Dya: Chapter Two
Dya stared down at Garadar from her perch, sitting in a tree on one of the floating islands. She wasn’t allowed to go into town, not since the day she bit Varuk. There were times when she still felt insulted by it – he’d fought with her first – but there was nothing she could do about it. It was something she had to make peace with, and honestly there were upsides. She’d learned to like coming up, to sit on the soil above the world with Wa’tar’s wind rider. It was quiet, the view was gorgeous, and it let her think.
Getting jealous over Dar’zok’s power had been unkind. She knew that. But she couldn’t help it. She couldn’t stave back the pangs of envy when she thought about the lightning coursing through his veins, the fact that the elements favored him. The fact that no source of power would favor her again. She knew that if any other elves could see her now they’d scoff at her, call her worthless. What was an elf without her magic after all? Nothing, that’s what. Even though she hadn’t seen another pointy-eared mess in almost four years it was still hard to get away from that thought sometimes. She shook the thought from her head. She sat up, peering downward. She looked at the town, searching for a single green face among a sea of brown, when a voice called out to her.
“Dya! I didn’t know you would be in town today.” Dya turned to see a familiar smile and warm grey eyes. Dar’zok had landed on the big island behind her. He tied his wyvern to the tree and smiled at her as he approached. She did her best to smile back. She didn’t want Dar’zok to have even the slightest inkling as to what she might’ve been thinking about.
“I didn’t know either. This was an impromptu trip,” she said, “What brings you up here? Surely you have better things to be doing than talking to Wa’tar’s nonexistent daughter.”
“Well,” Dar’zok said, “If that’s how you react to the prospect of my company then maybe I should just leave,” He held a hand up to his chest, mock-hurt, before sitting down next to her, “I think I know who I want to bring with me for the hunt.”
“Let me guess, Shagar?”
Dar’zok, enthused, carried on that Shagar had accepted his invitation to be an observer for his hunt. Dya tried not to feel stung. Dar’zok was her only friend, that was true, but that didn’t mean she was his only friend. Dya has listened to Dar’zok talk about Shagar enough to know that she very much had his interest. She was allegedly very pretty. She was Blackrock, with skin as dark as onyx and eyes as bright as lava. She wore her hair in a long black braid, and she was steadily allowing Dar’zok closer and closer. Much to his delight. He told Dya that she’d accepted on the condition that she get a piece of the kill.
“Perhaps your performance in the field will impress her enough to accept that courting gift you’ve been keeping in your bag for the past five months.” Dya teased, and Dar’zok went pink.
“How did you know?” He asked, dismayed. Dya merely rolled her eyes.
“Because you told me about it when you made it.”
“…Oh. Yeah. I did,” he admitted. Dya merely chuckled.
“I hope it goes the way you want it to,” she said, “I’m honestly a little relieved the orcs don’t like me. I don’t have to ask someone to come with me only to be rejected.”
Dar’zok went quiet for a moment. His brows had furrowed, and he looked upset. His back hunched over just the slightest, his well-groomed hair with some elaborate braids falling into the dirt. He didn’t even bother to lift it off the ground when he responded.
“You…wouldn’t want me to go with you?” He sounded genuinely hurt, and Dya blinked up at him. For the first in a long time, her ears twitched. She’d normally scold herself when she did that, the few orcs who saw her still liked to poke at her about them.
“You want to? I thought you’d be hoping Shagar would invite you.”
Dar’zok shook his head,
“As much as I’d like that, you’re my friend. I met you before I ever even knew Shagar existed. Just because the people in Garadar like to pretend you don’t exist, that doesn’t mean you’re not important or that I don’t want to come see!” he went quiet for a second, “If they’d let me, I’d be inviting you.” Dar’zok looked upset, and Dya stared up at him incredulous. That was a far more serious admission that she thought he realized. The air had immediately become tense, the breezes halting with Dar’zok’s tumultuous emotions. There was a moment of awkward silence, and Dya decided to lure the conversation to safer waters.
They spent a few hours up on the island, talking about everything and nothing. Dar’zok poked at her again and again, asking her what animal she was going to hunt for her own test. He wanted to know so badly, especially because he told her what he was going after. She was, after all, the only person he’d confided in on the subject of a specific clefthoof he wanted to down. Dya finally sighed.
