#xano

Darkness.

Before, it had been darkness. But before the darkness, there had been light. Verdant green, as far as the eye could see. Wild and untamed, nature at its purest form. The source of the magics used by the Druids taught by Cenarius and his kin. And for many ages since it came to be, the Dream had its Wardens. And for a long time, there was peace and learning. Unfortunately, as is the way of things, it could not last.

The Legion came. And the beings of the Dream and of the Waking World, the Ancients and the Druids, the magi not taken in by the fork-tongued lies of the demons all banded together to stand and fight. And the Wardens of the Groves were there too. The War was long, and its toll was great on the defenders. Many great heroes gave their lives to push back the Legion, including the very Ancients themselves. And there were Wardens lost, of course. But not all.

And some of those lost were not dead.

Darkness. All had become darkness. And within that darkness, rage. Unfettered, unmitigated and unyielding. It burned without ebb in that endless darkness. And then, something …shifted. Something that was meant to be was not. Time diverged, destinies that had not been suddenly were and those that were, were no more. And somewhere, somehow, that rage was unleashed.

***************

Xanotos sat resting in one of the lodges in the Moonglade. It was as peaceful as ever, and that was a blessing, especially with all the goings on in the world of late. Hidden lands, once more known to the world. Crackpot warlords messing with the timeline, to the point of creating a whole alternate world, no less.

“Tha’s some deep feckin’ shite, Hind’s Teeth…” he muttered.

The druid’s major gathering point on Azeroth had become a favorite spot of his a few years earlier, during his time recuperating after spending a little over a year prior to *that* as a ravening feral worgen. Xanotos had asked for a bit quieter place to recuperate than Darnassus. While it wasn’t exactly a bustling metropolis like Gilneas City or Stormwind, it was still…close? No, just…with the influx of Gilneans making it their second home (he still hadn’t found his parents, or Tess), it was starting to feel crowded. So, at the suggestion of one of the druids, he had taken up temporary residence in Moonglade. It was tranquil, quiet and he was able to rest and work through being back in the world and awake. So, he made it a point to come visit, time and work permitting. Though as he ruminated, he looked back on his memories of that time.

He could recall fleeing Gilneas, the attack on their caravan, Tess. She had turned, and then attacked him, spreading the curse. Things got spotty after that – he couldn’t recall anything solid, just impressions, feelings mostly. A few glimpses here and there. He knew it had been a span of some time. He’d been feral, roaming the Black Wald and apparently making the unlives of every Forsaken that set their rotting feet there as unpleasant and hellish as possible. His first clear memory after that was being captured by the damned deaders, then tearing free. Then he’s captured again, only this time it’s by the Gilneas Liberation Front. The warrior chuckled, shaking his head at the memory of being clocked squarely in the jaw by Darius Crowley. Not the way he would have wanted to meet the man. After being forced to drink a copious amount of the most bitter draught he’d ever had the displeasure of tasting, he had regained most of his senses. It took time for them to manage to get to Darnassus, and the druidic ritual that granted his fractured being unity. Xano chuckled and shook his head.

“No sense dwellin’ on wot’s-” he was cut off by a commotion at the lodge’s main entrance. He stood and hastened to see what was going on.

“Get a mender! Quickly!” A tauren bellowed. He and a rather stout kaldorei man were carefully hauling in a badly injured tauren woman between them. Her tawny fur was stained dark and matted with blood in places, masking most of her injuries, though the warrior thought he could make out some nasty puncture wounds. Behind them was another kaldorei woman, holding her arm, her complexion pale. Aside from her arm, which wasn’t sitting *quite* how it should as she cradled it, she bore a few nasty gashes and a cut under one eye that reached nearly to her jaw and was a nasty purple at the edges. A few moments later, several more druids came running at the summons and the familiar green glow of druidic healing magic filled the room. Once the tauren was stable, they fashioned a stretcher for her from stout vines another druid had sprouted and took her off to the healing ward. Her compatriot who was in far less dire straits, was being treated where she stood by another druid. Keeping well out of the way, the Gilnean caught the arm of one of the tauren passing by and nodded at the injured woman.

