So far, the journey had been rather stressful, but never had the woman felt as alone as she did right then. Even if there were so many around, none of them were more than passing figures in the background. She felt, for a moment, bitter at how things had turned out.

Of course they’d turn out this way…

For the thousandth time, Prisa began to wonder if she’d made the wrong decision. Perhaps she was making a mountain out of a molehill with Kordya’s ‘ignorance’ to her emotional needs. Was it fair to even ask that kind of thing of her partner? She was so busy, after all.

The priestess’ shoulders slumped downwards and she let out a long breath. She felt that dreadful sadness washing back into the emptiness of her stomach. It made her tired and heavy.

Abruptly, a thick figure sat beside her, the fur cloak around them causing their size to double at least. A mug was offered, steaming with warmth from the liquid inside. She caught the smell before anything- It smelled like Bricini. 

Coffee.

Prisa straightened, lifting herself to take the warm mug. “Thanks.” A simple, kind word. Beside her, there was a grunt, and the gravelly voice of the bear of a man next to her rose out of the cloak. “No problem, lass. Seems like you’ve been in a world’a trouble, eh? Never thought you’d be the type, of course.” He shook his head, his hood now falling back to reveal the bald head and thick beard.

The dwarf’s name was Kortiv. An ‘old friend’ as she said; one whomst she’d worked with back during the wars to the North. It’d been quite some time since she’d seen him– but the sight of him relaxing, back with his signature bear-fur cloak made her slip back to those stolen moments. He had been heavily burdened by the things they’d seen during the war and she’d been the shoulder for him as he needed. So often, they would get a drink and talk: about their beliefs and problems, and any other juicy bits of gossip from around the camp. 

Those few, nice moments when they were allowed before the undead swarmed once more.

Those times, of course, were behind Prisa. The undead were more controlled, and while still a present and terrifying threat, there were far more important things to worry about. Things that were not in the past, but the -present-.

“Ah, a bit.” She said, holding the drink closer to her now. “It’s more that I keep finding myself in difficult situations, that’s all. As if that makes it any better.” She looked down to the dark liquid and watched the reflection back to her in it’s inky surface. Kortiv stayed silent for the time, taking a drink of his own and watching the people as they passed. Nodding his head to something only he knew. Eventually, he spoke up again, “Well then?” Prisa gnawed at the inside of her lip, fingers pressing into the warm wood of the mug in her hands. So much had gone on, and so little she wished to say. Even so… she felt like she was boiling over with all that had happened, and had no one to -really- talk to. No one that wasn’t involved, at least.

Kortiv wasn’t involved, though. He was trustworthy and a kind ear, and always had been.

Taking in a breath of the ice cold air, she’d finally start to speak up, “It’s been complicated.” The dwarf snorted, saying, “Isn’t it always, lass?” He offered her a big, toothy grin, his own way of comforting her.

Prisa just rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “Oh, most certainly. I wish life was far more simple, but I just… can’t seem to quite catch a break.” She huffed. “I mean--” She hesitated, then just let it out. “There’s so much that’s gone on. I’ve gone to all these places to ‘help’, when in reality I know that I did a lot of these decisions for selfish reasons. I mean, I -literally- had gone to Quel’thalas because of a woman who dumped me half a year later only to fall into the arms of the very -next- one and end up doing even worse things.” 

She sounded bitter. Hurt.

“And I do mean -really- bad, Korv. I mean, I practically killed myself going to the land of death and light knows that was worse than it sounds. I’ve gotten myself involved in… less than favorable business, and now I’m dealing with a woman I saw blow up in front of me coming back to life and trying to make sure I don’t bring the entire ire of the alliance down on her because they’re following after -me- calling -me- a traitor!”

She was keeping her voice down, but her inflection changed and became more strained. It was hard to talk about, but it felt good to let it out. She hadn’t even felt able to tell -Alana- this much.

“I’m not a traitor, I just… I’ve… I’ve made a few poor decisions. I’m allowed to make those decisions, aren't I? I’m not -trying- to become an enemy of the state or something.” She frowned, her brows furrowing in consideration.

