When the Sky Turns Green

[Dilly]

The continuation of this storyline has been approved by the staff.
PLEASE DO NOT POST IN THIS THREAD.

a story about that one elf and other nonsense

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PART ONE

Chapter I
Verdant Heavens

Chapter II
Come and Go

Chapter III
Yelling Whispers

Chapter IV
Echoes of Memory

Chapter V
Bygone Things

Chapter VI
With the Crows

Chapter VII
Coming soon!

Chapter VIII
Coming soon!

Chapter IX
Coming soon!

Chapter X
Coming soon!

Chapter XI
Coming soon!

Chapter XII
Coming soon!

Chapter XIII
Coming soon!

Chapter XIV
Coming soon!

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Silence.

Sweet silence. It was broken by a loud creak. Wind whispered to the empty hallways weakly. Those were a few of the sounds the old walls were more than familiar with. But footsteps were something unusual. The house had not been graced with a man's presence in years. Floorboards squeaked and groaned under the visitor's careful steps quietly. It was not long before orange and yellow shades appeared on the blue-grey wood of the steps of one of the staircases. The man climbed the stairs slowly, his lantern-holding hand raised to the level of his eyes and his shadow hovering on the walls. His slightly wrinkled face and long hair were painted pale orange by the lantern's glow.

The Kal'dorei plucked at his cloak, adjusting the hang of his garments. Eyes narrowed, he looked around the room searchingly. Thick layers of dust, spider webs hanging from every possible corner and piles of broken planks and shattered pottery on the floor made it clear that the house had not seen a tending hand for a very long time. All furniture was knocked over, bar a small cabinet and a bench standing by the only unbroken piece of pottery in the room. The place looked abandoned. Yet this man did not mind the shambles. On the contrary, he was smiling. Everything was just the way he had left it.

The night elf approached the cabinet and pulled one of its drawers open, his movements slow and confident. He peered inside for a moment and took out a large book. Sitting down on the bench, he placed the lantern on the floor. The book's green leather cover had small cracks in at least four places. He frowned. Something light was visible - barely, but still visible - in the center, hidden underneath a thick layer of pale dust. He brushed the dust away with his fingers, revealing large golden letters. MOONSTORM. The Elf blinked. Something flickered in his amber eyes.

He sighed and opened the book.

[Dilly]

Spoiler:

(( Goddammit writer's block. Perfect timing.

I think this is one of the lousiest things I've ever written. Buuttt... it was just sitting there not getting any better, so I decided to post. Bleh. ))

Chapter I

Verdant Heavens

Angus Silentwing woke up with an aching body and an aching head. Sharp rays of the white sun attacked his eyes as they fluttered open, causing the tall blue man to raise a hand to cover them. He let out a breathless sigh, brushed a few tufts of hair off of his forehead and turned his head to look around. He smiled. There was nothing but tall blades of emerald green grass and white blossoms of flowers around. Angus sat up, folding his arms on his lap, and his smile widened. His limbs hurt, he was tired despite the fact that he had just woken up, yes. But these things didn't matter much to him. He still felt happy. It really was an odd feeling - not the typical kind of happiness that rises in your heart when you meet a great friend you had not seen in years, or the kind that rears its head when something really magnificent happens to you, like a lifelong dream coming true. No, it was nothing like that; it was very much different. That particular happiness felt like it had no cause and no meaning. It was just there, just like the sun is there in the morning, or the moon is there at night.

That was how Angus saw it at least.

The Kal'dorei rose to his feet, arms outstretched towards the brilliant green sky. He gazed longingly at the dark blue clouds and his previously soft smile turned into a wide joyous grin. So the sky was green and the clouds were blue. It's not like it mattered. The only thing that mattered was the great feeling fighting the man's consciousness for dominance over his body. Angus realised that since the moment he opened his eyes he had known this was going to be a great day.

A magnificent day.

Angus began to turn around, arms still outstretched, though to the sides now. He chuckled heartily as amusement and enjoyment were added to the strange mixture of pleasant feelings. All the stretching was making his old elven bones hurt, but he didn't care. No, not this elf. Not ever this elf, not ever again. There was no time for worries or paying attention to doubts or bad feelings, no. He had been a generally miserable, self-loathing person up until this odd morning, and he had no intention of leaving this sudden and unexpected happiness behind just to go back to that useless and pitiful state of mind.

He sighed again, his movements slowing and eventually stopping. He ran three fingers through his hair, breathing heavily, and picked up his small leather bag which lay in the grass by his feet. The elf could have sworn it hadn't been there when he woke up, but even that didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Nothing but the happiness.

