“We protect each other,” she told him. “We have a bond, Aram; it is special! You have known me since before I was me. Whatever you have to do, we can do it together.”
He glanced at her briefly, a small smile tugging at his lips.
“You really mean that?” he asked. “It’s—it’s not going to be easy. You can still turn back. Won’t Galena miss you?”
“Everyone will miss me,” Drella assured him. “I am very missable. Galena may be my friend, and it will be bad to hurt her feelings, but you and I share a bond. That is different; that is one of a kind. Irreplaceable.”
Aram gave a soft laugh, leading them deeper down the road, past sleeping stags and rams, past the toppled stones of ruins long forgotten. “Irreplaceable? That’s a big word for someone your age.”
“Galena taught it to me; she taught me many words,” Drella explained. “But I know all sorts of things, too much for my age. But I am older now, can you not tell? Summer is here.”
It was his turn to study her intently. “You do look … different. Some of your foliage is turning brighter, greener, and some of it is yellow. Will you change like that when all your seasons come?”
She nodded, serene, feeling less pain in his heart as they walked and traded their amiable whispers among the ruins. Reaching out, she glided one hand across an ancient, graying pillar. “I will change with all my seasons,” she said. “And I will know more with each one, too. These stones, I can hear their stories. Echoes of echoes, the cries of those lost so long ago that there is nobody with even a memory of their passing. It is sad, Aram, but I will remember them now. Can I tell you all about them? You could sketch them! Then they would not be so lost at all.”
“Sure,” Aram said, nodding, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight. “Tell me everything you know.”
Once, when Galena Stormspear was knee-high to a kodo, she took her mother’s favorite water jug to the well, the decorative jug they only used for special occasions. Her mother had made her promise to be careful, that the pottery was precious, an heirloom belonging to her mother, and her mother’s mother, and so on and so on into a history that made young Galena’s head spin.
Rain the night before had made the paths to the well slippery, and Galena rushed, even though she knew it was wiser not to. Her grandpa Otue had made the journey from Bloodhoof Village, and for a tauren his age that was a long, long way to go. While she fetched water in the special jug, Grandpa Otue spun tales of his days as a brave for the young ones, and Galena hated to miss out. Nobody told a story like Grandpa Otue. Her fondest memories of Thunder Bluff all included him, sitting next to him on the floor, wood smoke winding through the tent while he puffed his stained pipe and told another tall tale, gray beard twining down to his belt.
Be swift but careful, Mother had warned. Galena was swift but not careful, slipping on her return trip to the tent, falling with the heavy jug weighted down by the water, the pottery shattering into a million pieces as she and it fell to the ground. A passing tradesman offered to help her collect the shards, but Galena wouldn’t have it. She ran home, crying, cowering at Grandpa Otue’s hooves.
“I broke it,” she wailed, clinging to his leg. “Mother warned me, and I broke it! I will be cursed forever. The ancestors will never forgive me.”
Grandpa Otue patted her head, smoothing down her braids. The others, her brother and her cousins, snorted at her tantrum, teasing her for being a big, clumsy baby.
“The lesson is to always consider time,” Otue told her, firm but not unkind. “Your haste brought only regrets.”
“I only wanted to hurry back to hear your stories!”
“Well, we will have no more stories now. Someone must fetch the water, and someone must tell your mother about the broken jug.”
Galena had never been hasty or sloppy again, always methodical, listening, careful. When other Cenarion Circle apprentices dashed off their studies the morning the master wanted them, Galena had prepared long before, practicing the assignments twice, or sometimes three times, then taking notes, then memorizing her notes. It was why she had come to apprentice for Master Thal’darah at such a young age. Galena prided herself on her attentive ways, giving credit always to dear Grandpa Otue and her mother.