“I’m going to Hellfire Peninsula and I’m going to hunt a ravager.”
Dar’zok got quiet for a moment, and then he did exactly what she expected him to. What she had direly hoped he wouldn’t.
“That’s insane Dya! Those things will kill you!”
She sighed, listening to him carry on about how small she was. How delicate she was. How a ravager thrice her size would have no issue with her. She tried to keep it together, truly, she did. Alas, Dar’zok’s lecture didn’t sit well with her. In fact, she could feel remnants of power responding to her anger. She took a deep breath, but it didn’t seem to help. Doing her best to suppress the green energy that still resided within, she finally snapped.
“Dar’zok do you really think so little of me?” she snarled. Dar’zok stopped, looking at her like he was a puppy she just kicked. If puppies weighed three hundred pounds and wore gold rings on their tusks. Dya couldn’t help the rising indignation. How dare he act wounded when he was the one doing all the attacking?
“No, not at all, just…” he trailed off, searching for the words he wanted but Dya knew what he would say before he could get it out.
“Yes, Dar’zok, I know. I’m not an orc.”
She didn’t give him the opportunity to respond, merely bolting to the wind rider and flying down to the ground to wait for Wa’tar.
/*\
Dya didn’t sleep that night. She stared around at the baked bricks of her added room. Bricks she’d made and baked herself. She laid on a bed she’d made from a tree she’d cut down. All by herself. She wrapped herself in furs that she’d hunted with Wa’tar’s careful supervision, but ultimately, she’d done it herself. She stared out the window, listening to Wa’tar snore from the other room. She glowered at the stars, watching a meteorite fall. Just like it did almost four years ago, but this time Dya didn’t make a wish.
She threw off her covers, uncaring that it was cold. She didn’t want to risk waking Wa’tar, so instead of leaving out the front door she crawled out the window. Dya walked over to her little stable, tall, with rooms. Feeders, hay storage, a small irrigation system from the pure source of the river for her precious pet. Even more things she hadn’t been too delicate to build on her own. She looked in to see if Xayla was awake. The little talbuk looked up at her as she approached, a wide yawn separating her snout. She looked sleepy, blinking at Dya with bleary eyes, but she didn’t seem upset by the interruption of her nap. Dya let herself into the pen, gently petting Xayla’s velvety little ears.
“You don’t care that I’m not an orc,” she whispered, “and you don’t care that I’m an elf forbidden from her magic.”
Dya snuggled up with the talbuk, the deer curling around her tiny body. She did her best not to cry as she tried to lull herself back to sleep. She would have liked to see her mother right now. Though she tried not to, Dya often wondered what had happened to her mother. Perhaps she was dead. Perhaps she had merely left. Perhaps she’d fallen and hit her head and was wandering Outland with amnesia. She’d always told Dya that she had quite the imagination, but Dya would have liked to have her there if only to have someone to hug. Her mother would have known what to say to her, what to do. She’d have told Dya to chin up and that she loved her. That it didn’t matter what other people thought. But it did matter.
Dya held fur in her fists, noting the plain linen dress she’d worn to sleep in contrast with all the things she’d had in her childhood. This was one of the rare times she missed Quel’thalas. Even with the grimacing servants, the carousing nobles, the ever-lurking threat of her father’s violence there had been things about Quel’thalas she’d liked. She’d loved her sister, who she still dearly missed. She’d loved Eldranil River, the waters always sparking with magic. She missed the dragonhawks, some of whom would play with her when she went outside without anyone knowing. But there was something else. Though there had been a host of bad things at the estate, there was one thing she had there. One thing she wished to have again.
She had been worth something to the people of Quel’thalas.
/*\
Dya woke early the next morning. She snuck back to her bed so that Wa’tar wouldn’t lecture her for staying in Xayla’s stable and accuse her of coddling an animal. Today was important, and though Wa’tar had advised against it Dya didn’t care. She would go to Garadar today, not into the town, just up onto her island. She had a few hours to prepare for the trip. She skirted around Wa’tar to the various shelves and cabinets in the hut, his grumbled ‘good morning’ being met with a mere hum as she took stock of the supplies and decided what to bring.