“I wouldn’t have even had an alliance agent after me had I just not left--” she hesitated, then said, “If I had stayed in more neutral territory, I would be fine. I know I would. But now it’s bringing trouble to the people I care about from all angles. It’s -fine- if they blame me, but not them. They don’t deserve that, you know? Not from my mistakes.”

“I didn’t mean to make Kordya unhappy. I didn’t want to fight with her, but now I feel like it’s just ruined any sense of peace and happiness I had for a time. I didn’t want that to end.”

Prisa felt a lump forming in her throat, making it hard to breathe. She tried to swallow down the feeling uselessly. She felt her face heat, and a stinging in her eyes. Why was she being so emotional about it? She shouldn’t let this bother her so badly.

Kortiv stayed silent for a time, letting the priest vent her feelings. As he had always been, he was the ear that was needed at the time. When it seemed that she wasn’t going to continue, he’d merely cast a brief glance to her, then back forward.

There was a low hum resonating from deep inside the bear cloak, and the man took another drink. He motioned with his mug, “Look around you, lass. What do you see?”

Prisa’s eyes rose and she looked around, brow pinching.“A well established camp… people working…” She spoke the obvious; she didn’t know what he was asking.

Kortiv grumbled. “I see people that made their decisions. People that made their mistakes and have lived through varying levels of hell. That one-” He pointed to a short elf carrying a large sack over their shoulder, “Used to be a little thief. Fingers stickier than you could imagine. Bold little thing, too. Ended up killing the wrong person, almost was executed, and barely managed to escape to the Argents Custody to fight the undead.”

He continued on, pointing to an orc who was talking casually with another dwarf over some opened box of goods. “That one was all in it for glory and honor, wound up losing an arm and badly messed up their leg. Took almost a year before he calmed down that rage that’d been built up from it.”

Prisa felt like she got the idea of where this was going.

The man went on, “You see, there’s tons of them like that. I could go on, telling all the dirty little secrets, but the resounding idea of what I mean is there. We all make decisions. Some are like the thief, who had no other choice but to run and find a new life. Some are like the warrior who had to find a bit of peace in their new reality.”

“I know, I know. I should move on and look to the future. I get what you’re saying.. But it’s not that easy.” Prisa was quick to retort, bitterness tinging her tone.

“I’m not saying that it’s easy and I'm not saying that you need to move on. What I'm saying is that you’ve made your decisions, just like anyone else. You’re blaming yourself, just like others do all the time to themselves. It’s hard to step outside of your blame and realize that they are just the stepping stones to our path. Some are sharper and rougher, some are too far.”

Prisa listened to his words, but it was a thin comfort. She took a slow drink of her coffee, rather than trying to find words to say. Kortiv continued on, filling the quiet.

“I know it’s not something you’d like to hear. You’re in the worst of it. You said you left your lass, lost your home and comfort, and now you're being chased about by something- still not entirely sure on that one.” He shifted, leaning forward on his knees. It hunched his frame, the difference between them more striking. “You do need to move forward, but you need to decide what it is you really want. Out of all you’ve said, from the moment you’ve come back, I've been seeing what you look like. Lost. Like a wee babe trying to find her family again.”

He glanced at her again, and this time he met her gaze when she looked at him. “So the question is, what do you really want?”

Prisa frowned at the question, glance sliding sidelong to avoid the intensity of his eyes.

When she did not provide an answer, he continued on.

“Do you wanna go back to that home of yours? To the lass you left behind? Do you wanna move on? Come back to the Argents and do the work you did before?”

Prisa had no answers for him; or for herself. She remained quiet, offering him the same resounding silence that filled her thoughts when facing the only questions that mattered. Kortiv nodded, understanding warming the grumble of his words. “I’ll let you think over it, lass. You don’t have to make the decision now, and I'm not going to question you. I’m just here for you as you need, aye?” He pushed off the little seat they had shared, stretching as he straightened out, a loud ‘ahh’ escaping him. He kept his eyes forward as he spoke. “Listen to me lass. For now, you drink and eventually take yourself back inside to help out some with some organization we’ve been meaning to get done. Think a bit more on what I said. Think about what you want. What you -really- want. You’ll find the answer. I know you’re a smart lass” 

Prisa watched him uncertainly; how should she respond to the wisdom he had tried to share? 

