“Your heartbreak is undeniable, your grief, unfathomable. Whether you are feeling betrayed or mourning for someone lost, you suffer all the same. Though your heart feels pierced three times over, it beats on.” - Three of Swords, Upright, World of Warcraft Tarot Deck.
...
It was something Bev thought would be a fun little activity, getting a tarot reading. But her smile quickly faded as the dracthyr before her explained the card in further detail. Her harvest… In turmoil?
Superstition was not something that was included in Bev’s daily agenda— however, something in the reader’s eyes urged her to heed the warning. Even if everything was okay, the harvest this year would be one of her most important ones— crops that would be reaped and woven into baked goods for her to share with others. If they were truly destined to go bad…
Without much of a second thought, the druid shapeshifted into her somnowl form and took off into the desert skies. She was thankful that Mulgore was not too far from where the Shadow Sands bazaar took place, for she wasn’t sure if she could wait for a boat or zeppelin to return to her home.
The night had begun to settle in as she returned to her farm. In a swift motion, she landed in her orchard and shifted back, immediately making way to one of the trees. She looked up at them in the dim light. They didn’t seem to have problems— rather the opposite. They seemed well-cared for, tended to… At least she thought so. Perhaps her split attention this year between her new work with the Cast Company and her free time dedicated to coming home and taking care of things was too much. She had still tried, done her best, despite this.
She stepped closer cautiously, and put her gloved hand onto the trunk, leaning her head in to listen to the tree. Something, she had to admit to herself, that she had neglected to do.
In return, it pulsed, then screamed into her senses, veins firing up with a familiar terror. She felt the land weep, soil thick and swampy beneath her— and yet, the trees were on fire, not with flame, but torment.
The sensation overwhelmed her, causing the big tauren to stumble back and fall onto her ass. She looked back up. Calm, still, even in the dark. No physical signs, nothing. It felt almost nightmarish, but the bark remained its same warm brown, and the boughs were still green and full of life. But it screamed.
If she was lucky, it’d just be this one outlier- this one tree. However, Bev knew in her stomach that the roots spoke to each other— and it was more often than not they’d react as a whole. She took her gloves off this time, cracked her wrinkled knuckles, and walked up to another. Bare hands onto the trunk, she listened.
And it screamed.
Another tree, screaming.
And again.
It was like a choir of agony, pain— yet every time she stepped back from one of the trees, it was invisible, quiet. This was like nothing she’d ever experienced before. She’d done everything right- the exact same way she had done seasons before, years at this point. Could it have really been her change of routine that affected them so horribly? Surely, it wasn’t.
So, to work she got. Immediately, she began to speak to the orchard, weaving life magic into the ground. Affirmation, comfort, love. For about an hour, she gave herself to the land, almost in prayer. She’d have Mu’sha’s healing aura on her side, after all.
After her gentle communion, Bev wiped the sweat from her snout, getting to her hooves. Nervously, she’d reach out again to one of the trees, fingertips pressing into the jagged bark, eyes closing. She’d hope as the life inside began to pulse again…
But, her heart twisted as it screamed to her once more. Something was horribly wrong. She backed off it, hands clutching at her chest. What else could she do? She couldn’t afford to lose her harvest this year, nor could she afford to lose her entire orchard- it’d take years to grow back again. She spent so much time tending to these trees… How could it get this bad?
Her breath shook as she stood uneasily. There was… One option. Something she’d hope to not use yet— but, at this point, so late into the night, she was growing desperate. She headed towards her farmhouse, nearly barging the door off its hinges in a bullish manner as she began to scour her home for her quarry.
Drawers were pulled open and uprooted, objects strewn about her small dwelling. It wasn’t here, nor there— but soon enough, she remembered where she put it. It was high up on the rafters, where no person nor animal could easily reach.
It was a small, hand-made wooden chest with a basic metal clasp. Inside, however, there was a waterskin, sealed tight. She held it in her hands briefly. This… Was water from the pools beneath Hyjal. This skin— filled years and years ago— held water that would be deemed sacred by the Cenarion Circle. This skin, one filled after a perilous time in her life… Would it be right to use it? Here? Now?
Bev held it close to her for a moment, then steeled herself for what she was about to do.
...
Back in the orchard, the trees swayed in hushed tones against a cool breeze. As if shushing each other, the air became still as the Tauren stood in the middle.
Knelt down, the aged cork was carefully twisted off- as if anything harsher would defile the contents inside. The liquid held in front of her, Bev took a deep, grounding breath. It was difficult to cease the trembling in her hands, but once- and only once she had control of her limbs, she’d begin the ritual.
The water inside began to pour out onto the dirt below, almost glowing from the light of the moons above. It made quick work of nourishing the ground around her as she emptied the skin- grasses and flowers bloomed from the water’s touch, even in the night’s light.
With the ground around her soaked in the waters of Nordrassil, she’d thrust her bare hands into the dampened soil, reaching out to the roots of the land around her. Life poured through her veins as she’d breath to the slow rhythm of the restorative waters draining into the ground, being taken in by the roots of the trees around her, and pumped through the trunks like arteries. The orchard was alive, as she was- which made her brows sink with uncertainty. The rhythm was consistent throughout her- the healthy heartbeat unmistakenable.
Then, a jolt rushed through her, seizing up her muscles and bringing fire in its stead. It burned horribly, pain escaping through gritted teeth, but Bev leaned into it, forcing her hands deeper into the ground- the soil twisting into mud, tar almost.
