The Coming of Winter

"Can you feel it, Mezzy?" 

The little gnome warlock stood on the stalwart pier. Around her there was bustle and noise. Carpenters still at their craft, teamsters pushing cargo here and there, working as the sun painted the water in fire, scattering sparkles of crimson diamonds against the long shadows of Stormwind Keep. As twilight slipped in on the tide, the clatter of mugs and lighthearted voices could be heard, celebrating the first ship in the new port. True, it was only a sleek caraval from Auberdine, however, it came not as a mundane merchanter but as a herald. 

"Oh ... close your eyes. Can't you feel it?" 

For the first time in months there was that certain small smile, as she hugged herself. Deep red pigtails were tossled by the offshore breeze, where they peeked out from her tall pointed hat. Playful and light, and without a sound her locks shifted this way and that. Despite the cacaphony about her, this one spot was the calm of the storm, the quiet before a change in the weather. 

"It's in the air, Mezzy. That hint of crispness, the echo of a winter's dagger bite in the breeze. You can almost taste it, that freshness, that sharpness, sweeping across the water like a siren. Hear it sing of muffled vales and crystal shards, the warmth of a hearthfire against a fierce night, one's history plainly marked in one's path, clear in a look over one's shoulder ... and ahead, a soft white, like a canvas waiting for it's first brush stroke. 

"Oh Mezzy ... there .... 

"There is snow ahead. 

"... waiting for us." 

She was silent then, for a long, long while. Snow. She missed it dearly. Oh, the aeries were beautiful, scuplted stone reaching for the sky, looking down upon a city where Tauren and Kaladorei walked side by side. The dark beauty of Netherstorm, patterened in the frail magenta of mana or the broken spires of Blades Edge Mountains, a jambles that looked as dangerous as it was. In all it's harsh beauty, however, it could not replace the white sloped mountains where she grew up, the hush of snow clad pines, or glitter of icicles in moonlight. 

And yet ... 

"Remember when we first came here, Mezzy?" 

She looked up to the big Voidwalker, tugging on a pigtail, a habit when untangling conflicting thoughts. 

"To step through a portal dark into a new world. To see ... that which we had never before. When each step was new and what was around the next bend was not yet familiar. I still remember the first time I set foot in the mansion of Karazhan, to touch a story that shook our world. To discern the fell schemings of Lady Vashj and her minions in the swamps of Zangarmarsh ... or our work to win the favor of the Netherwing, and thus gain a new ally in our travels. 

"And when we board our ship, it will be with a blade crafted in the shadow of Magister's Terrace." 

A gentle chuckle, a gentle smile slipped across her features. 

"But in the end, Mezzy, they are just trinkets. Bits of metal that I am sure will be boxed in a closet many leagues away , as we take our path from this pier. 

"What can't be replaced, however ... 

"The meeting of a young mage named Chardonnay, as she walked in her paladin's shadow. The proud grin the day she drew on our Veritas tabard for the first time. Her bright voice against the darkness, a compatriot in times good and bad. 

"Old friends, like Miss Vamira and Ellundus, standing with us, and it didn't matter that Nightbane was dead and the mansion's halls were now empty of all that was foul, but that it was all of us who did it, together. 

"Seeing Cathela step out and dust her armor off, where but a moment before there had been nothing but a cloud of turmoil; more orcs than I could count and that big draconid too. 

"A single vial of wizard's oil in the bank. Not because it's needed or not because it's forgotten ... but because it was crafted by Crestfall before the storms took him away from us. 

"Crossing our fingers as valiant Cloudstryder vanishes under a mountain of abominations ... because we know exactly where they will turn if he falls." 

Rubbing a tear on her robes, she couldn't help but chuckle at that. 

"Wynilla's infinite patience for a gnome who needs a zillion flasks made." 

Green eyes closed again. Silent for a heartbeat, until she opened them again. 

"From the caverns of the Naga, to the the halls of Illidan, to the council chamber of Kael'Thras; when we stood beside Jaina Proudmoore against the Scourge. 

"It's not the getting there that matters, Mezzy. That's not worth a single copper coin. It's the journey itself, Mezzy, the journey we make and more importantly, those we share it with." 

"Eventually, when we stand upon the foreign shores, look over our shoulders to follow our path back through the snows of Northrend, those foot prints will lead us here, to this pier. Waiting for our ship, tasting the hint of snow in the air. In a few handful days, we will say good bye to Haelthol upon the Aerie, he will wish us well, and we will thank him. 

"How could we not? How could we not cherish what we leave behind? To not ... would hold ourselves, our actions, with no more worth than a chipped goblet abandoned." 

The warlock looked up, to her oldest friend. The Voidwalker was quiet, as befitted his nature; the only constant in her ever changing world. 

"We do not hold ourselves so cheaply."