"Sleep tight" ((WE WILL DO SOMETHING AGAIN!))
“Elune, grant me strength.”
Silindra stumbled, squinting in the ferocity of the Westfall sunlight. The heat dazzled her, sweat soaking her garments, the dry wind doing little to comfort her.
The pressure in her head was throbbing, the priestess likening the burden to carrying a mountain atop her neck. Drying blood matted her hair and the crude bandage of torn robe fabric did little to shield the head wound on her right temple from the seemingly ceaseless breeze.
Her world spun and the priestess fell to one knee, gasping in large lungfuls of air in vain attempts to clear her mind... this only worsened the sensation. Dimly, she could hear voices and the hurrying of feet. Praise the goddess! She must have been found at last!
The dirty, concerned faces of two travelers suddenly filled her vision, asking all sorts of questions that, for the life of her, she could not comprehend.
Hurriedly, she did the only thing she could possibly think of. She torn another section of her gown and dipped the end of her fingers in the dampness of her wound, wincing. Hastily, she scrawled on the fabric a simple note.
The small bit of fabric did not allow her to finish her name, but she cared not. Another wave of dizziness hit her, throwing her so off balance an onlooker would have thought it a physical blow. She found herself sprawled in the arms of one of the travelers, a panicking middle-aged woman. Through a hazy mind, she tried desperately to think of the closest person she knew to Westfall. Darnassus was too great a distance. She did not know anyone in Stormwind.
“Khadgar,” she croaked, pressing the fabric to the woman’s chest. “Deadwind Pass.”
Had she said that in common? She hadn’t the time to reflect, for in the next moment, the world went dark.