And that seemed strange to him. But it didn't matter either.

Angus coughed, throwing the loose leather strap over his shoulder, and moved his hand to the bottom of the bag to hold it, smiling. He brushed hair away from his eyes again and began to wade through the tall grass. He wasn't sure why exactly he had to go. A strong urge to move had risen suddenly in his mind no more than mere moments ago and that simple urge was all that was needed to make the Kal'dorei walk; north, east, or west, it didn't matter - there was nothing to determine direction by anyway. Oh no, there were no hills, no mountains, no trees, no lakes and no rivers. It seemed to him that the green field went all the way to infinity looking the same.

It felt like he had been walking for hours when he finally decided to stop and rest. He sat down, placing his hands on his knees, and peered at the infinite green field, eyebrows raised. He watched the snow white blossoms move in the grass. He did not even notice that there was no wind. There hadn't been any wind since his waking. There hadn't been anything since his waking.

Except happiness and pain, of course. There had been pain. And pain had had hours to intensify and grow. It had become strong enough to make the world look grey and dim to him. But Angus didn't care. He didn't care one bit. All of his attention had been firmly fixated on clinging to the good feeling since his rising from the green grass bed.

Angus rose again. He pulled his cloak around himself tightly, despite the rising heat. A part of him longed for the almost cool air he had felt earlier, but that longing was a weak feeling compared to everything else. Or at least it wasn't enough to make him stop and think or go back. He walked, glistening beads of sweat rolling down his forehead and cheeks. He usually hated the tickling trickles of sweat. Having to wipe them off his face again and again and again had been annoying. But not now.

Angus grinned. Everything felt different now.

The darkening world swung and turned in the Kal'dorei's eyes as he stumbled, all but falling. He blinked and rubbed his temples. No, keeping the cloak on hadn't been a good idea after all, he thought.

It must be the heat. I just need more rest. Rest is all I need.

Of course it was the heat. Of course! After all, the past few hours had been so perfect. Why should anyone or anything try to ruin it? Really, why should they? No, the happiness was still within him. He still felt that strong, beautiful, unhealthy, sickening happiness boiling inside him. And as long as the hot waves of joy flowed back and forth through the elf's body, no jabbing pain could make him feel bad. The happiness made it impossible.

The night elf fell on his back and stared blankly at the sky, eyes narrow. The grass and the earth seemed soft to him. They seemed almost inviting. He wanted to stay where he was, but it had become clear to him that the urge to move wouldn't let him do that. Yet it wasn't as strong as it had been and it was making him worry.

What if... it goes away like that too?

Angus shook his head slightly and an invisible knife dug its way through the man's skull to his brain. He didn't even frown. No, he did the contrary; he smiled. He had felt the pain and he hadn't at the same time. A wall of numbness surrounded his mind, but didn't protect his body. Yes, that was it. A wall of numbness. He felt numb.

He had just realised he also felt sleepy. The man closed his eyes and turned his head, feeling the cool grass brush against his face. Suddenly the thought of just falling asleep in the middle of that strange field made perfect sense. Suddenly it seemed almost comforting.

The druid sighed and chuckled quietly moments later. He opened his eyes.

And he didn't see anything.

Darkness.

And then it was gone.

He heard singing.

Angus Silentwing woke up with an aching body and an aching head. He opened his eyes and was almost saddened to see that there were no sharp rays and no white suns to attack them. He was in complete darkness. He did hear singing though. That felt almost like some kind of consolation prize to him. At least he knew he hadn't just dreamt of that amazing feeling. The bad thing was that almost all of it was gone.

The elf rose to his feet and looked around. There was no leather bag at his feet, but his eyes did catch a faint glimmer of bluish light in the distance. He sat down and sighed, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. There was absolutely nothing in the space between him and the flickers and he was afraid to move. Angus just sat and tried to think - it wasn't very easy to do with his head as aching and dizzy as it was. Before too long he reached a rather simple conclusion. Something was wrong with the picture, though he couldn't quite grasp what exactly it was. For some reason that dark, void space hadn't made him freak out.

Angus opened his eyes and jumped slightly. The lights had come to him and were now dancing around him in a circle. He rose, eyeing them cautiously, and took a few steps back. He squinted his eyes and blinked as he realised that they lights weren't really lights at all. They were Wisps. Five transparent balls of a light blue-green colour circled around him, making strange glowing patterns in the air. The Kal'dorei tried to pull himself.

