bloody human city, of all places. And here at home, Althae and Leander already in the ground. Buried by goblins.

She stood and scuffed her sleeve across her eyes. What would Ianthena think? Surely she hadn't heard yet; there could be no other reason she was not here long since, not raging at the goblins who had pillaged her parents' belongings and dropped them like stones into the dirt. 'Thena could have a druid's temper sometimes, all teeth and claws. Anariel had been the same.

The old unsteadiness washed over her. She sat in the snow and slipped the silver flask from her vest, drank until she felt level. This would be a bad time to start dreaming.

How to go about finding her? The human girl had suggested Darnassus, but that was ridiculous, of course. Ianthena, with her druid's blood, wouldn't hang round that tainted tree. Staghelm's folly. But the Moonglade, that was a possibility. And if she was not there, surely another druid there would know where she had gone.

She stared dully at the graves. That bloody Celedar might know.

And then Nia would have to break the news, of course. It was only anyway fitting.

She tucked the flask away again and climbed to her feet, squinting up at the faded midday sky. Maethrya would lend her the use of a hippogryph, no doubt, if she wanted to travel to Moonglade with speed. She wasn't sure she did.

She stamped her feet in the snow, waking the blood in them again, and whistled sharply. A white mound of snow lifted lightly from the laden branches of a nearby tree and took wing as Snow, her great white owl. He circled her head low and silently, folded his wings and dropped heavily onto her shoulder. Together, they went back up the hill to town.

On the far side of the settlement, goblin crews had dug out the gates, and the ordinary bustle of goblin commerce had resumed. She tipped the stablemaster a pair of silver coins and retrieved her saber, Kal, who yawned broadly when he saw her and was reluctant to leave the warm woolly-smelling quarters of the stable. As they picked their way down the narrow path that had been cleared by the workers, a mount merchant who was coming in the other direction, leading a caravan of his charges toward the stable, stopped and stood aside for her to pass. She nodded curtly at the fat goblin.

As they went by, Kal turned his head and rumbled low in his chest at one of the merchant's sabers. Nia spared it a glance. The dark-spotted beast looked hardly fit to ride, battered as it was: one eye swollen shut, and favoring its left forepaw. But in response to Kal's inquiring sound, the cat swung its head up dully and looked at them both. It made a surprisingly kittenlike mewling sound and lunged unexpectedly at them. Nia threw a hand up, her other going to the axe at her hip, before she realized the ragged cat was not attacking.

It butted its head almost frantically against Kal's shoulder, his head, butted her hip hard and stood, trying to place its paws on her shoulders. Her knees buckled and she staggered under the weight of the beast's desperation. It dropped back to the ground, still making the strange mewing noise. The fat goblin merchant rounded on it, waving a short club and shouting. The cat hunched defensively, but before the merchant reached it, he was lifted bodily and slammed hard against the wall. Niainde's hand tightened viselike on his throat. The goblin gagged and kicked his feet. The tall Kaldorei lifted him again one-handed, shook him like a rag and slammed him back into the wall. He whimpered and clutched at her iron fingers. The other goblins froze in their ceaseless chatter. A small and watchful crowd drew in slowly.
She leaned in, snarling at him. Her eyes were wild and unfocused, her breath heady with alcohol, and the goblin recognized her too late as the madwoman who lived in the wilds near Saber Rock. He whimpered again.

"Where is she?"
The goblin shook his head helplessly and gagged again. The elf's hand tightened brutally and he wheezed, shivering, his eyes rolling. "You're strangling him," someone in the crowd observed helpfully.

Niainde snarled again and dropped the goblin, rounded on the crowd, which scattered back before her. She had her axe in hand, now. Two of the bruisers from within the town walls had come out, were sidling warily towards her, but she turned on them too with a lunge and they scrambled back, floundering in the snow. Her white saber crouched growling beside her, lashing its tail, and nobody moved.
The elf straightened, her eyes blazing. "Where is she?" she cried.

The goblins eyed one another uneasily. The elf took two strides over to the spotted saber and flung her arms around its neck, murmuring wildly to it in the elvish tongue. The cat rumbled. "Gillas," she said. "Gillas."

She stood up again slowly and turned back to the merchant, who had crumpled at the foot of the wall and was staring at the sky, rasping. She went to him, knelt over him almost sweetly. "Where did you find this cat?"
He blinked rapidly, trying to collect his thoughts. The words scraped out painfully. "South ... loose by the h- hill. Hills. To the south."

"Near the site of the avalanche?"
It was too difficult to nod. The goblin murmured affirmatively.

The pale Kaldorei stood swiftly and kicked him once, very hard, in the side. There was a crunch, and he opened his mouth in a soundless cry. She spat on him and turned away. The crowd drew back somberly, even the bruisers standing now with their weapons lowered, waiting. Niainde ignored them all. She strode out into the snow, Kal and Gillas padding behind her, the white owl wheeling overhead.

When they reached the road she stopped, glanced north toward the fork that would take a traveler out of the endless winter, to the Moonglade. She slipped her axe back into her belt and took up Kal's reins, swung up on the white saber's broad back. She turned the great cat in the other direction, south, towards the wilderness. They ran.

---Part five: Niainde's POV---

Niainde sat on the bed with her knees drawn up to her chest and watched Ianthena sleep. It was warm in Darnassus, the air in the open door of the apartment languid with summer, but Nia had taken care to pile what few furs and moth-eaten blankets she'd been able to find in the old chest on the bed just the same. The dwarf healer and the priestess had been very firm that Thena should be kept warm.