“So, you’re going against my advice and going anyway,” he accused,
“Yes,” Dya said unflinchingly, staring up at the orc with a jar of dried fish jerky in her hands. Despite both their hopes, Dya hadn’t grown much since Wa’tar saved her. She remained stalwartly short, having only grown a few inches. She had to crane her neck to look up at him, but she did so confidently. The graying orc sighed at her, his green face softening just a tad as he smoothed out his beard.
“Very well. You are almost an adult, you should be making your own decisions,” he said, “I just worry that you could get hurt,” his ever-gruff voice had gotten a little quieter, and Dya smiled at him.
“True, I could get hurt. But Dar’zok is my friend and I’d be a shitty friend if I didn’t at least go to see him set off, right?”
Wa’tar only sighed again, shaking his head, but Dya liked to think that he approved. Sometimes people had to do things that were hard, or that were risky. That was just life. Wa’tar didn’t say anything as she grabbed some rations so she could eat throughout the day. She packed some bedding just in case her other task for the day left her unable to return. She checked everything off her mental list, and when she turned, she found Wa’tar handing her another empty clay jar.
“If you bring back a few of the glowing mushrooms in the marsh, I’ll ask Ursa to make you a pie.”
Dya laughed but took the jar anyway. What were some mushrooms in addition to lakeweed?
“I’ll keep an eye out for them,” she said, taking the extra jar and making space for it in her bag. She decided to stow it with the other empty jar. Wa’tar watched and snorted. He shook his head and when he spoke again, he sounded irate. He was even more irate on the matter than she was.
“You’ve passed that ceremony a hundred times over since I’ve taken you in,” he grumbled, “I could never trust any of those young upstarts in Garadar for half the tasks I’ve entrusted to you. Remember that.”
Dya appreciated Wa’tar’s words, his votes of confidence in her. She only smiled at the graying orc and loaded her supplies up on the wyvern. Throk was a temperamental animal, but stalwartly loyal. Wa’tar watched from the doorway of the house as she hoisted herself into the saddle.
“Be careful. The wasps out there will kill you,” Wa’tar never was one to sugarcoat his words. Dya laughed.
“I’ll be fine, don’t worry,” she said, “I’ve done this run for you a thousand times. Even if something goes wrong, I have Throk here with me,” she scratched behind the wyvern’s ears. His eyes slid closed happily.
“I wouldn’t say a thousand,” Wa’tar grunted, crossing his arms and glaring at her meaningfully.
Dya laughed, said her goodbyes, and set off. It wasn’t long until she landed on the island. Already there was a crowd amassed in Garadar. Dar’zok wouldn’t be setting off until noon, and as Dya checked the sun she realized she only barely made it. She didn’t bother dismounting, simply watched from her place. She couldn’t hear anything that was being said, but she could see Dar’zok. He was standing in the center of the village next to a giant bonfire. He was being given space to say something, Dya wasn’t sure what. The crowd cheered for him, and it wasn’t long before another orc approached him on the back of one of the wolves. Shagar, most likely. Dar’zok looked out across the crowd, waving.
Dya knew he couldn’t see her, but she waved back anyway. She watched as Dar’zok left with Shagar. Dar’zok had told her they’d be going southwest, toward Oshugun. They’d be sure to find big game down there, and he wanted to impress his new friend in the worst way. Dya wasn’t sure why that made her sad. She took off, allowing Throk to leap off the island. She would be going north, almost the exact opposite direction. She steered Throk into a stream of wind, allowing him to coast. The journey there would take an hour at least.
She fought to keep her hair out of her face. Despite Wa’tar’s insistent nagging on the subject she refused to tie back her hair. It was her hair and she could do, or not do, as she wished. Though, she was admittedly regretting not taking his advice now. Not that she’d ever let him know that. She was glad she packed her brush. She’d fix the mussed brown waves when she landed.