Suddenly the Wisps stopped moving. Before he could raise a hand to protect himself, their singing turned into vile screams and they charged in his direction, their shrieks quietening and dying. He felt unpleasantly warm gusts of wind as the spirits flew past him. Something must have scared or angered them, he thought. The Kal'dorei drew himself up and shook his head. Everything had been so strange.

He turned around to see where the Wisps had gone and froze. He felt fear. Before him stood a large mirror, its wooden frame adorned with dozens of various ornaments. And what he saw inside it...

No!

Angus felt the last vestiges of his happiness disappear as he stumbled backwards and fell, darkness taking him.

Angus Silentwing woke up with an aching body and an aching head. He didn't just sit up and rise this time. This time he jumped up, ready to run and fight. He calmed a bit when he realised that there was no one to run from. Hunching, the blue elf turned his head to look around and what he saw surprised him. He was back in the field, but it was different now. It looked like someone had made the white sun give its place to a red moon, painted the sky dark purple and made the white flower blossoms glow while he was gone. The clouds were now silver and perfectly visible in the night sky.

This is insane.

Angus looked down at the leather bag which lay open at his feet, all his belongings that had been in it were scattered around the place. He bent down to pick them up and sighed, shivering. To him, something seemed terribly wrong with... all this. Something was wrong with everything; the field, the Wisps, the sky, the sun. And what was worse, he had been so foolish! The wrongness had been there from the start, but he had been too busy caring only about that disgusting, unexplainable happy feeling to notice. The night elf bit his lip, frowning, and shook his head. No, he shouldn't have trusted it. Whatever evil mind had inflicted that happy curse on him, it had only meant to trick him. And he had been a fool to let it do so.

His belongings weren't many and it didn't take him long to put them all back in the back. Having put the last object, a small journal with a red-coloured leather cover, back to its right place, he drew himself up and looked around last time. Something had caught his eye earlier, something that hadn't been there the first time and he was determined to find out what. After all, in a world as random and insane as this, anything could be or mean anything.

It did not take him very long to notice a tall dark shadow looming above the dimly lit grassland. It looked like an irregularly-shaped and incredibly thick column with two large branches coming out of the top. Angus pulled his hood down and set out in the strange object's direction. He kept a fast pace and it wasn't long before he was close enough to see what it was. And it made his brow furrow so much that his two eyebrows looked like one.

It was a huge wooden totem, looking like it had grown out of the ground much like a tree would - it even had roots. Angus approached it slowly, gazing at the three large holes carved into the wood. The carving on front of the totem depicted a face and the expression it wore seemed almost too close to sad fury. He looked up, eyes narrow. The branches he had seen earlier were actually two sharp horns pointing menacingly at the sky. It looked like hundreds of strange ornaments had been painted and carved on the totem.

The elf put a hand on the totem, feeling the rough wood. He thought he had seen something familiar in those runes and he was right. They looked like Darnassian runes. His eyes became wider and wider as he read. It was foul. It was terrible!

Angus took a dozen steps backwards and gazed up at the totem with disgust in his eyes. He took a deep breath and raised a hand. Such a horrible thing had to be destroyed. But then everything shook. Before he even realised it, the totem's eyes and mouth were breathing red fire. Suddenly everything was burning. Five gigantic Wisps emerged from the ground beneath the totem and charged at him. The druid raised his hands to protect himself, closing his eyes, but nothing happened. He heard five screeching roars and the spirits disappeared. He looked down at his hands, then at his feet. His whole body seemed watery; skin and cloth moved and bubbled in liquidy motion.

He needed to get out of here. He turned around, ready to move, and barely managed to stop himself from stepping forward as he noticed a huge gap in the earth before him. Angus gazed at the abyss, hammers thumping in his heart and head, and collapsed, grabbing his head. He looked up at the sky. The moon had begun bleeding; its red colour was spreading across the previously purple sky slowly and inexorably. Stars fell and clouds crashed against each other. The earth cracked, tiny yellow birds flying out of the dark holes. Their beautiful singing sounded like moans of pain in the chaos.

Angus heard a strange sound. He looked down and jumped as he noticed a small crack right beneath him. He needed a place to hide. Panting, the elf turned around and ran towards the totem, eyes glistening, but it began to melt and turn into black beetles before he reached it.

He stumbled backwards and fell into the largest of the gaps in the earth, barely noticing the marching army of shadowy insects and the decay they had left behind them.

Angus Silentwing woke up with an aching body and an aching head. He sat up and looked around, rivers of cold sweat running down his face and back. He was in his own chamber, sitting in his own bed. His hand reached for the glass filled with water that stood on the small cabinet next to the bed. He took a small sip and spat it out, throwing the glass across the room. It tasted disgustingly sour on his tongue.