“What happened?” Xano made sure to enunciate, as his accent had the often-amusing effect of eliciting the most amazing looks of befuddlement. The tauren looked at the woman and shook his head.

“I would guess they tried taming the Beast.” The druid almost jumped as the human’s left eye gave a short, sharp flash of amber.

“A Beast, ye say. Tell me more…”

***************

The rage burned within. Ever-present, never ceasing. Violent and consuming. Insatiable. Where once there was a stalwart defender of the Groves, now only was there a Beast, ravenous and unyielding. And despite the most well-meaning efforts of the stoutest druids, no one had been able to calm the raging spirt that came and went through the Glade. All but a ghost, sometimes in the Glade, sometimes in the Dream, but never ceasing in its rage. Another pair had come, looking to soothe the poor Beast, to grant him peace. And this only further incensed it. How dare they? Did they truly think that they, mere mortals, could subdue him? A being that had seen ages rise and fall, had seen countless mortals live and die in a war that nearly destroyed the very world they walked upon? The rage grew, and it was all the druids could do to defend themselves against the onslaught. Before either was slain, the Beast slid back into the Dream, and the two druidesses retreated.

***************

“…and so it goes,” spoke the tauren. He sat with Xanotos on the deck overlooking Lake Elune'ara. “The Beast has been raging for some time now, and all efforts to pacify it have failed. None have been killed, thankfully, but that may only be a matter of time. It grows ever more violent and we fear it may leave these woods to wreak havoc on others less able to fend it off.” The Gilnean listened with a nod. After contemplating the shimmering waters of the lake, he leaned forward, steepling his hands.

“So, where’d this…Beast come from? Anyone know?” The tauren nodded.

“We believe it to have once been a Warden of the Grove. A powerful spirit of the Emerald Dream. Some time during the War of the Ancients, many of these beings came to our aid, but many fell. And not all that fell died. It is our fear that this one may have become corrupted, though why it remained dormant for so long, none can say.” Another nod.

“So…’s there any way to, I dunno…un-corrupt it?” It was a fair question, or so Xano thought. The druid stroked his braided beard in thought, accompanied by a deep rumbling hum.

“I would suppose so, though we would need someone quite powerful, I imagine. The trick is getting it subdued. All manner of pacification and soothing have been unfruitful.” The warrior shrugged, grinning.

“Anyone try jes’ sockin’ ‘im in th’ nose?” The druid blinked eyes wide. He made to respond, then paused, brow furrowed.

“I…do not think so? I mean, not that I have heard. Most figured any direct conflict would end poorly, enrage it further.” Another eye flash from the human and he nodded, standing.

“Alright. So wot we ‘ave here,” Xano began, then cleared his throat. Enunciate, right. “What we have here is something I may be able to help with. You find someone to un-corrupt the poor bugger and let me handle the rest.”

***************

Back from the Dream, the Beast prowled the woods surrounding the Lake once more. Why was it drawn here? To what end? These questions only fueled its anger. Stalking through the trees, it stopped. Something approached, something…different. Not one of those foolish druids, no. This one smelt of blood and steel, but not as a Sentinel or one of the Wardens that guarded the Barrows from him. No, this one was something new. The rage subsided enough for curiosity to guide, for now. The Beast stalked into a clearing and saw this new thing. It was shorter than most of the kaldorei, and its ears were tiny by comparison. His face was a more tanned hue than the violets and blues of the elves, though one of his eyes was closer to the kaldorei, glowing albeit not their silver, more an amber hue. Its hair was a silver color, matching some of the bits of patchwork armor he wore. However, the most curious thing was when it *spoke*.

“Oi, fur’ead.” What manner of language was this? Surely no civilized tongue. It continued.

“So, I ‘ear ya been tearin’ ‘bout th’ place, stovin’ things up an’ roughin’ up th’ kin’ folk wot only wish t’ ‘elp yae out.” A shake of his head – pity, or condescension? Either way, it drew the Beast’s ire and it snorted, stamping the ground with a hoof. A warning. The little thing noticed.

