The choices we make...

A soft rustle of wind passed through the branches of the half dead trees, making the sickly looking leaves rustle.

The sound of large, boneless wings fluttering somewhere over his head. A mist bat.

The wind shifted again, this time bringing in the foul scent of death, from the blighted soil of the Scar. Eireannan tilted his head back to look at the massive walls of the fortress that dominated the surrounding area with its gloomy presence.

The same as in Stratholme, the air was dense, filled with a suffocating mist, that seemed to clutter his lungs, preventing him for breathing. With a shrug, Eireannan sat down, on the edge of the cliff and closed his eyes, trying to release the tension building in his muscles.

It is time...

-------

That night, only three days before, had left him emotionally drained.

There were just too many things to cope with in such a short time. Laandra's nightmarish story, the intensity of their love making and the reality of having to let her go.

He had woken her up in the morning, kissing her, her body tightly snuggled against his own and made again love to her, this time without rush, keeping himself in control all the time, until she finally gave up to the sensation and cried out in ecstasy.

Then, suddenly, when her breath returned to normal, he heard her speak and he had to admit towards himself that he had been expecting for those words all the time.

"Raene wrote", Laandra had said, her voice laced with a soft tremble. " She asked me to go to Ashenvale and help with some trouble they have been having recently..."

" Then you should go", he had whispered, wishing that she didn't sense the hesitation in his answer.

She rose on an elbow, leaning over him, to gently touch the line of his lips as he spoke, her face etched with concern.

"I don't want to leave you alone, Eriean."

But she needed to be alone. To fight for herself. To regain her confidence and her strength.

He didn't know if Laandra understood this as clearly as he did, yet it changed nothing.

He would have tried to cushion her. Protect her. Shield her away from the pain.

And harm her even worse in the process.

"I'll survive", he whispered. " And then you can check on Daria. I guess she could use a familiar face around."

" Eriean..."

His name trailing into the silence of the dusty room in which they spent their nights. Too much time, Eireannan thought, wasted in such forlorn places, the shadows outside mingling with the ones in your own soul, until you no longer felt how wrong everything was.

" What about you go and we'll meet two weeks from now, in Ratchet?"

Their was relief in her features.

" I suppose I could."

" Then it's settled", he had said and drew her closer in yet another embrace, knowing that his expression would have betrayed him.

----

It is time.

In front of him, at the end of the blighted trail, Deatholme loomed through the morning mists, like a fortress of doom.

He stood up, his tall frame projecting a long shadow across the grass, almost to the brink of the Scar. Remembering the old superstition he had during the war, a small smile crossed his weary features.

"Not today", he whispered for himself, before starting down the slope, and into the Dead Scar.