#telnah

“     telnah,   telnah !   come !   the water is nice !     ”     near gadgetzan and the caverns of time both lies a stretch of water that was unraveled in the wake of the cataclysm.   shallow and clear,   the water never quite reaches to untold depths;   perfect for a quick swim to clear your thoughts,   or to splash water at your unsuspecting partner in not just crime,   but also in life.

yalean does just that.   his hand forms a cup and a mischiveous grin appears easily on his face as he dips it beneath the waves,   letting it roll over purple skin,   before he quickly flicks it towards the much shorter woman.   it forms a small rainbow,   seven shades and beyond in a curve directed specifically towards the sparingly red cloth of telnah’s leather attire.

“     see ?   it’s so nice.     ”

(   and perhaps he’s laying it on a bit too thick.   )

@telnah whispered:     “     i’m happier when i’m with you.     ”     :)

          GENTLE IS THE SUN THAT SHEDS ITS LIGHT UPON THE PALEST MOON ...     push and pull,   such are their fates,   for when the moon pushes the waves the sun will inevitably pull them back.   give,   share,   return   —   and when dawn breaks warm the moon kisses the sun,   and is then gone.

he nestles his head against the crown of telnah’s head,   mindful of her horns which,   when he looks at her from certain angles,   seems to spear the very heavens.   the pointed tips of her ears tickles his cheeks and he breathes out a laugh.   she is small,   yalean always thinks when he stands or sits or breathes near her,   small and lithe but so very strong and stubborn.

“     o - oh,   you fluster me ...     ”     he whispers   (   yalean speaks true;   the lavender of his cheeks takes on the hue of elderberries   ),   a low croon in the back of his throat that sounds like summer,   and the flaxen strands of hair beneath his armored chin sways like corn when he exhales against it.

eversong woods is a place of beauty and he has already marveled at the flora and fauna,   the lynxes hunting and the flowers finally taking root in long - since decayed earth.   the scar is healing,   and so too will the land,   and the civilization just beyond the golden walls of silvermoon city.   he plucks a dandelion from the grass and carefully puts the fragile plant behind one of telnah’s ears;   she can not see,   not with eyes removed by her own hand,   but she will be able to feel the stem and the fluttering kisses as the seeds blow in the shallow wind.

arms tighten and yalean turns his head so his cheek rests against her hair.   he nuzzles into it,   breathing in the scent;   once the faint hint of fel might have made him ill but now he finds comfort when it comes from that which he holds dear.   it’s so very telnah,   this scent,   fel and leather and the soap she uses to rinse her hair with   —   it’s so very her,   and he finds it to be a favorite.

he swallows,   and speaks.

“     allow me this,   just this once:   ‘ it starts as a gentle summer breeze ... ’     ”     and poems spill from his lips as response,   stuttering tones and barely formulated words,   and he closes his eyes and finds that he doesn’t mind the darkness when he’s already holding tight to something brighter than the sun.

in the near distance the jovial laughing of his daughter fills the air,   chasing after a fledgling dragonhawk of unknown origin.