#wowrp

A whisper at the back of her mind - one of those three spirits who'd found it fit to linger after this… odd resurrection she'd been subjected to - reminded her that perhaps, there was a good reason for it. Perhaps it was better this way, allowing the distance and time rather than ripping the wound open anew.

She knew otherwise. Knew that Indraste would feel the pulse in her ring, too, and knew that she would know. Knew that the time she could reasonably stay away without calling it avoidance was running drastically short, and eventually… well, she'd just have to suck it up and do something.

But she knew other things, too. Knew that the small ways she'd found to at least get an idea of Indy's wellbeing revealed things that indicated, to Blix at least, that Indy may not even want Blix in her life anymore. Present circumstances dictated an abundance of caution, more than likely, and Blix knew that she was - truly - a wrecking ball that would decimate every bit of the quiet peace that the former healer had fought so hard to achieve for herself.

It was that fear that kept Blix away, and that same fear that caused this ache in her chest, now. She knew, of course, that the only way to truly find out was to go, to just… talk to her. Make herself known, again. Accept the fear of being known, of the possibility of hearing you aren't the same person I knew, and finding her way through life again, regardless. She knew.

So why was it so difficult?

One hand came up, woven of the vine that Indraste had so, so carefully grown, and pressed at the space on her chest over her heart as she took a deep, shaking breath. She'd missed being alive, she realized - she'd gotten lucky to get another shot at it. To be able to try this, again. Eternity in death was just that, and she had no interest in sprinting back towards it right now. Towards the same door in the afterlife that she'd taken to begin with, towards whatever cacophony would wait behind it. No. This was a reprieve: a true returning, and she had the chance to love life, to cherish it, to cherish Indy again.

The idea of being able to run her hands through violet hair and pull out feather after feather made her ache for the want of it. Time in her afterlife had passed so strangely - despite its passage (what had appeared, at least to her, to be thousands of years) she still found herself so desperately enamored that it drove every instinct of herself to cling on to the memory. She'd promised Indraste, all that time ago, in a soft whisper and with tears lining mismatched eyes, that if she found a way, she'd take it.

And here she was, afraid to even go home.

Afraid that she'd be rejected.

Afraid of what she would find.

Afraid of tearing the wound open again.

Through all of it, still hoping, hoping, hoping that maybe she stood a chance. She'd take as many hits as it required: she'd endure a storm of punches and feathers and rage just for a glimmer of it. She'd prostrate herself, she'd do damned-near anything.

Blix's head had turned, however slowly, towards the direction she knew her ring was leading, and she only just realized it as she stared off towards a coastline in the distance.

So close, and yet with what felt like a universe between them.

Softly, so softly that it could barely be heard in the shadows between the tree branches, Blix whispered.

She'd worked, tirelessly, to afford a home far from all that Eversong and Silvermoon held: all the bloom-laden memories, all the hollow-eyed and faintly-cool promises of a summer never to arrive, all the grief and rage that came with it. She and Eerie had made it happen - they had a place of their very own, now, with beach chairs and a semi-trusted goblin-made umbrella framing a backdrop against a few islets across the bridge from the backside of their property. The Cast Company had held openings on their plots of land, and she'd taken the leap without hesitation. The promise of seasons - real, honest, tangible, tumultuous seasons - had been too strong to resist, even knowing she would be mere miles from that damnable bridge.

It was no surprise that the moment she crossed the border between southern Eversong and the rest of that wide world, her communicator pinged with an alert for some tasking or another back in Silvermoon. She silenced it.

This was for her.

She'd had enough of pain, recently; Sira, at least, was on her feet, intending to attend some event or another outside of the city. She hadn't specified what, or where, or for how long, but she had asked Rae to find a way to conjure an arm for her to hold for the duration of the night. Rae had agreed. It had taken sixteen attempts and her running through at least four full waterskins between them, but eventually, she'd gotten the spellwork right; that sort of transmutation was never light work, but she'd been determined to see it through while she waited for word from Fe about the project for Sira's new arm being taken underway.

Beyond that, however? Sira had worked - tirelessly, Rae might add - to assuage her friend's guilt. She'd known the risks, she'd said. Signed the employment contract with them in mind. Made the choice to help with the bridge repair, and made the choice to continue despite the dangers that had presented themselves. It wasn't Raenessa's fault, in Sira's eyes - but that guilt was something that Rae couldn't simply dismiss with poetry and promise.

So, she'd left Eversong. The last thing she needed was reminder after reminder, right now, of her own self-perceived failure; she had a feeling that if she showed up with two broken hands, again, she might gain a few looks and questions that she didn't have the willpower to answer.

Rae didn't have any particular destination in mind, having requisitioned a dragonhawk for the sake of just… flying. She didn't have the means, nor the funding to keep one of her own, of course - but this would do. A bit of time, blessedly, to herself.