'What did you put in my drink?!' Angus yelled.

The only response he was given was the sound of glass breaking followed by boisterous laughter.

[Dilly]

Chapter II

Come and Go

Water ran down his face. He stood still, leaning above the old washstand. He placed his hands on the smooth wooden surface and shook his head, letting his arms support him. Angus' gaze was fixed on his blurred reflection that shimmered and flickered on what water was left in the dented washbasin. It was a plain face. Light purple skin, wet blue hair and narrow amber eyes. Nothing out of the norm for a night elf. The only thing anyone could consider atypical was the wrinkles. They had begun to appear very recently, but still too early. After all, no more than seven years had passed since the loss of what every Kal'dorei had considered dear to them; only seven years since the loss of their immortality.

Angus unbent, grabbing a clean towel. He pressed the white cloth to his face and smiled. It seemed odd even to him. The Third War had been just like any other - foolish, bloodthirsty, costly and discomposing. But he still held as many fond memories of it as he held unpleasant ones. That meant not many at all, but each of them, good or bad, was as strong and fresh as it had been the day after the grand battle on Hyjal. Thinking of the War still made him smile. Just as often as it made him cringe.

The Kal'dorei folded the towel and placed it on the washstand, peering inside the grey ceramic pitcher. It was empty. Angus' lips tightened in disapproval as he drew himself up and looked around the room. He could find anything in that place with his eyes blindfolded, but he still liked to just sit down and look around from time to time. He knew the whole building as the back of his hand, large as it was. How could he not, after all the time he had spent there? A good few thousands of years, it had to be.

It was not the most ordinary of rooms. Quite large, it had only three walls; the fourth was missing, replaced by a hole in the building and a railing. The walls that were there were hidden by long rows of bookshelves, tables, cabinets and... junk. There were no chairs - only two small benches that stood on both sides of the only table in the room that did not have innumerable amounts of books, envelopes and various documents on it. Despite the apparent shambles, the place still managed to look cosy - perhaps it was the glowing candles scattered across the room, perhaps the simplicity of the furniture, or perhaps it was the sweet scent the walls themselves seemed to give off. For a house as small as it was, it had an almost ridiculous amount of corridors, rooms and even hidden passages, but this one had always been Angus' favourite. He spent most of his time and felt the most comfortable here.

Angus leaned on the railing, his gaze wandering left and right, up and down. Nighthaven was unusually quiet. It was like some outlandish aura of calm had crept across the settlement, leaving it sleepy. Looking at the snoozing city - if Nighthaven could be called that - almost made him feel tired, and he had just awoken. Angus sat down on one of the benches, turning his back to the city. He closed his eyes and began to rub his temples. A hoarse sigh slipped past his lips.

So it came again. I should have expected that. Expect the worst - that way all surprises will be pleasant ones. I should have listened. What, the third time? Or fifth? Fifth. A dream. Just a dream. Dreams should not be that repetitive. Or that... whole. So continuous. So... consistent. Perhaps they should. By the grace of Elune, perhaps it should. Moonlight dear, let it be so. It has to be a dream... Just a dream. It has to be.

He let out another sigh. Angus turned his head to glance at the sleeping city and his brow went up as he noticed movement. A dark shape, tall and hunched, crossed one of the bridges and disappeared into a large brown tent that stood by a small clump of white-barked trees. A velvety smile graced his worried face and eyes glinted with recognition.

So she is back. I do need something to keep my mind off that... nonsense. Yet it would not be polite to come so soon. Just... wait a little while.

Angus rose and walked across the room to one of the bookcases. He picked up a book, titled The Utopian Age, and returned to the bench. It was one of the few literary works about the ancient times before the catastrophic War of the Ancients, he knew. Night elves avoided anything that had to do with those near-forgotten years and that made perfect sense to him. After all, back then the Arcane flowed free and the Kal'dorei basked in its twisted light. It was not a mistake any night elf in their right mind would want to remember.

Perhaps I am not in my right mind.

That one thought brought a hearty chuckle out of the elf - a sound rarely heard. The author must have been a heretic, an idiot or incredibly brave to give the book such a name. Someone probably lynched him, he thought. And in all likelihood he was right. Oh yes, night elves really did have small patience when it came to such things.