As he turned to leave, she spoke quickly, breaking her silence. “Alright. I’ll… think on it.” She smiled at him, which he returned in kind. Her eyes flitted over his face as she fought for the right words. She settled on the simple. “Thank you, Korv, for listening for a bit.”

“Anytime, lass.” Kortiv shot her a wink, turning away. As he moved off, he said “We’ll I’ve got to knock some sense into Devon. Bastard bought twenty crates of cloth and didn’t list a single reason as to why it was twice the price we set for it. He’s going to be the death of me..” The old dwarf grumbled goodnaturedly, and meandered away.

Prisa watched him retreat, and she couldn’t help but smile enviously. He was a gruff old war veteran and even still, the man moved and acted as if he was thirty years younger than he was. Always busy, and always with something to say. No matter what life had sent him, he seemed to always come out on top in the end. His experience was one reason she felt comfortable speaking with him; he’d seen everything, and had no judgement left. 

Yet despite the comfort and wisdom, all Kortiv’s warmth left with him. Prisa settled, hands wrapped tight around the cup, a chill creeping into her frame and her thoughts. Without his mass, the emptiness around her was more pronounced, and not even the coffee’s heat, held close, could banish the sense of isolation.

“What I really want..” She muttered to herself, barely above a whisper. She snorted, shaking her head, “As if I know.” Frustration colored her tone. She really didn’t know what she was going to do. She’d been… too comfortable with Kordya and the scarabs. She should have known better. Should have known it could so easily break apart, just like this.

‘But,’ she thought, ‘had it been easy?’. After all, it had taken weeks and weeks and -weeks- of her trying to speak to Kordya. It hurt to see her partner show no empathy, no understanding of Prisa’s pain. How callously Kordya had told her to just ‘move on’. She didn’t, though; that had been the problem. Kordya moved on, and Prisa… hadn’t.

Was she really the one to blame? Could Kordya have done something more?

The thoughts continued to swirl, each chasing after the next, claws and teeth in her mind. She gripped the coffee cup harder, until the heat didn’t feel like anything but pressure. Did Prisa even want to even go back? Did she expect that things would somehow return to normal after leaving? After what she said?

Kordya was not often forgiving. 

Prisa closed her eyes. All this, and it wasn’t even her only problem. Of course. Her thoughts framed the figure then. Agent Black, they’d said their name was. They were a threat to Alana and her family situation. 

It was all tangled. How could she -move on- from being accused as a ‘traitor’ to her people? Were they even wrong? She had served a horde organization. All the alliance soldiers that had been killed… horror filled her, then and now. The disgust, discomfort of knowing what she had been party to. The only reason she’d been able to escape that quagmire was because… of Kordya.

And there she was again. It all came back to Kordya, again and again.

Prisa pursed her lips, silently shaking her head. She wished that she didn’t have to think about the blasted woman right now. Oh how it hurt…

Slowly, Prisa pulled herself up from her seat, setting the mug aside. Abandoned, for now. Taking a few steps away from it and the comfort it had offered, she decided to put away those thoughts. Kortiv had said she didn’t have to come to a decision just yet.

All she had to do was keep moving… and Prisa was determined to do so. Keep moving, and never stop. 

The hills made it impossible to see very far in the distance, but she knew the path she walked. It was a familiar place to her now, even more than it had been in the memories of her distant childhood she’d recalled before actually seeing it again. Her father would take a few of the Pavlov kids up here annually to spend their late summer mornings hunting and fishing the nearby mountain streams. When she returned to find Southshore destroyed, it was the only other place she dared hope they might have fled to, and the last remnant of anything akin to a home she had. Needless to say she was disappointed to find her family’s old hunting cabin abandoned and severely understocked, save for a few rusty tools, upon her long-overdue arrival from Uldum recently.

Despite being exhausted from her arduous journey, Kordya spent what remained of the autumn months restocking the cabin’s pantry and fuel stores. She harvested trees for the lumber and built a small smokehouse to preserve the meat from her hunts. Birds, deer, hogs, fish, rabbits, possums, squirrels; she took whatever she came across that day. Green stuff was rare, save for the occasional wild tubers, apples, and mushrooms she found and the cravings that drove her to raid a mountain farmer’s garden patch. What little money she did have only existed in the potential of selling the dried hides and animal furs she processed. Still, she had a roof over her head, warm clothes on her back, and enough food to last her through til spring. The best part was that she’d done it all on her own, without anyone’s help, just as Nanette said she could never do.