Once she and Throk had jumped the mountains, Dya had him land on a mushroom. She had long since learned to keep the high ground out here. The wasps rarely flew high, and the more terrestrial threats wouldn’t be able to see her. She knew there were enemies beyond the wildlife in Zangarmarsh, such as broken draenei. There were also unbroken draenei who didn’t much care for elves. She’d learned that the hard way. She looked around, reveling in the rainy weather. It had been almost a year since she’d done a run in Zangarmarsh specifically, having been hurt by a squadron of draenei who’d called themselves the Alliance. That had been terrifying, but it hadn’t seemed to make Wa’tar think less of her. She furrowed her brows as the memory resurfaced. She hoped they wouldn’t still be out here.
She grabbed a bowl from her pack and set it down, filling it with water from her skin so Throk could have a drink. She didn’t want to bring him to the ground until he’d had a chance to rest, and to be honest she was growing hungry. Dya fixed her hair and searched her bag for the smoked salmon and wheat crackers Wa’tar had insisted she take. She shared it with Throk. She took a moment to stare up into the sky, into the rain and clouds.
It was cold. The rain was rarely ever warm in Zangarmarsh, but Dya still let herself enjoy it. It was peaceful. It pitter-pattered sweetly on the mushroom she reclined on. Despite the dangers below Dya could have some peace. She didn’t have to be worried that one of the orcs would spit insults at her and Wa’tar, that Dar’zok would show up to tell her how wonderful a time he’d had with Shagar. Though the tradeoff wound up being life threatening bugs and hostile draenei, she was okay with that. In moments like these she could just be. That was probably why she always begged Wa’tar to let her do these tasks with him, and now for him. She could explore and find quiet nooks all over the regions to think.
Dya sighed. It was time to get to work. She got on Throk’s back to get to the ground. The chore itself wouldn’t take long. She’d collected mushrooms and lakeweed for Wa’tar enough times now to know which ones he was looking for, but Zangarmarsh was different now. Dya wondered how she hadn’t noticed before. There had always been a road in Zangarmarsh, but there had never been a settlement. She had landed near the pass to Hellfire Peninsula, opting to do her mushroom hunting before setting out for the lakes. Near the pass she saw something most odd. Buildings. Had she truly been away for so long that a whole new town had been erected without her knowledge? How had they built such a tall tower, such a huge inn, in only a year?
She wondered if the people were hostile. She hoped they were friendly. She was careful as she approached, but she was still noticed. A tall violet woman – a night elf? Her father had told her about night elves – spotted her and flagged her down. She ran towards her, but she kept her weapons sheathed. All the same Dya grabbed her spear off her back and got ready, the threat of danger sparking an onslaught of adrenaline. The woman held her hands up.
“Whoa! Hold on, hold on, I mean you no harm! I didn’t mean to spook you.” Her orcish was heavily accented, so much so that Dya almost couldn’t understand her, “Who are you? We’ve had a few blood elves come through here, but I don’t recognize you,” Dya felt her brows furrow. Taken off guard, Dya lowered the spear just a tad. She appraised the woman. Long purple hair, bright glowing eyes. Relaxed muscles, sheathed weapons. Dya decided the woman was friendly, so she asked a question.
“What are blood elves?”
Perhaps it wasn’t the smartest decision on her part, but Dya followed the druid into the little town. She was brought into an inn and the druid sat Dya down with a drink and a blanket. A few people began fawning over Throk, much to his delight. He rather enjoyed the head pats and chin scratches. These strangers were nice. At the very least they were good at pretending to be nice. They asked her where she’s come from, and she told the truth: Nagrand. That only seemed to confuse them. She asked questions and they asked questions back, and by the time the whole thing ended Dya had even more questions than before.
Dya learned that the strangers were from Azeroth, like her. She learned that they were druids, though she needed the term explained to her. She listened to them talk, and they told her what had happened to Quel’thalas, why the people had renamed themselves to sin’dorei. They told her that people like her had become a rarity outside of Quel’thalas, and that many were hoping to create a new start here in Outland. Most importantly, they told her where others like her were. There was an outpost for the sin’dorei in Hellfire Peninsula. Some had gone to Shattrath, claiming to no longer support the prince. Others still joined a night elf who’d turned himself into a demon. She had trouble understanding that part through the other elf’s accent.