After a few futile attempts to remember where he had stopped Angus opened the book at a random page and began to read. The runes did not flow in his mind as well as they should and it didn't take him a very long time to realise he could not focus enough to read. He closed the leather-bound book with a quiet snap and put it down on the table beside the bench. Angus leaned against the wooden railing and clasped his hands behind his head and frowned a little as a few hairs were tugged on painfully when he moved. He closed his eyes and let his mind and thought wander. A dangerous thing, especially when his mood was so exceptionally... decent, if not good. That much he knew. But there really was nothing he could do. Sometimes he felt like he just had to think. Freely.

...about anything.

And think freely he did. His thoughts wandered from one thing to another quickly - from the dream to the weather, from the book to the things he had planned to do, from the woman he had seen to the dream, from the dream to the odd-flavoured water he had found on his bedside cabinet.

A turning ago. It was a moon-turning ago. And five times already, moonlight dear.

Did his thoughts not return to the dream so often, he would fall asleep, he thought. That didn't happen, but he did let them take him far away. Before too long he was pulled from the dreamy state by a cool gust of wind. Angus straightened his back and shook his head.

I have waited long enough. Might as well go now.

He rose for the second time, walked over to the coat rack and picked up his cloak. He pulled the grey garment around himself and tugged on its deep hood, pulling it up swiftly. People staring and gossiping was the last thing he needed. He climbed down the stairs and walked down the corridor slowly, grimacing unwillingly as he did so. Light snoring could be heard from behind one of the thick wooden doors.

One would think he would have enough decency to at least try not to make any noise, living in my home. Yet...

Angus shook his head, walking out into the fresh and clean air. He stopped to look around. Pale mist had begun to roll in, but it was too thin to shroud anything. The clear water of the rivers and streams that crisscrossed the town glistened in the darkness, reflecting the moonlight, and the wooden bridges seemed whiter than ever. The sky, the buildings and most other things had prominent shades of bluish green thrown on them. The night never ended here in Moonglade, but that was not its only peculiarity. To Angus it had always looked more like very early morning - there was an unusual amount of light, and it was not just the white light of the moon. There was another light, a rather pale one. The one that gave everything that unique faded blue-green colour. It was almost as if the forest and the land themselves were emitting it.

A beautiful light.

Angus stuffed his hands in the pockets of his robe and began to move. He did not feel like freezing. It was always warm in the Moonglade, but the wind could sometimes be cold even here. And that's exactly how it was - it came in swift, chilly gusts.

The way to the tent the figure had entered was not very long. He could see it through the gaps between the thickets of trees and the buildings from his house. Before too long, he found himself standing right in front of it. There were other, smaller tents scattered nearby. The same brown canvas, leather and furs. Some of them belonged to her and some to those who had come with her all those years ago. The look on Angus' face darkened as he realised that not many were left. There had been thirty and now, including her, there were three or four - he could not remember exactly and felt a slight sting of shame. Some had left, some had died and some had simply disappeared.

Nothing was eternal. He should have known, they should have known.

Angus shook his head again, as if trying to chase away dark thoughts and bent down to pick up a small rusty bell that, he knew, lay on the ground by the entrance. He rang it, wincing as a surprisingly loud, but dull sound came. The druid shrugged uncomfortably, a look of something akin to distaste on his face. He should have gotten used to it by now.

It is not the first time that I come here, after all.

A peaceful sound, almost a quiet rumble, came from inside. A weak smile spread across his face as he pulled on the fur coverings that hid the entrance. He stepped into the tent and looked around.

She was much better at keeping things tidy than him, that much was certain. Despite the tent's great size, it didn't look very roomy from inside. Boxes, sacks, crates, large sacks and other - seemingly misplaced - objects took up most of the space, but it was nothing close to the chaotic mess that was the Kal'dorei's room - they stood in tall, orderly-lined piles. Thick furs and leathers covered them and the tent's walls. The place was brightly lit by the soft reddish light of the dozens upon dozens of candles that were scattered around the tent.

He had just pulled his hood down when a small cough came from behind him. He turned around, careful not to break anything, and smiled at the tall hunched figure that stood between two huge towers of boxes that went all the way up to the roof of the tent.

'Angus Silentwing,' the woman spoke in a deep, droning voice. 'This is a surprise.'

Angus made a slight bow, never taking the smile off his face, and watched the tauren do the same. She was not exactly short, but he could look her in the eyes without having to raise his head. 'Greetings, Nava. You have been gone for quite some time, it seems.'

