#vroanor

Yaas had been on Azeroth for less than a year on on the day she woke up in Strenglethorn and looked out of her inn room, past the piers, over the sea, and thought it looked nothing like an ocean should. Pink light was just growing out of the haze of the horizon, the black ocean flickering red where water peaked, like a thousand mirrors floating on its surface. Yaas tried to remember the view of the seas back on Draenor. She found that she couldn’t. The smell wasn’t quite right. There was so much salt, but something else too.

Arms slipped around Yaas’ waist. Vroanor was short enough that, hugging from behind like this, her shoulders were about halfway up Yaas’ back. Still, her considerable horns clicked against Yaas’ own when she lay her cheek between Yaas’ shoulderblades. Yaas looked down, crossing her arms over Vroanor’s blue over purple. It was like hugging back. Yaas said, “Good morning.”

Vroanor responded with a sleepy mutter, leaning more of her weight, making Yaas lean on the railing in front of her to keep her balance.

The mirrors on the ocean turned turned from red to yellow. The cool wind wrapped them and made Vroanor’s touch feel so warm, her sighs hot over Yaas’ skin. How far Yaas was from home now. How far she was from those she’d loved there, from those who had given her comfort. And this new sea, this new touch: familiar, but not the same. Yaas moved her thumb on Vroanor’s arm, smudging a mark of charcoal; Vroanor was an artist who’d been teaching Yaas to draw in exchange for Paladin training. A new hobby.

“Do you think it’s okay,” Yaas said, “To be trying to be happy after everything that’s happened?”

Vroanor shrugged, so she hadn’t completely fallen asleep again, leaning against Yaas like that. It took her a long time to finally say, “I don’t think it’s ever too late for things to get better.”