The little upper-story apartment was cobwebbed with disuse and seemed to Nia to have a reproachful air. She had simply slipped out of Darnassus three months ago, when the gnome came to town and hired her, had left not even a note to the landlord. She'd paid up for the year in advance, so she supposed it was none of his business. But still. Not properly the way to go about the thing. She wondered whether she had bothered to close up the little house near Saber Rock, either. She was fairly certain she had not. Just walked out into the snow after Thena last fall, and not looked back. The place was probably a ruin. She closed her eyes and pictured it: the door hanging open, the floor drifted with snow, her shabby belongings toppled and scattered by scavengers. It was an oddly satisfying image.

The dark-haired druidess stirred fitfully and murmured in her sleep. Niainde reached over and laid a cool hand across her brow, and Ianthena subsided again. Nia sat back, frowning.

If the dwarf traveler's report had been correct -- and there was no reason to doubt him, now -- then the avalanche had happened ... Niainde calculated mentally. Four days ago, at the least. Had Thena been lost in the snow for four days? And so badly hurt, and wearing only an ordinary robe. It was a blessing, a miracle, that she had survived.

Leading Kal through Darnassus from the Temple this evening with Thena slumped heavily on his back, bruised and frostbitten, her robe tattered, Nia had seen the looks of the Sentinels they'd passed on the Warrior's Terrace. She knew two of them. Idiot girls. She had wanted to go up to them, strike them, shake them. This is not my fault, she raged silently. I am not responsible for this. But some unkind part of her brain had added, Not this time, and another had chimed, Are you sure? And so she had bitten her lip and stalked by in silence with the saber and his ragged burden.

Darnassus was no bloody good. If Thena was able, if she was strong enough in the morning, Niainde would see about moving her to Stormwind. The Company was in Stormwind, anyway.

The Company had come through. Think what you would about mercenaries -- as opposed to Sentinels with their honor -- they had come through. Mercenaries came when they were needed, they did a job without fuss, they asked no questions, and then they went away. All excellent qualities. And when Nia had needed them, neither a client nor an officer, only one of their ordinary number in a desperate spot, they had come. Not even Kaldorei. The dwarf, the humans, the gnome -- they had saved Ianthena.

Niainde rested her chin on her knees and watched Thena breathe. It was a good decision, throwing in with this lot. She owed them Thena's life.

---Part six: Ianthena's POV---

Darnassus


Ianthena's memories remained scattered of the days following the avalanche and of her rescue. By Elune's blessed grace, Niainde had come for her as she lay freezing in the snow, followed closely by many of her Company's most gifted medics. Their shapes blurred against one another as they escorted her to Everlook for healing and food. She wanted to remember their faces, to thank them for saving her. No good, her head still pounded. Ianthena was, for the most part, mended nicely. The fractures in her arms and legs had been sealed by the healer's many spells, as was the gash on her head. Ianthena reached up and ran her fingers through her hair. Someone's washed it, she noted. She flexed her fingers and found she had no feeling in the tips. The frostbite must have killed the nerves in her fingers. Ianthena rubbed her eyes and blinked them open. Her vision was returning, the world seemed less glazed anyway.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Ianthena made a conscious effort to sit up. Now that her body temperature was slowly shifting back to normal, it was rather warm under all the blankets. She tested her body, flexing every limb and muscle. Her body was no longer frigid and in pain, the healers really had done a fantastic job. She wondered if the feeling would ever return to her fingers. Ianthena leaned back against the pillows and peered around the room for the first time. It was dusty and a little forlorn, as though it hadn't been lived in for a while. There were signs of a hasty clean up and armor piled in the corner. With a pang she realized she'd lost nearly everything she owned when the avalanche destroyed the house. What wasn't destroyed or pawned off she kept safe in her personal vault. With another sharp pang she thought of her parents. She vaguely remembered asking Niainde of their whereabouts; she didn't answer, but Ianthena feared the worst. She shut her eyes against the pain and the guilt and shook silently. She took another deep breath and forced herself to think of something else. Glancing around the room once more she realized she was desperately hungry. The bowl of stew seems ages ago and Ianthena could barely remember eating it in the first place.

The other side of the room housed a small table, chairs and a faded dresser. On the wall by the dresser hung a grimy mirror. Ianthena could just make out her pale reflection. She was thin and her eyes looked bruised. It was then she realized someone had changed her clothes. The ratty ones she'd been found in had been thrown out. Averting her eyes from the mirror, she peered at the nightstand beside the bed. On it lay a small bowl of fruit and soft cheese, underneath this lay a folded scrap of parchment. Curious, she extracted the note from it's place and flicked it open, a wistful smile playing across her face.


Thena,

I've gone to run a few errands. I've left some food for you, eat only what you can and DON'T GET OUT OF BED! I'll be back as soon as I can.

~Nia


Ianthena sank against the pillows, staring at the note in her hand, but not really reading it. That's right, she thought. Nia came for me. She folded her legs up to her chest and buried her face in her knees, trembling. She bit her tongue against a dry sob, clutching the parchment in her fist. When she regained her composure, she sat back once again and smoothed the note where she had wrinkled it. She read it through once more before slipping it underneath her pillow. Ianthena lay back down again and fell once more into a fitful sleep.

She had completely forgotten about the fruit bowl.