When the cat's away...

Following busy gnomes: Mat in the sewers and canals of Stormwind. 

The crepuscular spring evening is rainy but greenly bright. Drumming thumbs and fingers on the railing of the inn, beating the rhythm of what...to...do...what...to...do...Mat just needed to get out of Stormwind, but wasn't sure where. Normally very hardy and weather-proof, she felt a bit chilled even at the thought of venturing out. Her wingless cloak might shrink in the rain. A little gnome had put her through her paces the night before--no, gnomes weren't the answer, as charming as they are. In the air clung a hint of the gnome mage's pet skunk and, was that ozone Mat smelled? A frosty, moldy stench from the mage's water minion? While her human is busy, it occurred to her the only obvious thing to do: drink with dwarfs. 


There were many a night, in her tough training days, while drinking with dwarfs, when she crawled in the sleeping sack, with dwarfs sitting on her legs still chugging away, laughing. They never bothered her or played mean-spirited pranks, they loved her too much. But she was teased for being somewhat of a lightweight. Draenei blood doesn't hold its mead well.


However, once there, in Twilight Highlands, with the braggadocious and bombastic heroes clanging away in Bastions, she could curl up next to an embracing hearth with the friendly folk, have a few pints, and laugh the night away.