Blind
âWhat do you think? Is he still breathinâ?â
The whumpf of a kick is put into the elfâs side, causing him to cough and hack. Â âDoes that ansâer yer question?â
âWhyâd you kick him? You could have checked an easier way without hurting him.â
âBecause 'eâs murderin' scum, da whole lot ov 'em. The gutter trash backân Stawmwind is be'er than 'em. If Everleigh 'adnât given orders ter save da ones what survived, Iâd put me pike through 'is froat an' call i't a day.â
âWhy? Why do you hate him?â Â
Mail slams into wood. Â Nearby a horse neighs nervously. Â
âThey did nothin' ter stop da burnin' ov Teldrassil, nothin' ter stop that bitch ov a Banshee Queen when she killed all those people at Lordaeron. They only stopped Garrosh after 'e turned on 'em fer bein' disloyal, an' before then they never lifted a finger ter 'elp us against da orcs. They can all burn fer what I care, 'onorless lot what they are.â
âSir, you canât-â An oaken cane taps lightly against the ground. Â
âFather Brian.â
The butt of two pikes resound dully against the earth, two plated fists smash against a pair of breast plates. Â
âFarfer Brian. Â Wot can we do fer ya?â
âStep aside so I can do my work. Â This elf needs help if heâs going to survive.â Â
âYes Father.â
âThat means you too, SergeantâŚ?â
âGregory. Â And Iâm not movinâ. Â We âauled 'im off da bleedinâ field, aye, but we don't 'ave ter do anyfin' else fer 'im. That's between 'im an' da Light now.â
âAnd I am a servant of the Light, Sergeant Gregory. Â I am choosing to treat this man as part of my service. Â Are you going to stand in the way of the Lightâs calling?â
Clanking follows grumbling as a heavy man moves himself.
âThank you, Sergeant.â Â
âIs he going to survive, Father?â
âWhat does i' matter? If we take da field tomorrow 'e wonât 'ave much ov a 'ome ter go back to. Especially if that night elf 'as 'er way.â
âSergeant Gregory, if you would please be silent I would very much appreciate it, thank you.â Â
âWell?â
âI will do my best, but I doubt heâll ever shoot again. Â Iâve seen men trampled by horses whoâve looked better than this- Oh my.â
âWot?â
âSergeant, will you hold his eye open? Just roll it back- like that, perfect, thank you. Â Keep it there for a moment.â Â
âFather?â
âPatience.â
A weary sigh.
âI donât think heâll ever fight again, but heâll live once Iâm done with him. Â A shame too, heâs not much older than you, Sergeant.â
âLike I give a damn abaaht 'is age, Farfer.â
âHe might be about your age, Sergeant, but among his own heâs about as old as Private Presly here.â
âWait, really?â
ââOo gives a ratâs ass?â
âWould you want your son fighting in a war, Sergeant?â
âAh donât âave a son, Farfer.â Â
A second sigh. Â
âThere is a future after this war, Sergeant. Â You might want to prepare for it, lest you be consumed by it.â Â
âLight above Farfer, I am not dyin' in dis war, ok?â
âI never said you were going to die, Sergeant.â Â
âFather, the elf?â Â
âRight, right, thank you Private Presley. Â Mind helping me with him? This is going to take a while.â Â
âOf course.â
A soft, gentle hum filled the sidestreet, soothing to the ears. The horse harumphs like an old man, a hoof clopping against the cobblestone. Â
âYou can release his eyelid, Sergeant. Â Private, can you put pressure here, against his side? Perfect.â Â
âWot âappened to âis eye?â
âI donât know. Â Presly, keep that pressure on just a moment longer- Good, okay. Â That should hold long enough for it to heal a bit better. Â Now to drain the fluid from his chest cavity and work on those ribs.â Â
âWhy are yew doin' dis, Farfer? After what they've done? I wan' a real answer dis time, not da 'I serve da Light' poppycock yew gave me earlier.â Â
The puncturing of skin was masked by a wet pop, while the soothing sound of the Light returned once more. Â
âWe can obey the letter of our Dameâs orders, or we can obey the spirit. Â I choose to follow the latter. Â Presley, please hold his arm down.â
âYes Father.â
âWhy?â
âThe Light tells me that I should have compassion. Â I can serve the Alliance and be compassionate to its enemies without compromising it. Â It is not an all-or-nothing affair.â
âHmph.â
âI think that will do it. Â Wheel him to his cell, and be gentle. Â I donât want those wounds re-opening.â
âWhatâs going to happen to him, Father?â
âI donât know. Â I suppose it depends if we push them back to the shores or if they retake the Sunwell.â Â
âDo you think heâll survive?â
Hooves clopped in a steady beat against the cobblestones, while the weathered roll of wooden cart wheels droned on at a steady pitch. Â Three sets of steps accompanied them, two clanking and clunking as metal and chain shifted with every footfall. Â The third were soft, cloth brushing against cloth, the soles light against the patterned stone beneath. Â
The cart ground to a halt. Â
âPrisâner drop off. Secured 'im on da eastern beaches. Farfer's done wiv 'im, just need ter get 'im ter 'is cell.â
âAlright, weâll take âim from âere.â Â
The cart started up again, a soft whinny from the horse dragging it fading into the recesses of the prison. Â
âI donât know, Presley. Â I donât know if any of us will.â