“Oh, ho. Gettin’ pissed, eh? Well, so’m I. I cannae cotton tae rough an’ rowdies tha’ think ‘ey c’n jes go abou’ hurtin’ folk. So.” He drew his shield. “I ain’ here tae whisper sweet nothin’s ‘r put flowers in yer mane.” He settled into a low stance and the most infuriating grin broke on his features.

“I’m ‘ere ta kick yer furry feckin arse.” With a bellow that shook the heavens, the Beast lowered his head and charged. This time, there would be nothing left to limp back to the lodges.

***************

When the massive beast lowered its head for a charge, Xano had a fleeting wonder of “Was that too much?”. And then there was not time for thought. Judging the angle of the charge, he shifted his stance, shield up. He wasn’t about to take a ramming blow head on – even with a much stouter shield, the Beast’s antlers could punch the shield hard enough to break bones. So he deflected and dodged. Part of his job was to subdue the Beast, but he also needed to buy time. Apparently, the druid he’d spoken with was going to try and get Keeper Remulos to aid them. The warrior was hugely skeptical, but he knew *someone* would be coming. He just had to try and wear the Beast down in the meantime. The creature was strange, but strange in the way that something familiar was strange when seen through thick glass or covered in a sheet. The basic form was much like the elderhorn moose his grandfather spoke of when he was a lad. Great, proud animals that stood heads above any horse, with sweeping antlers big enough for a grown man to lie in like a hammock. This, though, was that pride and greatness twisted and tainted. Its fur was black as pitch, with eyes red as burning coals. Strange, whirling symbols that glowed red covered its head and neck, running up into antlers that ended in deadly, bloody points. He dodged another pass, the thunder of great hooves shaking the ground beneath his feet.

“Oi, c’mon, now, is tha’ all? Yea jes run at me an’ ‘ope I stand still?” The Beast stood glaring at the little man, huffing hard. The taunt was infuriating, and so it changed tactics. Stalking forward slowly, it lowered its head enough to bring its pointed antlers into play. It approached at an angle, feinting and thrust its head forward, much like a fencer. Each attempt meant to be a killing blow, meeting only empty air, or glancing off that shield. The Beast bellowed.

*Hold still, you infuriating mortal! * Xanotos was shocked into stopping, shield forgotten.

“Yae can bloody *talk*-oh feck!” The distraction was enough for a mighty sweep of that antlered head to catch him hard in one shoulder and send him spinning into a tree. He felt the wind knocked out of him as he impacted, landing hard and wheezing to catch his breath. “Th’ bloody feck…it talks…wot ‘n Hind’s name…” There wasn’t much time to catch his breath as he now had to dodge lashing hooves, aimed at crushing his skull.

*You*dare* come to my lands, *my* domain and make threats against me?! I will scatter your entrails across this lake before I trample those druids into the dust! * After one decisive blow that barely missed, the writhing little man lashed out with a booted foot. Being off balance from his onslaught, the Beast bellowed and fell to one side, allowing his opponent to scramble upright.

Xanotos wiped blood from the side of his mouth with a thumb, breathing hard.

“A’righ’ ya mouthy git. Kid gloves are *off*.” The Beast righted itself and let out another bellow of rage, fit to deafen the little man. Who just spat to one side and then roared back. The Beast balked.

*What? * As it watched, the mortal before him grew and shifted. His face elongated, taking on the appearance of a wolf, long tapered ears stretching from his head. Hands stretched and grew into paws with sharp, blackened claws. The worgen roared again.

“Let’s go, y’over-grown moccasin! I c’d use a new wallet!” Shaking out of its shock, rage flooding back and hazing its world in red, the Beast bellowed in kind and the attack was renewed.

***************

The sounds of battle carried well over the lake, and echoed through the woods, giving many pause as they tried to determine what horror was being visited upon this secluded corner of Kalimdor. There was a small group of figures headed toward the sound, however. The tauren had made good on his word, and he lead Keeper Remulos to the post he and the warrior had designated for capturing the Beast. The Keeper was flanked by a burly pair of bear druids, galloping along beside him as they made their way towards the battle. The taunts of the Gilnean had given way to howls and roars to match the Beast’s deafening bellows. It took some time to make their way around – the spot agreed upon was on the far side of the lake, to minimize the chance of bystanders being caught in the fight. The thunderous sounds of battle grew to a crescendo, and then….silence. The group halted.