But now she stood in an empty clearing, the boughs where Taryndrella the dryad once slept tamped down but empty. Empty. Where had she gone? Galena had searched the obvious places in the Overlook right away, but the dryad was not to be found. Nobody knew of her absence yet, but that wouldn’t last, and soon Galena would have to confess her negligence to Master Thal’darah, and then he would be furious, dismiss her, and send her back to Thunder Bluff to cook smelly strider steaks in her mother’s tavern for the rest of time!
Galena gulped down a few breaths, squeezing her fingers into fists before turning away from the inn and back toward the moonwell. The same thorough nature that had gotten her to this post would also take her to the dryad. She had sworn to Master Thal’darah that she would protect and watch over Taryndrella, and that was precisely what Galena meant to do.
Dawn was breaking, and only the fresh guards on watch stirred. Their failure to stop the dryad could be addressed later; first she had to find their lost charge. She made a clear spot in the dirt, wiping it into a circle, then scrounged for fallen acorns among the leaves and around the well. Acorns were more than sacred to dryads, and with the right spell, Galena would have a trace on Taryndrella in no time.
The druidic magic flowed through her hands as she dug a small hole, dropping in a few acorns before covering them with her palms. A hum emerged from the earth, then a smooth, emerald light, swirling between her fingers and the acorns, growing in power and color until it surged up into Galena’s hands, traveling along her forearms and up, up, until she could breathe in the potent magic. The energies of the soil, the song of it, seemed to be winding north.
North.
Where could the dryad be going? It didn’t matter. Galena’s only mission was to find the dryad and bring her back to the Overlook. They were nowhere near done studying the unusual bond between her and the boy, and the Cenarion Circle would want to know just how the connection had been made. Galena was beginning to doubt it could be severed at all, but in her extensive studies, she had found more obscure methods that might be tried.
And they could only be attempted if the dryad was brought back safely. She had probably just gone wandering, enchanted by a passing insect or swirl of leaves caught on the breeze. The same things that made Drella charming also made her difficult to handle. Flighty. Easily fixated. With all of nature and Azeroth her playground, it was no wonder the dryad had disappeared from the clearing. Galena could hardly blame her. Life at the Overlook had been unsettling with the war so near; why would a dryad want to linger around so much pain?
Right. The dryad. North. Galena had her plan, but not much else. Quiet as a mouse, she snuck into the inn, borrowed a handful of nuts and dried fish from the larder, and took one of Master Thal’darah’s walking sticks in case the path had unsteady spots. He wouldn’t miss it, not when she would be back before breakfast.
Galena ran back out into the warming glow of morning, calling to Aiyell as she went, promising to be back shortly, just after she collected something she had dropped in the woods.
* * *
Somehow, spending so much time with Drella made it impossible to know what to do with his hands. They were never quite natural or at ease. Aram tried folding them over his belt buckle, but that looked stupid, so he stuck them instead in his pockets, but his pockets were already full of junk.
Words unsaid lingered between them thick as smoke, and Aram wondered if the dryad could feel it, too. She was so young, so sweet, but he had no idea if she had any conception of, well, feelings. Their bond was one thing, and he was secretly overjoyed that she had cared enough to sneak out of the Overlook and follow him, but that didn’t mean it was for anything more than friendship. In hindsight, it seemed easier to decide to leave his friend
s behind and strike out on his own than it was to say the right things to a girl.
If Makasa could see him, she would be half-mad with laughter.
“Do you know where to go?” Drella asked. She never walked a straight line, always weaving here and there to brush her fingers across a flower or greet a sunning turtle.
“My uncle is supposed to meet me—us—at the Northwatch Expedition Base. If the weather holds and we don’t run into any trouble, then it will only be a few days.”
“Will your human legs not get tired?” She left the dirt path once more to study an outcropping carved with childishly unsteady letters. THRAGMO BE HERE.
“Probably,” Aram admitted, a little sheepish. “Eventually we will have to make camp.”
“I could find you a ram and tame it,” she offered, batting her eyelashes in thought. “Or a stag. It will be much faster that way. Or you could climb on my back. It made carrying Murky much faster in the Charred Vale.”