Dya left the little town reeling. Throk had stayed with her the whole way through, letting her lean on him for comfort. The druids had seen her distress, offered to let her stay the night there and send a message to Wa’tar if need be. They had, after all, been very curious to know why there was an elf who spoke Orcish better than Thalassian. She said no. She only asked where the other elves had gone because she wanted to see them herself.
Dya began to wonder if that was a bad idea. She had walked down the road with Throk, but she wasn’t sure how long she’d been walking. She didn’t know where she was, and as she looked around in a panic trying to find a familiar landmark, she heard shouting. Then the clank of metal on metal and the screams one heard before death. Had someone been attacked by an animal? Was there a fight going on? Should she investigate or run away? Dya didn’t know, but then she realized something.
They were screaming in Thalassian.
/*\
Taranis was with his squadron when the draenei hit.
He hadn’t been impressed with Zangarmarsh to begin with. The landscape itself was a droll shade of blue, like rainclouds on a sad day. The forests were made of mushrooms instead of trees, and venomous insects seemed to exist every which way the eye could see. That wasn’t even to acknowledge the Alliance enemies that encroached on the territory or the naga who even now tried to lay claim to the lakes across the valley.
He’d been on the back of his hawkstrider when he caught a glimpse of something shimmery. An arrow reflecting the light. He’d screamed at everyone to get down and dove to the ground just as the arrow embedded itself into the trunk of the mushroom behind him. Where his head would have been. It was truly disadvantageous, that the draenei could blend into the surroundings so effortlessly. He wondered why the Horde hadn’t abandoned the marsh for a different territory. But that didn’t matter right now.
He forced the Light to bend to his will, shielding him from arrows and blinding a man before him. As the draenei yelped in pain, stumbling backward as his eyes were rendered useless, Taranis took the opportunity to shove his sword through the horned man’s throat. He didn’t have time to feel horrified at himself, to watch as the arcane glow in his enemy’s eyes faded. There were still more attackers, and he still had more fighting to do.
Between potshots and attempted killing strikes it didn’t take Taranis long to realize just how outnumbered the five of them were. The fight was easily four to one, if not more. The man he’d downed had been replaced three-fold, and he knew he was in danger of falling prey to his fear. So long as he had the Light he’d be fine. That’s what he told himself, but the draenei had the Light too.
The battle was vicious. Just as he slew another attacker his commanding officer had been beheaded right before his very eyes. He had to roll to avoid getting speared through with a lance, but it didn’t do much. Gaivan and Tarina had managed to put a dent into the attacking force, until Tarina tripped on a body and Gaivan rushed to help her. Those mistakes had cost them their lives. Taranis managed to take three more of them down, but it was useless. The mage, Daneera, had taken a sword to the stomach, and she’d used to last of her power to incinerate as many of the attackers as she possibly could. In the end he was the only one left, and two draenei had escaped Daneera’s dying curse.
It had been an explosion. Taranis had been launched backward by the sheer force of Daneera’s fire, momentarily blinded and disoriented. He’d needed a moment to get his bearings, and that was all his enemies needed. They had gotten lucky. They’d been far enough away that they were able to dive behind a mushroom, the stench of burning fungi wafting in the air. They’d seen him get launched back, and when they realized he was still alive they jolted forward and stabbed him just above the hip. He’d fallen back, sitting against a mushroom, and his bleary eyes watched as one of the last two men raised an axe high above his head. This wasn’t how Taranis envisioned dying, but there wasn’t much else to be done. He braced himself for pain, hoping his family knew that he loved them and that he was sorry he couldn’t be coming home. He spared a thought to wish that he’d told his sister he didn’t like her new suitor. However, that wasn’t the end. Just as Taranis expected the axe to come down the horned man was attacked from the side.
A large wyvern had tackled him to the ground, and Taranis heard his screaming turn to sickened gurgles as the animal tore the draenei’s throat out. His gaze flickered to the final opponent, but he was preoccupied. Taranis’s eyes widened. There weren’t supposed to be any other sin’dorei in the marsh. He’d never seen the girl in front of him before. She called commands to the wyvern, but it did not assist her. Instead, it bolted over to Taranis. For a moment, the elf wondered if this was his end, but the wyvern did not attack him. It stood guard over him.