Nava Landcaller, that was her name. That was the name of the ancient Tauren who stood before him. It had to be almost eight years since the night he first met the woman, Angus thought. He remembered it all too well. She and other twenty-nine tauren had come to Nighthaven at what would have been midnight were they outside the Moonglade. They had come with one of the first tauren expeditions to the forest. One of the first druids. She, too, had chosen to go down the new - or merely rediscovered - path of druidism. She had striven, she had learned and she had tried, but she had not gone far. When Nava abandoned her studies, she had learned only the most basic of things. To this day Angus did not know why she had dropped that dream of hers; sometimes he theorised, but he didn't know. Yet that didn't make Nava look any less to him. She was patient, kind and firm when needed. A good woman. Nighthaven held few people that he truly admired and Nava Landcaller was one of them.

'Indeed I have, my friend,' she nodded, leaning on one of the box piles for support. 'I trust you saw me come?' To that Angus replied with a simple nod. After a little pause and a yawn the tauren spoke again. 'I am truly... happy to be back. I missed this land every moment of my time away... Make of that what you will.'

Nava threw her head back and chuckled heartily, her long braids swinging in the air, but Angus' smile faded. For a quick moment, yes, but it faded. He put it back up as quickly as he could, hoping the woman would not notice.

Would I miss it that much? I should. I would not. Why under the moonlight is that? Why?

'Come,' said the tauren, 'come with me. You should sit. Do not mind the disarray. I haven't had time to tidy up yet.'

Now it was Angus' turn to chuckle. 'Disarray? This is no disarray, Nava, not disarray at all.' He followed the tauren to something similar to a makeshift room, its walls made of wooden boxes and its ceiling of canvas and wooden planks. He recognised it as the woman's workroom - he had been here once or twice before. The elf looked around as Nava fumbled for a stool in, quite possibly, the only littery pile in her abode. The room was much more spacious than the box-walled corridor they had come from, if a little less clean. A few cabinets covered with various herbs, a huge high-backed chair and a table that had dozens of bowls, vials and porcelain instruments large enough to be used by a tauren on it were the only pieces of furniture. A dirty rug lay under the worktable.

'There,' Nava rumbled, placing a wooden stool next to the man. She plodded over to the table and seated herself on the chair.

'How was your journey?' Angus inquired. That was not a thing he really cared about, but even such a silly question was much better than silence. He did feel like he needed to talk to someone.

'Cannot call it bad, Angus. Not very adventurous,' she sighed, her large three-fingered hand wandering to the table and picking up a white pestle, 'but that's a good thing. I have no time for... adventure.' The woman chuckled mirthlessly.

Angus made a slow nod in response and licked his lips before speaking, 'I can imagine.'

Then came a moment of listless silence. He folded his arms.

I wonder if... No. No, not Nava. Anyone but Nava.

'I have too much time.'

The tauren tilted her head, sharp green eyes peering at the Kal'dorei. Her free hand moved to tug on her braids while the other one played with the tool. 'I suppose you do,' she spoke slowly, as if thinking every word through a good few times. 'Why do you refuse to make use of it? Why do you not even try to? You...'

Angus gave her a level look. Not again, moon save. Not again... Why does she not just let it go? Perhaps it was not such a sensational idea, coming here. I should have just... stayed...

'You know very well why, Nava,' he shook his head slightly as he spoke. 'I do not wish to go through... all that again. Let us not talk about such things.'

The woman shrugged in disillusionment. It was not that she had thought she could get him to talk about it, no. But she had hoped. When she spoke again, her tone was colder and much more solemn. 'Very well. That guest of yours, I wanted to talk to you about him before I left, but there just wasn't enough time.'

Angus frowned. 'I have refused to throw him out in the past and I intend to do so again, should such a suggestion arise. That is something you know, Nava.'

'Yes. Just like you know my stance on this. I don't usually talk about people like this, you know that, too, but believe me when I say, Angus Silentwing, that man is far from good. I wouldn't let him live in my home and I say once more that you should show him the door.'

'Has he been causing trouble?'

Nava replied only after a few moments of silence. 'Perhaps.'

Angus rose to his feet, pulling his cloak around himself more tightly. He bit his lip, watching the woman twist and turn the pestle in her hand. What if she is right? Moonlight dear...

'It is my home, Nava.'

'It is,' the woman spoke in a low voice, rising as well. 'But does that change anything?' She shook her head. 'Is there anything I can do for you, Angus? I don't have much time. I'm sorry.'

Angus nodded, forcing a strained smile. 'No, I do not think so. But... I still have that crate of dreamfoil you said you needed. Should I bring it to you?'

Nava made an agreeing sound. 'Next week. Good.'

'Very well. Next turning it is.'