Settling into the daily routine of life at the cabin was easy, especially compared to life as a Blue Scarab. Her only responsibilities were to check and reset traps, collect fresh water, and keep a fire going in her hearth. At night she listened to the logs crackling inside and the distant howling of wolves outside. On this particular morning she had a stroke of luck with her double-hare haul, and imagined all the ways she might utilize them as she marched home through the snow. And it was home to her, even if it didn’t look like much. It was difficult to spot the cabin until you were almost upon it. Despite Kordya taking up residence some time ago, it was still decently camouflaged in the piney underbrush that surrounded it. Over the years, nature had nearly succeeded in reclaiming it. She liked the privacy it provided.

As she rounded the last bend before the cabin came into view, a soft rumbling made her stop in her tracks. Without the crunching underfoot, she listened intently to hear the rumble again, but heard only silence. She looked behind herself to see if she was alone, and she was, but she also noticed a trail of little red drops following her footprints in the snow. The rabbits were lifted from her belt and she saw their blood– half-coagulated, but slowly dripping from their tiny noses. Kordya cursed under her breath at the rookie mistake. Then the rumble came again, only this time she heard it clearly for what it was: a guttural, animalistic growl.

Wasting no time, she started running. The cabin was so close now- she could just about make out the tip of the roof- but whatever made that noise was getting even closer. In the back of her mind she knew she really should have dropped the dead rabbits, but part of Kordya truly believed that if she could just move a little bit faster, she could make it home with her prize and outrun what pursued her. Call it confidence or hubris; Either way, she was quickly proven wrong when the beast easily ran her down. In an instant she was down on the ground, and in a wrestling match with a hungry mountain lion. 

The prowler was the size of a juvenile, and as Kordya scrambled to keep its claws from tearing her face to shreds she could see how emaciated it looked, with skin covered in patchy fur stretched tight over its bony frame. Was it sick? Rabid? A stroke of luck, all things considered, because she knew she wouldn’t stand a chance against a healthy, fully-grown wildcat. With one swift two-legged kick she launched the beast off of her, putting a few feet between them. It immediately charged her again, and she caught the creature’s weight as they collided and hit the ground a second time. The momentum sent both Kordya and the mountain lion rolling down a snowy bank, and the fall was longer and more painful than either expected, with young pines sticking up like spears from the ground. One tree was too large to avoid, and as the two of them smacked into it they finally separated– but not without the beast taking a swipe at Kordya on its way down.

Despite her layers of leather and wool, the wildcat’s claws cut clean through to flesh and left a trio of bloody gashes across her left shoulder. Pulling herself off the snow-covered ground, she didn’t have time to nurse her wounds but she could tell it was bad by the pain that shot through her as she tried to sit up. The mountain lion was dazed from the collision, like she was, but it would soon regain its bearings and was close enough to pounce on her. Kordya gathered her strength and reached for her revolver at her hip, her hand shaking all the while. Just as she raised up the gun, the creature turned and crouched down into a prowl. It snarled as it scented her blood in the snow and began inching towards its injured prey, but Kordya’s nerve held steady. She would only get one shot, she couldn’t miss. One, two, three heartbeats later, the lion pounced on her, and she squeezed the trigger.

BANG!

The beast’s body fell right between her feet, unmoving. Dead, she thought, thank fuck. With her adrenaline still pumping, Kordya groaned her way back onto two legs and steadied herself with a sigh. The rabbits she’d nearly died for were nowhere to be found– lost in the struggle somewhere along the bank. She climbed out of the ravine as fast as she could– which wasn’t very fast at all, considering her blood loss and still-shredded shoulder. Despite the pain, her mind was focused on getting back to the cabin. If she could get back to the cabin, she could fix her shoulder and she would live. That’s all that mattered now. 