He watched as the girl, barely half the size of the draenei she fought, wove around her opponents’ feet. She pierced a spot in the armor, causing injury but the kind that was only a minor annoyance. But she kept doing it. She hit the draenei over the head. She stabbed at the ankle. She created a small incision on his tail. She caused so many little injuries that the draenei was having trouble defending himself, distracted by the stinging of all the little wounds she’d inflicted. Finally, the girl got her shot, and she lanced him through the neck.
Just like that it was over and when she turned to look at Taranis, she looked worried. Her eyes glittered a familiar shade of fel, the shade almost all sin’dorei now wore. Her hair hung long and brown to her hips, and when he took her hand to stand up, he found that she was even tinier than she initially seemed.
“Thank you,” he said, wincing as the movement worried his injury. She took notice and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. She supported his weight as they walked back to the road, leaving the pile of corpses behind.
/*\
Dya had needed to ask the man which way to go. He told her that the Cenarion Expedition was the closest place to acquire medical aid, so that was the direction she went. She continued holding him, one arm slung around her shoulders, while she gingerly held him at the waist. She was a pointy-eared crutch, and she kept pace with him as he limped. He hissed with each breath, and she took note of the blood that leaked through his breastplate.
“What is your name?” she asked. Now that the battle was over, she noticed that the man was rather pretty. His hair hung long and blond over his shoulder. His eyes glittered green. His handsome face grimaced in annoyance as the wound continued bleeding.
“Taranis,” he exhaled, “And who are you? I’ve never seen you in Shattrath, or anywhere really.”
“You can call me Dya,” she answered hesitantly. She didn’t want to have to explain to him why she couldn’t speak Thalassian as well as he did. It had been almost four years since she’d had to use it. She made small talk with him, basic conversation as they walked to the little town near the pass. She told him a few jokes and a pun.
“- And the innkeeper said, ‘Lok’tar, Ogre,’” she paused, “Though I suppose that’s funnier in Orcish.”
“And how, exactly, is this meant to be distracting me from the pain?” he asked, not unkindly. Dya turned pink,
“It’s just what I was taught to do. It helps the injured feel like maybe it’s not that serious, so they relax, and the healing goes more smoothly.”
Taranis chuckled. Dya decided he had a nice laugh. They had finally made it to the town. Dya was relieved, exhaling as she passed Taranis off to the druid she’d met earlier. A tauren came up to her.
“What happened?” she asked,
“They were attacked,” Dya said, “He got hurt, so I brought him here.”
The tauren peered at her curiously but asked no further questions. Instead, she merely shooed Dya into the deep violet medical tent.
“Go with him, it’ll be good for him to know an ally is near.”
Despite her misgivings, Dya did as the tauren instructed. Would it really be helpful for him to have a stranger nearby? But the tauren persisted, cowing Dya into the tent. She closed the flap behind her and watched as the night elf tended to the wound. She was still in the process of getting Taranis’s armor off when Dya entered. Taranis blinked at her.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, looking at her with a deadened gaze. He didn’t seem upset, but he didn’t exactly seem comforted by her presence earlier. She was quickly regretting listening to the woman outside. She briefly considered bolting. Dya gulped.
“I was told my being here might help,” she said softly, “I don’t know how true that is.”
Taranis snorted, merely beckoning her forward. The night elf put his chestplate aside and instructed him to remove his shirt if he was capable. He wasn’t. The shirt was stuck to the wound, and Dya could see tears welling up in his eyes when the night elf accidentally pulled on it. He turned his face away from her. Dya immediately sat next to him while the night elf took a knife to the shirt.
“I liked that shirt,” he grumbled, the tears marring his voice. Dya couldn’t help the guilt. Her being there was definitely not helping, but Taranis had grabbed onto her hand, refusing to let go. Dya peeked over at the wound. It was seeping blood. Even though he’d used his own magic on the wound while they walked Dya couldn’t help but think it still looked awful. She couldn’t help the alarm that crossed her face when the druid said it needed to be cauterized. Taranis scoffed at her, but she could tell it was all bravado. She didn’t make mention of it as his voice quavered.
“How is it that you fought so well back there but you’re so squeamish at the sight of a little blood?” he teased. Dya averted her gaze.
