The garrison was festive. Now that Sha'raan was over, the Draenei that had spent time on Azeroth celebrated the holiday of their allies, feasting on wild fowl and game brought in by the hunters. Keialaar didn't much care for the Bounty holiday; it felt frenetic, gluttonous and over the top. She longed for the quiet reflection of the Sha'raan celebrations... although honesty compelled her to acknowledge those had gotten rather boisterous in the wee hours of the night.
She watched from an upper window of the keep, her eyes following a familiar and beloved form in the courtyard below as Arkturas moved among the men, bending to speak with them here or there, making himself available for complaints and greetings alike. It was a policy she approved of; a commander known to his men was one they could respect. She smiled as Cherynaa darted across the square, hitting her father's knees with shouts of greeting. Without missing a beat, the tall man tossed her up at his shoulder to the little girl's delight. She clung to his crest as he bent to continue his conversation with one of the dwarven sappers the Sword employed.
Keia turned away with a sigh. She was grateful that her loved ones were safe. Even with events in Tanaan having gone the way they had... there were many that were not as fortunate. Veriinya was safe on Azeroth, Arkturas would not go to Tanaan himself, and Cherynaa had a child's delight at being with her parents; she did not seem to miss the homestead in Nagrand. But the same could not be said for the former Rangari herself; she longed to return home, to think of her herds and leather, to sleep beneath the stars up on the ridge at the cabin.
She moved around the room restlessly, picking up small objects then putting them down again. She had not slept easily since returning to Draenor, and at first, she had attributed it to homesickness. Now... she was less certain. Dreams of her father plagued her in the wee hours of the night, and there was no one to whom she could turn. Veriinya, old gods of Argus willing, would never know who he was. Arkturas liked Seriol, and thought her hatred irrational. And even if he didn't think that Seriol was a wholly different man than the monster that had sired her... She closed her eyes, shuddering. The scenes that played out in her mind every night featured her husband-to-be almost as much as her father. It had been a relief when he worked into the wee hours of the night.
She bared her teeth, anger and irritability flaring. Whatever Miriamaa had done... it wasn't enough. Seriol would never leave her be; she'd never be free of his influence. She paced the room, her tail lashing like a cat's. She had thought, upon her initial return to Draenor, that there was an easy way to deal with him; a blade in the dark before he knew there was a threat... She had let Arkturas talk her out of it, but that had been before the dreams began.
Suddenly the solid walls of the keep felt confining, claustrophobic, as if the room was growing smaller. The pressure increased until she felt she must scream. Opening the window didn't help; she needed the sky above her head, and needed it desperately. Her hooves beat the wooden floors in a staccato rhythm as she strode through them, her pace speeding until she was nearly at a run.
"Captain!" She collided with Andren before she could catch herself, rocking the artificer back on his heels. "Are you unwell? Cap- Keialaar?" He reached for her arms, the expression on her face alarming.
"Don't-! Don't touch me!" She dodged, panic flaring anew. She liked Andren; he had been incredibly patient with Cherynaa, and they worked well together. But the idea of any man touching her right now, when she felt like this... nausea roiled in her stomach. She shook her head and darted away.
"CAPTAIN!" His voice drifted after her as she ran past the stables, ignoring the cries of surprise and greeting of the people she pushed aside. The guards at the front gate were too startled to do more than stare after her as she dashed past. She ran until a bend in the road took her out of sight of the gates, pausing to catch her breath. She thought being outside would help, that she would be able to breathe, once she was outdoors. But the sensation of someone breathing down her neck wasn't alleviated; if anything, it was growing more intense.
It took every bit of woodscraft she had ever learned to obscure her cautious descent through the forested slope. The mountain trails were the first place anyone would look; she was known to haunt them when she needed the sky above her head, and the thought of Ark's worried and pitying expression was more than she could bear.
She ran for hours, stopping only when her legs threatened to give way beneath her. She hadn't made it terribly far down the mountain; when the wind shifted, she could hear voices- hopefully still celebrating... hopefully not searching for her. By her estimation, she should have a full day; perhaps two. It wasn’t the first time she had gotten restless and tired of being penned up behind stone walls... and her regret at leaving without a word was engulfed by the strange compulsion that drove her out of the fortress.
Exhausted, she curled up at the base of a tree, rubbing skinned palms over her knees. She would rest for a few minutes... then move on. Auchindoun was to the north; she could feel it like a lodestone in her mind. He was there. But so too Arkturas would be, as soon as he realized she was missing. I need space. And quiet. I need to figure out what to do. I need...
She didn't finish the thought, sliding into darkness.