—

The three-man patrol had been making its usual exterior perimeter check when Scout Edwin spotted the trail of blood– a deep crimson stain against the pure white backdrop of snow, leading up into the mountains. As head of the patrol, Sergeant Vern suspected trouble and decided they should follow the trail to see where it led. If it happened to be a dying animal, perhaps they could uncover what beast had taken it down, and determine whether or not it was a threat to the labor camp. If it wasn’t an animal, well… They’d face that possibility should it arise, weapons at the ready. It was their sworn duty to protect Lord Wallace’s holdings, even all the way out here.

Riding along, the three of them were led through a thick expanse of pines before finally arriving at an abandoned-looking log cabin with a moss-covered roof. The trail of blood ran right up to the front door, which was open and slightly ajar, creaking back and forth against an icy draft. Whatever they were following had crawled in there to die, the Sergeant concluded, but the experienced soldier wasn’t quite ready to let his guard down yet. To the side of the cabin was a smaller structure and what appeared to be a hide tanning station, with half-finished skins still hanging up to dry. There was more blood leading inside. Both his scouts at his back, he slowly approached the door, blade drawn, and gently pushed it open with the tip of his sword. 

Inside the structure, he was immediately hit with the sharp stench of iron and leather. To his left, tall piles of hides and furs took up a whole corner by themselves. Scanning to the right, he saw a mud-brick hearth at the center of the room, logs black and unlit. Next to that was a wooden crate serving as an end table, a glass oil lamp atop it with a soft, flickering flame clinging to life within. Another pile of furs lay next to the crate, and nestled among the furs, with her back propped up against the wall, was a woman with short red hair. Her skin was pale and her forehead was clammy with sweat. Vern almost didn’t see her at first– the trapper’s clothing she wore blended in with the animal skins she was using for a bed. She didn’t move when the three men entered her home– he suspected she couldn’t, given the trail of blood had led right to her–  but her eyes were surprisingly alert and watched them like a hawk from the moment they arrived.

“Well hello, boys. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I apologize for barging in, ma’am, but we weren’t sure if anyone lived here. I am Sergeant Vernon, of the Lord Commander’s watch. Are you alright? We thought there may be trouble.”

“Oh, I’m fine, thanks. No trouble here. Just– hhngh” she winced as she drew in more breath to continue speaking, “Pull the door closed behind you on the way out, hm?”

“Madam, you appear to be injured. It would burden my conscience to leave you alone like this.”

“Fraid I must insist that all three of you kindly fuck off. I don’t need your help.”

Undeterred, the Sergeant sheathed his weapon and held up his open palms to her, signaling his intent to do no harm. He slowly approached the makeshift bed and its occupant, one step at a time, across creaky wooden floorboards that squealed as he passed over. As he got closer, he could begin to make out just how right he was; the woman’s left shoulder was a mess of ripped leather and blood-drenched bandages. That’s when the smell of rot hit him like a suckerpunch, and he reached for his handkerchief to cover his nose. The sudden movement resulted in a singular soft click from beneath one of the fur blankets spread across her lap. It sounded like the muffled cocking of a gun.

“Lady, please,” he pleaded with her to see reason. “You’re dying, I can already smell death on you. What happened? Did something attack you?”

A few seconds of silence passed before she answered him this time. “...Mountain lion. I shot it.”

“That must have been the gunshot we heard this morning… May I?”

He tried approaching her a second time, hands still raised in surrender. Beneath the blankets, Kordya’s thumb rested on the hammer of her pistol. She took in the Sergeant from head to toe. He was tall and wrinkled, wearing a military-grade uniform topped by a black and gray tabard with a crest she didn’t recognize. The other two younger men seemed preoccupied with the number of fine pelts she had stockpiled inside this old shack, but Kordya only had the strength to deal with one of them at a time. Finally relenting, she signaled him over with a quick flick of the head. “Much obliged,” the Sergeant responded.

Inspecting her ruined shoulder, he peeled back the layers of blackened gauze and strips of rotten cloth to reveal the wounds beneath, and examined the dire state of them. The bleeding had mostly stopped by now, but the skin was inflamed and ripped open still. Without proper medical attention there would be no way to avoid infection, and this woman would be dead within the week, if dehydration didn’t kill her sooner.

“Can you move?” he asked, his voice more gentle this time.

“Not much,” she replied.