“That…was my first real fight,” she admitted. Taranis blinked, seeming to momentarily forget that the healer had said ‘cauterize’.
“They sent you out here for your first mission?” he looked horrified, “What the hell were they thinking?! Who’s your commanding officer?” he paused, “How old are you?”
Dya couldn’t help her laughter, but she explained. Maybe this was where distraction would help? She’d been abandoned in the peninsula, Wa’tar had found her, she’d been living in Nagrand. She held his hand in both of hers as he cried out in pain when the night elf took a red-hot piece of metal to the stab wound. He asked her to talk to him more, his golden face paling. So she told him more, about how beautiful the rivers in Nagrand were, how she’d started hunting with Wa’tar at thirteen. She told him she was getting ready for the adulthood rite that Wa’tar insisted she be allowed to participate in. She was careful not to say much more.
“Oh, I thought you were much younger,” he remarked, breathing heavily and still a bit pale, “I was conscripted at fifteen, shortly after Arthas killed everyone. It’s hard to believe that was only two years ago now,” Taranis got a faraway look in his eyes, and Dya felt her brows furrow.
“What…does Quel’thalas look like now?” she asked softly. Taranis shook his head with what energy he had left. He gently squeezed her hand.
“You don’t wanna know,” he slurred, his eyelids drooping. The green glow in each iris was beginning to fade, and he had somehow gone even paler. Dya panicked.
“What’s going on? Is he okay? What does that mean?” she interrogated the druid. The night elf merely laughed,
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she assured, “He just needs a little rest. He’ll be fine. Cauterizing a stab wound is tiring for everyone involved. If you like you can stay with him. Just no naughty stuff yeah?” she winked, and left Dya with the injured man.
Dya wasn’t sure what the night elf had meant by naughty stuff, but she remembered that she hadn’t collected a single mushroom for Wa’tar. She swore to herself. She debated whether she should send Throk back with a message. On the one hand, she’d be able to let Wa’tar know she was okay. On the other, Wa’tar might take Throk’s presence as a warning and not even bother with the note. If he even noticed it. Dya sighed.
This mushroom picking adventure had not gone according to plan. She didn’t even have the lakeweed. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to get around to it. Maybe she could buy rations from the inn? Then Dya remembered: she hadn’t brought any money. There weren’t supposed to be people out here.
Dya resigned herself to her new responsibility, Throk waiting patiently at the tent flap. He’d curled up into a ball for a nap, and she watched as one of the druids placed a little pillow beneath his head. He looked awfully comfortable. She smiled at him and contemplated getting dinner from the bag on his back when the tauren from earlier came in with a plate of food and a bowl of soup.
“Oh, he’s asleep then,” the woman remarked, her tail swishing. Dya nodded,
“I think the cauterizing really took it out of him,” Dya remarked. Her gaze kept sliding back to his face, so like her own but not. She’d almost forgotten what other elves looked like. The tauren laughed.
“Cauterization can do that. Do you know him?”
Dya only shook her head. The tauren sighed.
“Well, I’m sure your presence here is welcome anyhow,” she said, “sometimes having your own people around can be a comfort whether they’re familiar or no. Stay with him. It might help the healing process go a little easier,” the tauren’s suggestion sounded more like a command.
Dya just murmured her affirmation that she would stay, and the tauren handed her a plate of food. She inspected it, unsure what it was at first. The tauren laughed again.
“Usually, it’s just chunks of mushroom in spices, but a kind soul went fishing for us. So now, we have chunks of mushroom and fish, and for the man some fish and mushroom soup,”
“If he doesn’t wake up, can I eat the soup?” Dya said, grinning.
The tauren snickered, merely saying she could bring more, and left Dya to her dinner. She ate quickly, throwing the fish skin to Throk. He yawned happily before resuming his nap. Dya sat by Taranis’s cot, watching the even rise and fall of his chest. He had a few scars already, and he wasn’t much older than her. She could feel her brows furrowing. Would she have shared his fate had she not gotten lost in Outland? Would she have been forced into a war at only fifteen too? Would she even be alive now if that had been the case?
Dya had so many questions, and few to no answers. For now, she did what she could, and that meant staying with the wounded elf until he woke.