She stood there.
Quiet and alone.
And yes, truly alone.
Because she'd made mistakes before. To a kind and farseeing minstrel.
To a mage who dared bridge the gap between Alliance and Horde only
to feel the bite of an enscorcled blade, in the sands of Tanaris.
Locked in a little box, that memory. Put away in a dark place.
With all the things she'll never be able to forgive herself for.
But that's not why she stood on the bit of orange red rock, the winds
of the harsh landscape tossing soft pig tails, the bleaching of the
sun giving them a crimson tint. Where she could look down at the gates
of Ogrimmar.
That's where orcs come from, right?
Truly alone. No sword, no warlocks hat.
No voidwalker at her shoulder.
Because there was to be no mistake.
This was too important.
"Heard there was a good heart here ... "
Whispered in a tongue that no orc might understand. Her own.
"Tales on the wind, dreams in the night ..."
A hand raises, to cover her eyes from the suns bright glare.
"I know we have never met. I know we probably won't ... can't
...
"But the same sun looks down upon us. We feel the same breeze
... "
She crouched, and and began a simple labor. To dig a small hole in
the ground, there in view of the cities gates. And from her pack came
a small gathering of peaceblooms, a pouch of Kharanos soil, a small
water skin. A flower girls task. Simple. And for a moment, it is as
if she grew up like a little girl should.
Sugar.
Spice.
Skirts and flowers.
She set the flowers in the divot, tenderly packing the soil about
them, and then made sure they were watered.
She took two more treasures from her small pack.
A spool of white thread.
A simple silvered needle.
She slipped the needle into
the thread, and then placed it at the base of the wildflower bouquet.
"I know we have never met. I know we probably won't ... can't
...
"And I may be just an orphan ... and you the child of a true mother
...
"But you know ...
"It is really nice ...
"It is really good ...
"Knowing you are walking about ...
"Beneath the same sun ...
"And feeling the same wind sift through your hair."
Hugging herself, the young woman turned, her small footprints left
behind, in the hills of Durotar. |