“You’ll die if you don’t get treatment soon. You know that, right?”

No answer this time, just a silent stare. The Sergeant let out a frustrated huff of a sigh at her stubbornness. 

“You’ve got a lot of furs here. What are you, some kind of poacher?”

“I guess,” she admitted, knowing that it barely scratched the surface of Kordya’s list of crimes.

“You’re in Lord Antoine Wallace’s territory. To hunt these woods, you have to have express permission from the Lord. Which I’m assuming you don’t have, all things considered.”

“Do you really think I care about who's got permission right now?”

“My point being that if I apprehend you, we can take you back to our fort and have you seen by our medic. Once you’ve received treatment for your wounds, you’ll stand trial and be prosecuted for poaching. It’s a common crime, don’t worry, usually a light sentence…”

“Mister, you’ve got about five seconds to get away from me before I put a bullet in your gut,” she cut him off. “Then we’ll see who’s really hurtin’, eh?”

“Either we take you back and save your life, or you’ll die here. Alone. Maybe soon, maybe you’ll last a while before you finally rot away or get eaten alive by the mountain. If you let us take you back, you’ll have to answer some questions about all these pelts, and it might be annoying, but at least you’ll be alive to be annoyed. That’s better than being something else’s food, or dying in your bed from fever.”

He had a point, Kordya hated to admit. It would be a shame to die like this, after everything she’d been through. Despite how much she missed her family, she didn’t come all this way just to join them in the dark. She ran away both times– from her father’s house and from Nanette– because she wanted to be free, and wanted to live her life where she could make her own decisions. Perhaps she wasn’t a failure, then, to compromise on freedom temporarily if it was the right decision, and her decision, to make at this moment.

Several suggestions were shouted above the noise, but none got an overwhelming response. Kordya slurped her drink as an idea struck her.

“I’ve got one, if someone’ll play along for me.”

“Y’hear that boys? Ol’ Kordy’s providin’ drinks AND entertainment tonight!”

“I ain’t singin’ it by myself! You fuckers better jump in where you’re supposed to- make me look like a damned fool when I’ve been so generous...”

“Well what is it then?”

Kordya smiled and gave a waggle of her eyebrows. “The Raven-Haired Lass.”

A general bustle of approval came from the crowd, and a fiddler stepped up to play. Kordya stepped up onto the bar and began the show.

“Oh, when I am out at sea, there’s just one thing I miss. And it ain’t my mother and it ain’t my pa, and it ain’t the sight of the green, green grass...”

The crowd began to sway to the music now. Others who knew the tune sang along with a hearty bellow.

“What I want most of all, is to get myself a kissed. And I don’t want Sally and I don’t want Sue! I want my Raven-Haired lass.”

“Hi-ho, hi-ho, a thousand years could pass! But there’s nary a thing that I wouldn’t do for a kiss from my Raven-Haired Lass!”

“I’d slay a million men! I’d swim to the bottom of the sea! And I’ll put a bullet right through your eye if you try to keep that lass from me!”

“Hi-ho, hi-ho, a thousand years could pass! But there’s nary a thing that I wouldn’t do for a kiss from my Raven-Haired Lass!”

The shanty bounced from wall to wall and made the tiny pub nearly shake from the sound. Satisfied they could finish the rest, Kordya stepped off the bar and continued drinking. It was one of her favorite songs, as of late. It reminded her of that pretty girl she met a few months prior. 

Kordya still felt bad about leaving the poor creature like she did, all alone if Elf-Country. No place for a human to hang out, even if she was supposedly working for them. She had tried to bring the girl back to Freehold with her, but the girl refused to go.

“Her loss...”

“Whose loss, Red?”

Kordya looked up from her drink, embarrassed. “Huh? Err, nothin’. Nobody. What did I say?”

“Are you drunk already? You used to be tougher n’that! Goin’ soft on us, eh now?”

“Pffft, piss off you slimy bastard. You’re just tryin’ to badger me into buyin’ another round.”

“Is it workin’?”

“.....Yeah.”

The bar erupted in a cheer.

“Hi-ho, hi-ho, a thousand years could pass! But there’s nary a thing that I wouldn’t do for a kiss from my Raven-Haired Lass!”