Aram coughed, feeling that awful, itchy heat blaze across his neck. “Maybe the ram. Yeah. That could work. Will it take long?”
“Oh, no!” She laughed.
The ruins on either side of the road became sparser, the surrounding clumps of green trees less dense. They were heading downhill, and if his memory held from the map Iyneath had showed him, then they were nearing the fork to Cliffwalker Post. Aram decided to give that area a wide berth, afraid that tauren scouts would spot them as they passed in broad daylight.
“After we get a little farther down the mountain, then you should give it a try. I don’t want to be caught out by Horde scouts; they could be anywhere in this part of the pass,” he explained. “I know you think everyone is kind, but those tauren won’t be friendly.”
Drella jutted out her lip. “I do not think everyone is kind, Aram. I have been kidnapped, remember? They had good hearts, of course, good hearts twisted by darkness. We all begin with nothing but light, but shadows have a way of creeping in.” Twining a few flower stems together, she held them up to the sun to admire her work. “I am not stupid, you know.”
“I didn’t say—”
“I know you think that sometimes I am foolish, that I do not see things the right way, but that is not so. And I know Makasa thinks I am dull as a dirty rock, but she is also wrong.” Drella scooped up another wildflower along the roadside and added it to her growing crown. “Gentle does not always mean weak. Hard does not always mean strong. In fact, hard things become brittle, and brittle things often snap.”
Aram nodded, peeling off his jacket and flopping it over one shoulder. The day was growing hot, and he had no intention of sweating and being putrid around her. “We just see things differently, and that’s okay. But we’re doing this together, remember? That means we both have to use our strengths. I know where we’re going, that’s all, so try to trust me on that.”
“I will!” she crowed, and then dropped her finished flower crown on her head.
It matched the changing colors of her hair, and the flowers that seemed to bloom naturally among the strands. Her tail, too, looked like it was transitioning into a bright emerald shade.
“That’s the outpost,” Aram cautioned, pointing to a rising path to their right. Tauren totems dotted the way, and even from a distance, Aram could see figures moving among the trees at the top of the rise. “Hurry now, we need to get back into the forest.”
Drella obeyed, for once, silent. They scampered down the dusty path, steadying each other, loose rocks and pebbles shooting out from under their feet. It was treacherous going, and Aram nearly stumbled once or twice, but they made it at last to the grassier edge of the woods below, and then to the safety of the trees. They paused, and Aram peered around a sturdy trunk, watching as a heavily armed tauren brave emerged down the path that led to the post. He gazed around, shielding his eyes, then gave up and climbed the hill.
“Close one,” he murmured, wiping at the sweat on his brow. “We should be careful and quiet.”
“Yes,” Drella said, galloping down the hill and deeper into the trees. “Oh, look! A ram! He looks sprightly …”
Aram ran to keep up, then stopped short, watching Drella work her magic as she put out her hands, as if in surrender, and approached the skittish animal. Big and woolly, the ram had horns at least the size of his arms spread wide. Aram couldn’t make out the creature’s eyes, hidden as they were behind so much dirty fur. Swirls of golden brown and white colored his back, and at Drella’s approach, the ram backed up, then reared, bleating in alarm.
“I am a friend,” she said with a musical laugh. “There’s no need for all of that! Could a meanie do this?”
She wrinkled her nose a few times and wagged her stubby fawn tail, and that seemed to amuse or calm the animal. He gave a soft bleat, then lowered his head, butting his massive curled horns into her arm.
“Now that is much more polite,” she told the ram, beckoning Aram to come closer. “He is our friend now, and his name is Blossom.”
“Blossom?” Aram shook his head, easing up to the ram with wide, slow steps.
“Yes, Blossom. I think it is a wonderful, wondrous name!”
“Sure. Blossom. Will he let me ride him?”
Drella tapped her chin a few times, then leaned down and looked into the ram’s eyes for a moment. They seemed to be communicating silently, and Aram had to admit, it was very impressive. Not that she hadn’t impressed him before, but it still caught him off guard. “As far as the expedition, I told him. That is our deal.”
