She hammered, pounded her way through Mt. Hyjal, opening the blessed, ruined portal to the Molten Front. A night elf, half his handsome face charred, the smell of singed skin in the air, she eased his pain with the healing balm, admiring his courage as he rose up, continuing to fight. He gave her a green apple as a token of his appreciation. He looked: loved. Promises made, faithful and true. Moving on. She killed monsters, while bending down to pick up anything of value that may drop; she absentmindedly rubbed the scar on her left shin.
She sat against the side of the cave wall, where big gods such as Malfurion held court. This was no space for him. The troll surprised her deeds with boots, and a necklace, ready for the asking! Perhaps Matty would make a gem for her, a golden colored one full of mastery. She didn’t want to ask. If she did, sober, her honest nature may be compelled to tell Matty the truth she glossed over in her last letter. She bit down into the gift. The apple was sweet, but a little sour, too. Was that half a tiny worm?