The woman raised her hand goodbye. He nodded and walked out of the tent. Nothing had changed outside. The moon was still high. The town was the same. The night had not gone anywhere. Night never left this land, it was true. Angus pulled his hood up and set out for home.

The moment he opened the door, he realised that whatever good mood he had had was gone now. He had been wrong thinking that such a visit could bring something good. Frustration and annoyance. Never again, he thought.

Never go to that woman if you wish to be cheered up.

The house was silent. Not a sound. Angus was alone. That fool youngling had wandered off somewhere again. And it was much better this way - he didn't feel like talking to anyone, not anymore. He climbed up the stairs, hung his cloak on the cumbrous wooden coat hanger and froze in the middle of the room. A few frown wrinkles appeared on his tall forehead.

It is spring. I... did not even notice. That is not very good. And Ash... He has not returned yet.

Ash was what Angus called his first and only true companion from the animal world, a raven. It was his firm belief that animals could not be given names. A Kal'dorei could call an animal anything, but that did not become its name, he had always said. No, their names were different; animal names were impressions. When he first saw the bird, he thought of dark, grey ashes. And so he decided to call him Ash. That was the closest thing to an animal's name a word spoken by man could ever become.

It was an odd tradition to send the bird away every year, days before winter. Ash usually came back in the first days of spring. But this year he had not. There really was no need to worry - running a little late was not completely unusual for the raven, but Angus still felt slight dismay at the thought of him disappearing.

Angus' lips tightened as he walked over to a wooden cabinet, trying desperately to shake away grim thoughts. That was the only thing he could do. Beside the cabinet was something that looked like a box hidden underneath a few bolts of white fabric. He picked up the cloth, placed it on the ground carefully and looked inside the wooden crate. It was full of white herbs. Dreamfoil. He nodded to himself and opened one of the cabinet's drawers. From it he picked up a large sack of brown linen and poured the dreamfoil into it. He put the white cloth back in the crate and placed the sack on top of it.

That will do. It will have to do.

He was about to walk away when his gaze fell upon two small books with bright green covers that lay in the open drawer. It took him only a moment to realise that they were journals. Journals he had last written in almost a year ago. Angus picked up both of them and went to the benches to sit. He flipped the book open. It read

The Emerald Hand

XAV.I.C.

Journal

The Kal'dorei flipped through, realising with shock what was before his eyes. He finally decided to go back to the very first page.

It cannot- should not be. Not now. Why now? Not... ever! And I thought I had... I do not think I should.

He sat contemplating in silence for a few moments. He knew he shouldn't read. He knew the two books he had just removed from the cabinet were dangerous. Dangerous to him and dangerous to others.

He leaned forth and began to read.

TEHJC
XAV.I.C.
Entry One

Beginnings

A beginning is what this is. A beginning of something magnificent, a beginning of something great. Of something right. I can just feel it. This is a wonderful beginning.

Everything is going almost better than I expected. Moonlight grace, I must be a very lucky man. Today was the first meeting. Only a few hours ago I told them what I thought. Told them all! Whether they like it or not, that does not matter. The first day I'm talking about this openly and I already have support. Yes, this is much better than what I expected. Some of them, of course, were unhappy. But that does not matter. I expected that. And I prepared for it.

It is as it must be.

I feel something great coming. This... This project is finally moving. It is only a matter of time now. Only a matter of time before we sing hymns of victory. The... catchword has never been so accurate.

All that is wrong shall be righted.

The order of the Emerald Hand has been created.

ASDH
XAV.I.C.

Moonlight save, no.

Angus turned the page. Another entry. And another, and another, and another.

...Ileinu Bluewing...

...The gates have to...

...of storms...

...Nightmare...

...PROTECT...

...very, very soon...

'No...' Angus threw the book away and grabbed the other journal. Entries. Entries, entries, entries. He closed it with a loud snap, hands shivering. Rising, he picked up the other book and pressed them both to his chest, almost hugging them. 'Enough of this,' the night elf spoke, his voice hoarse. 'This has to end.'

This has to end now.

He had already forgotten the drawer was still open.

[Dilly]

Chapter III

Yelling Whispers

The air reeked.

It reeked of smoke.