“Great.” Aram breathed a sigh of relief. “Perfect! Thank you. And, um, thank him for me, too.”
“Happily!”
Aram had just gotten up the courage to swing up onto the beast when a shout came from the way behind them. Cliffwalker Post. The ram bucked, knocking Aram to the ground. Someone screamed. There was a terrible commotion, the earth churning as if shaken by a sudden rockslide. A horn, brassier and louder than that of the night elves, sounded from the peak above them. Dust drifted down toward the forest, and one figure ran toward them, screaming for help, a force of four furious tauren behind her.
“Galena! We have to help her!” And Drella was off, galloping toward the spears and shouts, directly into the path of the enemy.
Galena had never taken to kodo travel, and in similar fashion, being swept onto a speeding ram was no better. It didn’t help that she was just a little too large to ride the ram. But the Cliffwalker tauren were relentless, chasing them down into the trees, shouting and brandishing their spears. And were it not for Aram and Taryndrella intervening when they did, Galena would have easily succumbed to their charge.
“Keep going!” the dryad called, splitting away from them.
“No! We have to protect her,” Galena screamed. No, no, no! This wasn’t happening. Her awkward grip on Aram loosened even more as she swiveled to watch the dryad run back toward the tauren. “I swore to protect her! Turn this thing around!”
“She knows what she’s doing,” Aram shouted over the thunder of hooves and whip of the wind.
“She’s sacred, she’s—”
But Galena’s next words were stolen out of her mouth. She watched, entranced, as the dryad flung her arms up toward the sky, and every tree around her shuddered, then creaked, their branches bending in unison, forming a solid, intertwined wall between their pursuers and Taryndrella. The dryad gave a whoop of delight and danced in a circle, listening to the tauren crash into the barrier and call out in confusion. Then she returned, a spring in her step as she easily matched the stride of the ram, and together they plunged down into the valley, only stopping when they could find a good vantage point among the trees.
Aramar hopped down first, then helped Galena gain her hooves.
“Thank you,” Galena began. “But what I was—”
Aram cut in, meeting Galena’s eyes. “We aren’t going back, if that’s what you’ve come to tell us.”
“It is really kind of you to come for us, but I am going with Aram to
find his uncle,” Taryndrella explained, gently brushing some leaves and pebbles from Galena’s shoulders.
“Everyone in the Overlook will be in a panic,” Galena said. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. This wasn’t the dryad wandering away, caught by a whim; this was an escape. She blamed the human instantly. Drella had been listening to her and Master Thal’darah—she was cooperative and interested—but Aramar had been bored and absent from the start. He could never be bothered to show up and give a single care about what they were trying to accomplish.
“You’re selfish!” Galena said to the boy. She had never been in a shouting match, but this was serious. “I’m sworn to protect her. Do you understand that? She’s sacred to us. Special. You can’t just run off with her because you fancy seeing your family!”
“And you have no idea what you’re talking about!” Aramar rounded on her. “She doesn’t even know you; she knows me! The bond means she wants to follow where I go. We don’t have time to wait for the rituals anymore. You all said it yourselves, the bond can’t be changed, so we have to keep moving. Or else—”
Taryndrella yelped, falling to the ground. She covered both of her eyes, and at once, both Galena and Aramar went to her.
“No more fighting,” Taryndrella wailed, tears streaming down her face. “No more shouting!”
Aramar sighed and stood, raking both hands through his unruly long hair. “She’s right. This is pointless. Listen, you can come with us if you want. Once we reach the expedition base we can send word back to the Overlook and let them know we’re safe. I didn’t mean for her to follow me, all right? I tried to do it alone.”
“He is right,” Taryndrella said softly, wiping at her wet cheeks. “He would have done it alone, but I cannot let him do that. We cannot be apart, not with the way things are between us. Master Thal’darah said it himself, what we have is too strong.”
The Shining Blade Page 7