Just one more time.
Just one more time.
The choices sat
down on her lap and looked up expectantly, waiting for her to see them,
acknowledge them, and send them to their tasks.
They smelled of
dust and neglect; pungent, pissy choices.
Her vows no longer
pulled her to her future, but bound her to her past.
If she saw him one
more time…
Zep did not live
far from the outpost where Scout Knowles stood watch. He was only a few leagues
away from Dalaran, the nearly forgotten city in the sky, where only a squirrel
or friendly Orc or two remained. Her vows grew in the cathedral was in
Stormwind, the human world, where like her sister, she never seemed to quite
fit. Why Exodar didn’t have holy training in the ways of the light of her people, another option instead of
priesthood, she would forever question. There had to be another path besides
this constrictive human one.
One more time. She
told Mrs. Whitworth to stay behind, please. The cat grumbled, but obliged.
She turned into a
shadow, to remain unseen by his vigilant eyes. What would be worse? To have him
see her, or not? To have him see her and want her, to move, to abandon duty, or
to not recognize her? Or the worse terror of all: to see her, and choose to
stay. To remain outside of his watch, the pots and fumes of a war keeping his
interest were old wars and past battles. He guarded the post like a holy relic.
She was just a girl, after all.
Why the hell was he
still guarding this small incursion? There were new battles, more important
ones. Her sister had commented a strange, conspiratorial thought the other day:
Stormwind had been destroyed, yes, but it seemed all too selective. None of the commerce areas were affected, such as the
banks and the auction houses—odd. Only the seared talon marks on the gates of the
city, and a few fallen monuments. Did the dragon have a pre-arranged deal with
the powers that be? To only kill, enslave, and knock down a few bricks, but
leave the money seats alone? In musical chairs of war, the gold always knows
when the music is about to stop. And yet, here was her love, still alone on the
watch. Seemed like misplaced allegiances to her.
Zep hid behind a
tree; Knowle’s mare shifted her weight just enough to block her view of him.
That damn jealous horse. To outsmart the beast, she perched on the exposed beam
of the storage shack, hidden from view. A rogue flew in, and spotted her, but
did not give her away, flying away after his task was completed.
Knowles seemed
agitated. Zep sucked in her small breath.
She
went
inside
and
He held the back of her head, his hand covering her
skull, and kissed her.
And he kissed
kissed kissed her.
Stop.
Remember.
Lips like tiny
embraces on your face, holding you as close as they can, closer than love, a
step over the bridge, a step into the fire, a step into the sea, once kissed,
once and once again, you are marked. You drown, you surrender, you are gone, bubbles
in the water and the salt in the sea, burning infernos and extinguished sparks
all at once.
Knowles shifted his
weight, and looked down at the ground, his eyes away from the horizon.
A storm giant
boomed past, the grounding thunder steps in time with her heartbeat.
The scout watched
the giant trod past, seeing him thousands of times, the behemoth was old news
now, but still captured his attention.
She came down from
her roost, and hid.
The priest slumped
in the corner of the long-neglected shed, next to crates of dangerous
ammunitions, dangerous in their potential, ignorant of treaties, and squelched
explosions.
The aggressive cobwebs roped high wires from one podium to another,
the only entertainment the musty shack hosted.
She prayed. “Velen, please – give me the power to
move. To go. And the power to not return again.”
Zep felt the dusty
place inside, the place where the moment shushed and boxed. If she reached out
and touched him, it would only confuse him, break him even. He was only mortal
after all.
The splinters, the
crack of pine, and a sound of bagpipes off somewhere: this was a human place,
of simple duties and singular purpose.
A sparrow raced to
its nest.
She dissolved,
amethyst, indigo, and gold.
And Scout Knowles
kept the line.