“Murhal, are you sure this worgen was up to the task?” asked Remulos. The tauren nodded, looking back to the Keeper and his escort.

“Indeed. We’d best be cautious, though.” That said they continued onward, on-guard for any sign of the Beast. What they found, however…

“Oi! Wot took so – ‘old still, ya feckin’ arsehole!” The sight that greeted them was the Beast, chuffing and foaming at the mouth, as it scrambled to get a foothold. The worgen had it in a headlock in such a way that his own head was tucked under one antler which kept him out of the way of that and the beast’s gnashing teeth. His legs were locked around the Beast’s forelegs, and it had been toppled onto its side. Despite its thrashing, the worgen was not letting go. All the rage it could muster, thrown at the rage the worgen possessed and it had lost. It had not expected this kind of opposition. A beast that fought like a man.

“Look, if ya…could jes, I dunno…do th’ thing tae end this, I’d be grateful. Me arms’re… getting tired, aye?” The worgen’s natural eye was swollen nearly shut, leaving his glowing amber eye open. What parts of his armor had managed to stay on were in bad shape, scored, dented and rent horribly; several spots where the armor had not been up to par were bloodied, though the worgen seemed more focused on keeping the Beast restrained.

*Filthy wretches, I will see you-!* The Beast’s bellow died to a squeak as Xano squeezed its windpipe.

“Talky bastard, ain’ ya?” He looked up at Remulos. “No offense, Keeper, bu’ any day now!” Nodding, Remulos raised his bark-covered arms, a swirling green light beginning to flow between them. The other druids shifted back – and began channeling their power as well. Thick vines began sprouting from the earth, slowly encasing the Beast, pulling it from Xano’s grip. The Beast tried to thrash, but these were vines conjured from the Dream itself. Slowly, the vines dragged the Beast to the waters of the lake. Rage filled it once more, but there was no escape. Xanotos stood, frowning as he watched the Beast being dragged into the waters of Lake Elune’ara.

“Oi oi oi! Yae said yae were gonna fix ‘im, no’ *drown* ‘im!” Murhal made a shushing gesture.

“Just watch.”

Xano did as he was asked, giving one lupine snort and watching with increasing worry. Which ebbed when he saw the vines were not dragging the Beast *under*, but *over* the surface of the lake. As the worgen watched, the faint motes of light that flitted above the lake began to grow in number, taking on a greenish tint. The vines enveloped the Beast completely and Remulos chanted in a tongue Xano couldn’t understand, but Murhal was kind enough to translate.

“*May the Goddess soothe your ceaseless rage. May her embrace bring you peace and wash away the darkness on your heart. * More or less, “ the tauren rumbled. The waters of the lake then rose in graceful, twisting helixes and wrapped around the cocoon of vines. The light grew in intensity, motes dancing and swirling near-blinding. Xanotos raised an arm, turning away from the too bright light. Once it dimmed, he watched as the cocoon opened and fell away. There stood the Grove Warden, Beast no longer. His fur was no longer pitch black, but a deep brown. Where there had been blazing red eyes, full of hatred and pulsing red runes now were glowing blue whorls and eyes blue as the sky, full of warmth and kindness. The elderhorn glided over the waters and came to stand before Murhal and Xanotos. The Warden turned to look at Remulos.

*Thank you, brother, for setting me free from that Nightmare.* The Keeper bowed. Xano swiped at his nose, giving an indignant sniff.

“An’ wot am I, chopped liver?” The worgen suddenly found himself the focus of five pairs of eyes, and very self-conscious.

“Wot? ‘m outta line?” Murhal gaped.

“Wait…did you…can you understand him?” He gestured at the Grove Warden, whose head was cocked to one side.

