Absence

There is indeed no Light.

No powers that be, to guide our steps into the world and save us from the evil that lurks at every corner.

No one to listen to whispered prayers in the evening. In the end we are all alone. We live alone and die alone and temptation follows us every day.

Yet I believe in the small light that lives inside of us that puts us through the day and makes us wake up in the morning. In that small light that gives us strength in dire times and the courage to stand up for what we love.

For as long we care for each other, as long as we don't tolerate injustice and raise to help those in need...

as long as we can tell right from wrong...

in front of ourselves, day by day

as long as there is hope,

no evil can hold dominion upon our souls.



Ashenvale...

It had been easy to find the place where she had spent months in a row, after leaving Bloodmyst isle, in the second year of her training.

Decided she should test her powers into solitude, she had crossed the Veiled Sea on one of the boats that now did regular trips between Vaalar's Berth and Auberdine. Oh, she had found great friends among the Kaldorei and a place of her own, which she had fondly thought of as a second home for many years.

The cottage was still there. A bit neglected, rain had started to fall through the roof, but nothing that could not be mended. She had set herself to work, enjoying every moment of it, the calmness that spread into her being as she put things into proper order.

Around herself and inside her own head.

Breathing the fresh air of the forest, listening to the sound of the water stream that gushed through the stones not far away from the house.Making peace with herself.

Laandra sighed and bent back over the basket of plants she was carefully sorting.

It was a good place to hide.

If only...

Her throat clenched under the unwelcome rush of feelings. Anger, mostly, each time when she remembered what the Scarlet Crusade had put Eireannan through. Enough anger to want to burn something down, just to quench her own personal pain.

At first it was the fever that wouldn't let go. She had tried to stave it off making use of all her limited healing knowledge, but to no avail. In the end, afraid for his life, she had risked a trip to the nearby Splintertree post. It was an Orcish settlement...and she had grown up with stories about the atrocities committed by the demonic blood corrupted Orcs back on Draenor.

It hadn't been easy. She didn't quite feel into the 'all forgiving' mood, but if she had fallen desperately in love with a blood elf, asking for help from an Orc shaman was not that bad anymore.

They had received her with caution, even if rumors of her presence in the area had already reached the settlement. To her own astonishment, they treated her with understanding, as if somehow ashamed of their own common past and ready to provide a sign of peace.

The shaman was an elderly orc, whose wisdom had simply impressed her. He had followed her home and as his magic worked his way through Eireannan's broken body, the fever dropped. The orc came then to visit them regularly, for a couple of days, until Eireannan had recovered nearly completely...well, except for the total absence of any sign of consciousness.

She had to force him eat or drink and he would just obey her, as a lifeless thing. Pain would rush through her heart like a knife, every time he would give her that blank look.

Only once had he shown a reaction, when, after along, tiring day, she had broken up and cried for what had seemed like hours on the edge of his bed. Placing a hand on her shoulders, his fingers slightly trembling, or so it had seemed to her...yet only for a moment, then it was gone, as Eireannan had withdrawn his hand and resumed the blank, meaningless staring at the ceiling.

And every evening she would sit there with him and tell him what she'd been doing all day long. Trying to let him know how much he cared. Bring him back from the abyss.

But as days passed and he showed no sign of will, despair slowly started to crawl its way through Laandra's heart, a slithering, ever hungry worm...


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There is danger.

A shadow creeping over, closer and closer.

He can feel it as his consciousness fights to resurface from the depths in which he has locked himself.

There is danger.