Bookends 2

Dear Belm,

This is all your fault.

She came on your recommendation. A quiet gentle demeanor. Earnest, honest and never has a bad word to say about anyone. Her companions, always well behaved, no chewing on the bedposts or harassing the other patrons. And most importantly, she always, always pays her rent on time.

So yesterday evening I had business down in the Lower City. New tapestries for the private rooms, a few new pillows from the tailors and making sure Rokk had enough Kahliri Stew for our evening meal. I come home, my arms full of my purchases ... already late because the Constructs were tossing some fool Aldor off the upper platform ... only but to find this huge crowd ringing the entrance to my inn - grumbling, pointing, annoyed, growling and more than a few of them trying, trying, trying so hard not to laugh.

And of course, of course, in the eye of this storm, the center of this tempest, who do you think was there?

Her.

You knew this all along, didn't you?

Of course she was all apologetic, head down cast, scuffing her feet across the stone and red carpets. Stupid gnomes, how can you even get angry at something so cute?

This is all your fault, Belm.

You tell me.

What in all the blinding bright days am I going to do about ...

... the pit lord's head ...

... that's now stuck in my front door?

Haelthol

Scyer's Tier

Shattrath City, Terrokar Forest, Outlands

 

Back in the Thunderbrew Tavern, Belm just couldn't stop laughing.

 

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

Dear Mother,

It is evening now.

Somehow, somehow I always think of you as the sun fades away and the veil of night is cast across the skies. As if it were a time we held together as special. Perhaps we watched the sun set, watched the sky become rich in the colors of the harvest ... watched it slip into the most royal purples and then counted the stars, one by one by one as they braved the dying light to dance for us.

I wish I remembered more.

I am standing on Scyer's Tier. It's in a place called Shattrath, and from here you can look across lands many folks only hear in the songs traded by a minstrel, in the over-blown tales of dragons and fish explained in backwater dramatics in front of a bright tavern and over a bowl of day's travel stew.

The skys are beautiful, in their own way. There are stars too, in constellations unfamiliar and the telling of their stories, their sky scattered history, bright and new.

And the bustle, you would not believe it. And not just the dwarves and humankind that traffic in and out of Ironforge. The proud Tauren folk, the easy-speaking Trolls, the tragic Forsaken and the aloof Sindorei. It is hard to understand why there is such a deep break between us and the Horde when you see them arguing with an innkeeper over the price of a wineskin ... just like you or i might have, but a few hours before.

I miss the snow.

I can't remember what it looks like. I can't remember the image of mountains cloaked in white, of what moonlight looks like when it casts across the drifts and makes them sparkle like fallen diamonds. I can't remember how a wolf howl sounds as it echoes through the tall mountain tops and down into the sheltered vales.

I can't remember the song the pine trees whisper as a midnight breeze sifts through their boughs and needles.

But I can remember how it feels.

How the warmth of a tavern fire against the night's storm and how the sturdy stone walls makes you feel safe. The truth of the slicing wind, through tunic and cloak, so very, very real, reminding you that this is not some dream from which you might one day wake. The quiet of the evening, of hills sheltered in their blanket of white, not something to be heard or seen but felt in one's heart.

I can ... I can remember the feelings.

That I can cherish.

The image, the picture, that is like grey mist on a gray day, lost and gone, leaving only a quiet echo where it had once been.

I wish I could remember what you looked like.

But I can remember what it felt like holding your hand.

And while I can't remember what your smile looked like, I have kept something, something so important to me, to help me remember the care I felt when you smiled.

I know where home is.

I keep your name.

No one can ever take that away from me.

Your daughter,

Nellisynthia Nellastatia of Kharanos

 

The warlock stood at the edge of the carven rock, looking out across the city. She watched, quiet, as a scrap of parchment drifted away, rising into the star shrouded night.

Caught in the winds, tumbled like a leaf, forever.

Turning, she reached up to touch a cobalt and cold bracer, nodding to her silent companion.

"I'm fine, Mezzy ..."

She smiled, tilting her head.

"Walk with me?"