Consequently, as the breeze and a grip on the reins steered her south, she tipped her head back for a moment and let intuition guide for a time. She could plot roughly where she was by the smell of the air - it'd be some time before she left the ruin of the Eastern Plaguelands, and that would be time that she could use to let everything else that had been crowding her mind so heavily flutter away in the breeze. Distantly, the memory of a death knight wearing a comrade's face passed through her mind, followed by the distinct shock of decay stripping her flesh from its bones without mercy, and the even more distinct pain of having it restored - reversed. She'd felt every moment of the work as her life had been forcefully preserved. She shoved the thought away, stifling a retch at the recollection, and proceeded to tune every other thought that seemed coherent or formed from words away.

She only looked down again when the smell of distant rot began to ease, and she found herself rapidly approaching the border towards the Hinterlands. That would do.

In those pine forests, she found a comfortable place to land, nestled up in the clifftops and with adequate space for the dragonhawk to rest after the journey; she'd left before sunrise, and it hung at a perfect midpoint in the sky, now, leaving Rae in a light-dappled clearing with a satchel full of notes, study materials, and a lunch she'd packed just before she left the city.

Briefly, she debated throwing all of her communicators over the cliff's edge, and allowing herself to be completely isolated. That thought, however, passed as well. That wouldn't be acceptable, she knew: she needed to at least be available to Eerie and the Company, if few others. So, she simply set them aside, stripped away the travel layers she wore, and spent her day in the sunlight as she read through a dense tome in Draenic on magical theory and application, copying entries into her notes, and testing her spellcraft against it in small bursts. She didn't want to do anything productive; not in the sense of being around others, or feeling any sense of obligation, at least. There was a mounting pressure to be present, to be available, to be ready, and that wasn't the sort of pressure Rae thought she could handle, today.

Eventually, after she'd eaten her lunch and noted the telltale sign of a tan setting in through the steadily-darkening freckles on her shoulders, she stood, brushed her legs off, and kicked away her shoes as she approached the cliffside. The dragonhawk had fallen asleep - she woke it with a whistle, watching as the beast fluttered over. She double-checked the security of the chain holding the hawk's whistle around her neck, nodded in satisfaction - and jumped.

Air screamed past her as her target rapidly rose to meet her descent; she'd planned for this. There would be no solid land, but the mercy of water beneath her, somewhere northeast of Shaol'watha on the coastline. She straightened her body, aiming her hands in front of her, and squeezed her eyes shut as she broke the surface of the ocean below.

Saltwater embraced her in a frigid blanket as she pushed herself to the surface - when she broke for air, she shook her hair from her eyes and grinned as she felt the sun beat away every inch of that cold on her face. She paddled to the rocky shore not long after, seating herself on a rock and letting her legs dangle in the water as she watched the waves crash against each other in that eternal dance they always seemed to hold.

She stayed there for hours; the dragonhawk had since come down, itself, to dip through the water with elegant turns and maneuvers, catching fish in its beak and eating its fill. Rae watched for a time before eventually diving back into the water, herself, to splash water up at the creature and begin a lighthearted game of it. Never once during that time did her thoughts slip to the past week. Never once did she feel the urge to curl in on herself, or sleep, or fight, or cry. She was grateful for it. A few times, she'd coax the dragonhawk into flying her up, again, so she could run and jump, diving into the waves below; it was a cycle, over and over, each time she broke the surface of that water bringing some sense of divine relief. A weight lifted, washed away in air and sea.

Eventually, though, the sun grew low on the horizon, and Rae could feel the effect of the day on her body; her skin was flush with warmth, redness having long-since taken over on the high points of her cheekbones, her shoulders, the tops of her thighs. She pulled herself onto the dragonhawk's back, soaring up the side of the cliffs again and beginning to gather her belongings. She pulled layer after layer of clothing back on for the journey north, wincing at the sting it caused against her tender skin. She'd heard that the Bonfire Bash in Stranglethorn was going to be four days long, this year; she'd need to be prepared to face much worse than the consequences of a few hours of sunlight, she figured. This was a good start to that.

As much as she could chastise herself - say it was irresponsible to forego her duties in favor of this day, say it was irreconcilable that she'd leave Sira to her own devices while under her own workings - she couldn't find it in herself to genuinely believe it. As she walked back to the waiting hawk, she glanced at the holocrystal she always carried, and snorted as she saw a veritable barrage of messages from her sister.

where are you? rae raerae raenessa flameveil if you fucking died i swear to all the gods rae i'm serious you never just run off like this WHERE ARE YOU???? did you go to get laid IS IT THE WIZARD BOY you know what nvm i don't want to know see you later love you be safe dont end up in jail

Rolling her eyes, she tapped out a quick message in response, comprised of "Relax, I'm fine, took a day off", and hefted herself onto the dragonhawk's back, securing herself for the flight. A few more pings from the crystal noted Eerie's likely-irate response.

"She can deal with it," Rae murmured. "I'll explain later."

And, honestly? To feel the beginning of summer, and to feel a little more elven after the past few weeks had nearly beaten it from her?