“Uh, well, yea, I can un’erstand ‘im. Can’t you?” The tauren shook his head. Another shift of eyes occurred as Keeper Remulos let out a rumbling belly laugh. The druids looked like their eyes might fall out of their head and Xano blinked, though he couldn’t fight a smile.

“’m glad t’ give ya a laugh, Rem, bu’ wot’s so funny?” The Keeper gestured with the elongated fingers of his barkskin hand.

“It seems, young Master Delkai, that through this trial, you and the Warden here have shared a bond, of sorts. Whereas I can understand and speak with all animals, all that our friends here heard,” he motioned to the druids, “was the whuffling and lowing of the Warden as any other elderhorn.” The worgen blinked, then looked back at the Warden.

“Huh. Would y’lookit tha’. An’ ‘ere I jes’ though I got ‘im pissed enough t’ start yellin’.” The Warden let out a melodious bellow and Xano and Remulos laughed. The druids joined in after, not sure of the joke, but glad to have aided as they had. Once recovered, Remulos took his leave and headed back to his post. Murhal glanced at Xano.

“So, warrior, what now?” The worgen shrugged.

“I dunno.” He looked at the Warden. “Oi, big guy.” The moose turned to look at the warrior, a questioning look to its face (or so Xano thought).

“Wanna come adventurin’ with me? I mean, ya’ve been stuck ‘ere f’r a while. Lot’s goin’ on in th’ world. An’ ya’re good in a fight, could use a fellow like you.” The Warden blinked, letting out a surprised chuff. However, the worgen was right. He *had* been away from the world for too long. How much had changed, in that time? A good deal, if this strange man before him was any indication. The Warden bent one foreleg and extended the other, bowing his great antlered head.

*I would be honored to accompany you, friend. * Murhal looked at Xano.

“What’d he say?” The warrior laughed.

“Tha’s a yes, though a bit flowery.” As the moose stood, Xanotos looked him over, rubbing his chin. “Y’got a proper name, mate?” The Warden shook his head.

“We always referred to them as Grove Wardens,” Murhal offered with a shrug. Xano shook his head.

“Nah, tha’s a*title*. We need a name. Hmm. How abou’…” He scratched his chin in thought, then snapped his fingers. “Mundus!” The Grove Warden tilted his head once more.

“’t’s a word I saw in one o’ my uncle’s books when I was a lad. Scholar’s tongue. Means “the world”, I think? Some’in’ like ‘at. And, I mean, we’re goin’ out t’see the world, so, why not?” After a few moments of ponderance, the Warden – now Mundus – nodded. Murhal chuckled.

“Well, glad to meet you, Mundus. I hope this fellow isn’t too much of a burden.” The tauren clapped his grinning compatriot on the shoulder. The Gilnean barked out a laugh.

“Eh, s’long as he doesnae drink like me, we’ll be fine!”

***************

“And tha’s ‘ow we met.” Xano ended his tale with a long pull from his mug. He was seated at one of the outdoor tables at the Recluse, boots up on the tabletop. Mundus, standing on the grass next to the raised platform, rested his head on Xano’s shoulder. Across from the Gilnean sat a void-elf mage, one of Tempest’s newer hires and a fellow Xano found to be an exceptionally good listener. Erasmus (or Ras, as Xano had taken to calling him) was seated facing Xano, his face a study in focus. He had approached the warrior earlier in the evening, and after chatting, had asked a single question.

“So, Xano, what precisely *is* Mundus?” Xano had quirked a brow as he offered an apple to the subject of their discussion. The moose and worgen had shared a look, the former giving the closest thing to a shrug the mage had seen a non-Druidic quadruped perform. The worgen snorted.

“Yae’re real ‘elpful, y’lout,” Xano growled.

“Mroo.”

“Oi, you kiss yer mum wi’ tha’ mouth?”

“Mroo.” The warrior facepalmed. “Well, Ras, ‘t’s a long story, and would likely require a drink. If ‘ose terms ‘re acceptable, I c’n fill you in. No’ many ‘ave asked, really. Might take a bit o’ time.” The mage had practically beamed at the answer, pale-blue eyes alight with excitement.