She’d thought she would pass out, but a noise cut through the agonizing pain. The screaming from earlier. Light came to her blurred vision, panting as she raised her head to look- focus. She needed to focus. Now.
The sights and sounds of the land around her became clear all at once, almost overwhelming. Fire blazed near her, the heat in her veins rising as if it’d boil her from the inside-out. Shadows of other Tauren ran past her, and all she could do was follow with her head. A tent was up in flames, smoke billowing and covering the sky.
Hooves thundered as Centaur moved in through what was once a village. They took no time to throw their spears, to pierce anyone who stood against them. Blood trickled through the dirt like a stream, almost aglow from the fire that scorched in every direction.
Bev’s breath grew heavy- not from the smoke, but rather the excruciating signals of pain the land continued to pour into her body. Her head hung a moment, as if to catch her breath- but to no avail. This gruesome sight was far too familiar to her, the panic and fear in the cries around her a reminder of the conflict they had faced against the Centaur many, many moons ago. Her horns had barely begun the sprout when they overcame her tribe, even out in the Barrens… But here? This had to be an even older memory that plagued her orchard’s roots.
Looking back up, amidst all of the chaos, a Tauren child stood before her, just out of reach. Innocence was prevalent in its eyes, a primitive children’s toy in its hands. Bev tried to shout above the roar of the flames, but her throat produced no sound. The child seemed unbothered, or rather naive to the scene all around them. Little hooves stepped a bit closer as the toy was raised up to Bev, wood and string clicking in the wind as it was offered. Shared.
But the smoke began to move in, clouding the distance between Bev and the child. The strain of her throat became apparent as she tried to call out once more, but everything began to feel static, paralyzing.
Something bubbled between her hands, and suddenly the agonizing sounds faded away. She’d open her eyes just in time to see the toy the child had surface from the soil, the ground fizzling as if it had just expunged a centuries-old curse. And just like that, the trees around her let go of the breath it held, a sigh of relief.
Bev removed her hands from the muddy ritual at last, taking up the toy in her gentle grasp. It was a wood-carved doll of sorts, the paint still fresh despite its age. It must have been this- the memory and life this object held- that caused her orchard to writhe in agony.
But, instead of chucking the doll as far across the plains as she could, Bev held it close instead. One final comfort, she hoped, would reach the ancestors that once dwelled here, hundreds of years ago.
...
The smell of apple pie wafted about the farm days later, the pain of that night quickly becoming a memory in Bev’s busy life. She had harvested a few apples and cut them open to find the flesh inside was crisp and even more defined than previous years. Perhaps the restorative waters of Nordrassil had saved her orchard then, perhaps the ancestors had blessed her that night. Regardless, she was thankful. The chest that had once held her waterskin sat in the center of a cluttered shelf now, the toy she had retrieved that night bundled within, safe.
Her chair creaked as she sat with a slice of pie, rocking back subtly before stabilizing. It had been yet another long day of corralling her animals, domestic and wild alike. Despite all of her best efforts, the chickens had escaped their coop once again and pecked about just outside her window and off the porch. She’d have to take care of that by sundown, but not right now.
She pierced the crust with her fork and shoveled pieces of the pie into her mouth. Her recipe, same as always- and yet, it tasted even better this time around. With a gentle sigh, she leaned back into her chair and stared out towards her orchard.
Everything seemed fine, great even. It would be another week before she would pick the trees clean of their fruit and begin to bake ceaselessly for the rest of the year. She might have never known something was wrong until it was too late- and she made a mental note to thank the dracthyr the next time they’d cross paths.
However, her chewing halted as something caught around her tongue as she chewed, trying to wedge itself in her gums. With much refined grace, she simply dug it out with her finger, saliva dripping from her lip. Holding it up in front of her squinted eyes, she lowered her glasses to get a better look.
Hair— of course. It’s what she gets for not tying her braids behind her mane. But upon closer inspection- this couldn’t be her hair. It wasn’t black… But it was surely her length and texture.
She sat there puzzled for a few moments before reaching over to her sidetable and clattering the objects on it, eyes locked on this hair. Once her hand found what she sought, she pulled a hand mirror in front of her face. Bev lowered her head and inspected herself from multiple angles, glasses pushing against her snout as she checked herself. And sure enough, she’d find out.
Grey hairs!
There was no fanfare in her mind, however- surely this would be a milestone for her, a representation of her growing wisdom and opportunity to tell the youth to “Respect your elders!” or “Get off my land!”
But, no. She simply put the mirror down and groaned, sinking into her chair further. More creaking pain was surely to come her way now. Hell, her knees already popped most days when standing up.
No- it was a reminder of time, and how much she had left. Of course, she’d enjoy it to her fullest, and still get rowdy as she had in her younger years, but that wasn’t the problem for her. She’d look back out the window again, hand curled under her chin in thought. The chickens still pecked, the trees in the orchard still danced in the wind.
Who… Was going to take care of all of this when she was gone?
The question made her stomach ball up immediately. Naturally, family would- but not only did she not have that, she wouldn’t want to burden her theoretical children with the task— nor would she be comfortable if it were an obligation to them.
A sigh escaped her lips as she looked out the window.
But, despite that, she still took a bite of her pie. An unsteady one, but one nonetheless. She’d do her best, as she always did. Until she couldn’t anymore.
Perhaps she would know one day… But not now.
