[Story] Rainy Days 2
She was exhausted when she returned to the inn late that night, all the way down to her hooves: the good kind of exhausted that comes from swinging your sword into orcs most of the evening. The rain had just started to pitter down onto the pathways when she rode through the gates, and all she wanted was to get a bath and get into bed. Vajarra was already asleep, of course, huddled beneath the blankets in her bed on the other side of the room. Vassanta clicked over quietly, starting to unlace the ties on her armor, when she noticed the paper lying on her bed.
Intrigued, she sat down on the bed to read it. Once she recognized her sister’s handwriting, she was even more puzzled. Why would she write a letter when she was staying here in the inn?
Dear Vassanta,
Please don’t be angry with me for writing to you about this. I just don’t want you to have a bad surprise. I saw an elf in the temple who said he knew Malcos, and that he came here often. He also said he had a mate.
Your elf friend told me there are practice dummies in the courtyard, you might want to go there if you feel bad.
Love, your sister
Vassanta dropped the paper as if it was hot. Malcos, here? She had rather hoped he’d been eaten by Deathwing.
In the years she’d spent in Shadowmoon, she’d had plenty of time to think about what she would do if she should see him again. She never really had found a good answer: she’d said everything she wanted to say, and it hadn’t changed things. Now he had someone else -- maybe that human he was running around with in Stormwind. Or maybe some elf, so he could have that perfect happy little family that she could never have given him.
Vajarra’s idea about the dummies was actually a good one. She picked her sword back up, walking out onto the dark pathway. She’d been here enough times to find her way to the courtyard, even in the dark. A light rain still fell, but she didn’t notice it. One of the dummies had black leather armor on it. Vassanta couldn’t help but smile a little at that. Maybe it was odd, but it was sort of sweet of her sister to do that.
Her muscles twinged in complaint, but she hefted her sword and struck at the dummy, hoping the clatter of metal on wood wouldn’t wake anyone in the nearby buildings. It was stupid, all of it. She didn’t understand why she couldn’t just forget about it. There was nothing particularly special about him, they had never got along that well in the first place. He’d bought her flowers, so what? He probably bought flowers for half the girls in Stormwind. He’d got her that dress, one of the very few times she’d worn one, and he said she looked beautiful. She hadn’t cared then, though, and she just thought he was trying to get her into his bed. But she had told him things, things even Vajarra didn’t know, things about that red island that she would sooner forget. And that was what hurt, that she had taken the chance to trust him and he’d broken that trust.
She paused to wipe her forehead, looking over the dummy. There were two deep gashes on either side of the main post, and one of the wooden arms dangled by a few splinters. That was something else she’d learned while she was away: control of her blade. Just a few well-aimed strikes were just as effective as her previous wild swings had been, and took much less effort. She gritted her teeth, pulling the sword free of the post.
Why should she, slayer of demons and orcs, be afraid of one little elf? If she ran away again, he would win. And she wasn’t going to let him win any more.
Intrigued, she sat down on the bed to read it. Once she recognized her sister’s handwriting, she was even more puzzled. Why would she write a letter when she was staying here in the inn?
Dear Vassanta,
Please don’t be angry with me for writing to you about this. I just don’t want you to have a bad surprise. I saw an elf in the temple who said he knew Malcos, and that he came here often. He also said he had a mate.
Your elf friend told me there are practice dummies in the courtyard, you might want to go there if you feel bad.
Love, your sister
Vassanta dropped the paper as if it was hot. Malcos, here? She had rather hoped he’d been eaten by Deathwing.
In the years she’d spent in Shadowmoon, she’d had plenty of time to think about what she would do if she should see him again. She never really had found a good answer: she’d said everything she wanted to say, and it hadn’t changed things. Now he had someone else -- maybe that human he was running around with in Stormwind. Or maybe some elf, so he could have that perfect happy little family that she could never have given him.
Vajarra’s idea about the dummies was actually a good one. She picked her sword back up, walking out onto the dark pathway. She’d been here enough times to find her way to the courtyard, even in the dark. A light rain still fell, but she didn’t notice it. One of the dummies had black leather armor on it. Vassanta couldn’t help but smile a little at that. Maybe it was odd, but it was sort of sweet of her sister to do that.
Her muscles twinged in complaint, but she hefted her sword and struck at the dummy, hoping the clatter of metal on wood wouldn’t wake anyone in the nearby buildings. It was stupid, all of it. She didn’t understand why she couldn’t just forget about it. There was nothing particularly special about him, they had never got along that well in the first place. He’d bought her flowers, so what? He probably bought flowers for half the girls in Stormwind. He’d got her that dress, one of the very few times she’d worn one, and he said she looked beautiful. She hadn’t cared then, though, and she just thought he was trying to get her into his bed. But she had told him things, things even Vajarra didn’t know, things about that red island that she would sooner forget. And that was what hurt, that she had taken the chance to trust him and he’d broken that trust.
She paused to wipe her forehead, looking over the dummy. There were two deep gashes on either side of the main post, and one of the wooden arms dangled by a few splinters. That was something else she’d learned while she was away: control of her blade. Just a few well-aimed strikes were just as effective as her previous wild swings had been, and took much less effort. She gritted her teeth, pulling the sword free of the post.
Why should she, slayer of demons and orcs, be afraid of one little elf? If she ran away again, he would win. And she wasn’t going to let him win any more.