“Splendid! Did you have someplace particular in mind for that drink?” The mage idly rubbed at one wrist with the opposite hand, and Xano shrugged.

“Well, th’ Recluse’s quieted down some, an’ ‘t’s a nice evenin’. May as well grab an outdoor table. Hang on a tick…” The worgen exhaled once and his form shifted, reverting to his human state. “Been runnin’ ‘round in fur too long, need a break anyhow.” Erasmus nodded and the two made their way to the table they now sat in. Once they had settled in and ordered their drinks, the mage steepled his fingers and fixed Xanotos with a rather intense look of interest. As with many ren’dorei, his skin was a darker shade on the blue end of the spectrum, more a dark greyish-purple, and his crimson hair was only less unruly than Xano’s pewter mop due to its length; it rested along the elf’s shoulders, framing an often tired-looking face. His goatee, however, was well trimmed, as opposed to the Gilnean’s ever-present five o’ clock shadow.

“I do have one question, before you start,” he began, pausing to flick some unseen particle from his Kirin Tor vestments. “I have heard you on the comms, and sometimes in person, speaking with Mundus.” The elderhorn, at this point, was standing to one side of the table. The height of the raised patio the two gentlemen occupied put the table at the proper height for Mundus to join their conversation. Xano nodded at Erasmus’s question and his “sidekick” let out a short chuff.

“Aye,” he chuckled. “We seem t’ ‘ave a knack f’r amusin’ folks at odd times. Wot of it?” He grinned, likely having figured out the question, but allowed the elf to speak.

“Can you actually understand him? I mean, there are people who talk to their pets – not like hunters, and the like, but folk with domesticated animals.” He turned to Mundus, gesturing with one hand. “Not that I consider you such, Mundus, and I mean no offense. In fact, I doubt anyone with a modicum of sense and curiosity thinks you are fitting of such a banal description, but I digress.” Xano chuckled and Mundus nodded and let out a short grunt.

“Oh, I get yae. An’ ‘e said, “None taken.” Which should answer y’r question.” That answer seemed to pique the elf’s interest further, causing him to lean a bit more toward the pair. The faint air of exhaustion he sometimes carried seemed to evaporate in that moment.

“Well, in that case, perhaps you can *both* tell me how it was you came to be travelling companions?” he asked, quite eagerly. Man and moose exchanged a look and a near-simultaneous blink of surprise.

“Y’know wot,” Xano began. “Ras, ye may be th’ firs’ person wot’s ever wanted t’ hear Mundus’s side o’ things.” The elderhorn nodded, whuffling and lowing excitedly. The Gilnean chuckled, reaching out to clap the moose’s mouth shut. Erasmus laughed, his delight evident in his tone and his smile.

“I see he is very eager to share his side of the tale!” Xano turned Mundus to look at him, mouth still held closed.

“Oi, steady on, mate. I gotta translate, a’righ’? Plen’y o’ time f’r fill-in as we go.” A nod, and Xano relented his hold, then turned to Erasmus.

After the Battle of Undercity...

Following the Banshee Queen’s use of Blight not once, but twice, the Alliance healers had their hands full. From fighting to save those with the most minimal exposure to the toxin, to trying to make those who were counting what remained of their life in minutes as comfortable as possible, it was daunting enough a task. But, before it was the site of monstrous atrocity, it was a battlefield (war being an atrocity of a lesser degree). And there were plenty of “mundane” injuries from the latest clash of the Horde and Alliance to tip the scales so that every druid, priest, paladin, monk, shaman, ranger and field surgeon was taxed to their utmost.

Thessaly Dewan fought to keep one patient stabilized, her training and experience as a priest being put to use in the triage area. She was tendind a pandaren monk who’d been caught in the edge of an explosion, along with a druid who looked as haggard as Tess felt. Still, they worked to soothe and heal the monk’s wounds to where she could be bandaged and left to recover on her own. With how understaffed and overwhelmed they were (It’s Teldrassil all over again), fully healing anyone not in dire straits was a luxury they could not afford. The tax on the healers would be too great, and could cost more lives. Even with the rejuvenating potions that were handed around would only stave off fatigue for so long.

