#i still like this one...

[insecateur]

a threat

[willawood]

@𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐃 (𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐀)  𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐃:  my  muse  coming  to  your  muse  with  blood  stains  on  their  clothes  and  hands,  shaking. 

Willa was still wide awake; sleep rarely came easy. She was notoriously nocturnal, always had been. Many of the elder Farstriders were more than happy to turn over the night watches to the (thoroughly vetted) youth. The Farstrider Enclave was deeper into their territory, closer to the southern borders. While there were less threats in that area (and thus less rangers), they would never become complacent. As long as Trolls still drew breath on their lands, they would keep ever watchful eyes on their forests.

Truthfully, Willa had taken a liking to being further away from the looming spires of Silvermoon (from the spats waiting for her in what would be her home). It also meant anyone wanting to seek her out would have to go to a lot of trouble to do so. The familiar head of golden hair instinctively drew a smile across the ranger’s lips – one that quickly fell. Greens and golds were Alleria’s trademark colors, and that effervescent blue. It wasn’t that crimson was a rare accent, it was that it had always been accompanied by a grin, or at least a look of satisfaction. Not shock.

To anyone else who didn’t know her as well, hadn’t spent years racing toe in toe to her may not have even noticed the way her hands trembled, or how her eyes were just a touch too wide to suggest peace of mind. Silence hung on the air between them as Willa closed the gap, her eyes past her shoulder at the small gathering just outside the lodge. The quiet exchange spoke of an ambush just north – and one casualty. Willa and Alleria often thought themselves skilled beyond measure (Willa likely far more guilty of it), but the truth remained that they were still young. Their skills and instincts were far from peaked, but that didn’t mean mistakes were swallowed easily… especially mistakes like these.

It would be years more before they were truly steeled against inevitable losses. Even then, they’d never be immune to them all. Alleria’s arm was taken into a steady hand, urging her to fall in stride with Willa until they were alone in one of the sparse washrooms. It was only then that her hold on the blonde was relinquished in order to dig out cloths and a silver basin to fill with water. The worn pewter was rested against the floor, next to Alleria’s figure as she also sat against the cold stone. Willa, too, eased herself onto her knees and soon the only sound that bounced off the arched walls was that of sloshing and dripping water.

At times it felt as though Willa knew Alleria like a mirror. Comforting words wouldn’t help now; to tell her ‘it wasn’t her fault’ or that ‘it was alright’ would be batted aside for all their uselessness. What would help was the understanding that it wasn’t alright, and it wasn’t for her to know whether or not Alleria was at any fault when she had not been there to see the attack. What would help was smudging away the drying blood that was staining her fingertips pink. For all the ways Willa had always been more than happy to cast her judgements, this was not one of those moments.

Comfort was all there was to be felt in her touch – comfort and care. Heated tensions were a common occurrence between them, likely always would be, but beneath that they were … were … – they were friends. And that was why Willa pretended the silent tears that splashed against her arm as Alleria used her shoulder for solace, had been nothing more than a drip from the steady cloth that rubbed those away too.