So, they did their best to lessen the non-critical injuries to a degree that non-magical medicine could more ably assist. As priest and druid worked to mend the worst of the monk’s injuries, mostly burns, a pair of somber looking guards in battered armor walked past bearing a stretcher with yet another injured soul for them to tend. They set the stretcher nearby, as directed by the druid, and Tess spared a glance to see what they were going to be doing next. Her eyes widened and it’s quite possible she forgot to breathe as she laid eyes on the stretcher’s occupant.

A large, armored worgen with dull grey fur lay unconscious on the cot. His breath was reedy and labored, eyes pinched shut in a grimace of pain. A brief flash of shadowy memory hit her of a night years ago. The silvery light around her hands faltered as a single, panicked though crossed her mind.

“...Xano...?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“Dewan!” 

The druid’s voice boomed and snapper her from her reverie like a bucket of ice water. However, her startlement caused her to over exert herself and healing energy surged from her hands. The druid leaned away as Tess completely healed the monk, even a bit more than necessary. Her shoulders sagged as she let go of that power, a wave fatigue dropping on her like a lead cloak. The monk sat up, shaking her head. She expressed her deepest gratitude to the both of them, but Tess’s eyes were fixed on the worgen on the cot. The druid took over, and after sending the monk along, the kaldorei turned to her.

“I’m sorry, there was something-” she began, but he held up a calloused hand, a tired smile revealing laugh lines at the corners of his eyes.

“I am not blind, little wolf. See to your distraction, then rest. I will find you for the next shift.” Smiling back and thanking her erstwhile companion, she hurried over to kneel next to the cot. Despite her fatigue, she took a moment to center herself for one last bout of healing. Soft, silvery light glowed around her hands and slowly drifted over the wounds before her.

“Dammit, Delkai...” she muttered. As her healing mended the worgen’s wounds, his breathing evened out, becoming stronger and more even. After a few moments he woke, eyes slowly opening. However, instead of the blue-grey and amber she had expected, this man’s eyes glowed a bright green, reminding her of the druid she’d just left.

“Sorry to disappoint, m’lady.” he murmured in an accent far more “posh” than the brogue she had hoped to hear, “but ‘m no Delkai.” Tess blinked at the worgen as she slowly finished her work.

“I’m sorry, I thought- you...reminded me of someone,” she replied, feeling an ache in her chest as well as a renewed feeling of fatigue. Sitting up, the worgen shook his head.

“No need for apologies, miss. But since ya saved y hide, I feel as I owe ya.” He coughed and she passed him a canteen, making sure he drank slowly.

“Much obliged. Now, that name you mentioned? Delkai?” She nodded, fighting her weariness to hear what this man had to say.

“Yes, he was - is -” she floundered, then shook her head.

“Important to ya.” The Gilnean offered, and Tess nodded. He grinned.

“Well, I don’t know him, but I have heard the name around, and recently, too,” he explained. He shrugged, then winced. “Ooh, still tender. Anyway, not sure if it’s your lad I heard about, but I have heard about him. So keep a weather eye out, eh?” 

“Thank you, friend,” she replied with a nod and a small smile. Exhaustion was fast setting in though, and when she stood to leave, she swayed a bit in place, bracing herself on the cot. She politely declined the offered hand and, once she was upright again, she bid him good-night and turned to leave.

“Good luck on your search, miss!” he called after her. She waved over her shoulder, and made her way to her tent. Once inside, she kicked off her boots, shrugged off her armored robes and all but collapsed into her cot. She had a few minutes for her mind to finish processing the last little while and finally settle before sleep slowly enveloped her.

She could swear, somewhere between wakefulness and sleep, she head a familiar voice singing a familiar, melancholy tune. It was faint, but definitely familiar. And it lulled her deeper into sleep.

~~~

“Not far off, Xano finished his song, pouring out a cup of his rum to honro those fallen that day.

“Mount up, folks. We’re heading back,” called his commander, the rest of the Company breaking camp.