Angus stood before a large bonfire, stoic and calm and frozen. Only his eyes blazed. They were narrowed and they blazed with anger. The orange, yellow and red flames leapt, twisted and danced. A dance was the only thing it could be called; a macabre, aggressive dance. They licked and caressed wood, leather and parchment; books, documents and ashes. Dark shapes shimmered and curled in the burning heat. He tried to feed his anger and fear into the malevolent flame, yet there seemed to be no end to them. It was something his father, as poor and unlucky as he had been wise, had taught him thousands of years ago. Something he had said would always work. Something that had helped him many times. But now? Now it would just not do. Now it did not work. The anger, the rage, the fury, the feeling, it stayed. He felt like someone had poured burning liquid down his throat and now it boiled and roiled inside him, searing him like the hot flames seared the books he had thrown into the bonfire. He felt like he would turn to ash in just a few moments.

The documents. The documents would turn to ash in just a few moments.

Oh, the fire looked grand. The flame, it seemed to him almost as hot and vicious as the burning sun. Almost. A thick column of smoke, black, brown and grey, rose from the bonfire until it rammed into the strangely bright night sky, carrying the foul scent of burning things with it. Up and up and up.

Yes, the air reeked.

The flames seemed to be dying down. Angus turned away from the hellish blaze and began to walk. It was warm, but he felt cold and he shivered. Perhaps it was because of the quieting emotions that had raged within him like a thousand of storms and a dozen of hurricanes no more than a few moments ago. Or perhaps anxiety and sneaky regret were to blame… It did not matter much. It was over now. He had ended it. Forever, Elune bless... Forever and never again.

His step light and careful, the Kal'dorei walked slowly. Ah, the forest. The Moonglade. It had been his home once. Now it was just another place, rotting carrion for carrion birds, those vile, beautiful creatures. The forest never seemed to sleep. There was always something happening there. There was always life. He found that thought amusing, but he knew it was true. A doe running, a squirrel leaping from one tree to another, a wolf chasing prey or a tall blue man with elongated ears just walking about, there was always something. And that was a good thing, perhaps the only good thing he could still see in the Moonglade. The only truly good thing. A place with no life did not deserve to exist, he knew. The world was life and there was no hiding or running away from it.

Angus barely managed to suppress a chuckle. He tended to ramble, he knew. In his mind or aloud, there was no difference.

Ludicrous thoughts.

He stopped to pull his cloak around himself more tightly. Yes, it was warm in the Moonglade, just like any other night or hour, but he still felt very cold. Angus glanced over his shoulder to the direction he had come from. A steady flow of weak orange light dropped strange shadows on tree trunks as pale as sun-bleached bones somewhere far in the distance. That was the glow of a dying flame. Good. Good... And... It will die with it. Forever and never again. Forever and never again.

Angus did not want to go back to Nighthaven. The place was too crowded, too civilised. He had calmed, yet one burning urge remained. And it was the burning urge to find solitude, a place where he could sit, or maybe stand, and think. Thinking helped - sometimes, not always, but trying would not hurt... Much. The man made his way through a dense part of the forest, through thick shrubbery, sometimes climbing up or sliding down a lonely hill, sometimes wading a small crystal-clear pond or across a river, sometimes stopping near small clumps of trees older than he was to simply look around. The Moonglade was boiling with life, yet still quiet. The serene silence was only disturbed by the occasional crack of wood or twitter of a bird; splash of water or howl of a wolf. White moonlight flowed like brilliant water of a sluggish river into the forest through thick foliage of dark colours, but he kept his face hidden from it deep in the darkness of the hood of his cloak. The moon could not do anything good for him. Not for him, not anymore.

It was not very long before Angus found himself climbing up the steep, rocky slope of a plateau, head turning to glance at the moonlit forest and the sleeping town below occasionally, hand and foot searching for gaps in the slippery stone. And gaps there were not, at least not every time he looked - there had already been uncountable times when all he could grab was the flat and wet and cold surface of the hard rock. Was it the plateau? Or was it life? He could not answer. All he could do was shake his head grimly, almost resignedly, and go on.

His mind really did wander sometimes, he knew; sometimes it wandered, sometimes it faltered, and sometimes it spewed nonsense even he could not fully understand. Either that, or the old elf's memory was beginning to fail him. He could not remember starting to climb, but he could remember walking; everything between a few moments ago and that was a confusing haze. Angus looked up and thought he could see the sharp edge of the plateau's flat top pushing at the greyish sky. Unchanging sky.

He stopped. He stopped, turned his head, and he watched. He watched small green leaves flutter in the warm breeze; he watched water glisten and ripple, mist curl and curl and curl again above and around it; he watched lights of many different colours appear, flash, and fade in the distant city. Lights danced in Nighthaven like fireflies dance in the night. In the pale mist the city looked like a gathering of odd creatures; many malformed, skeletal shapes, many eerie twinkles in empty, black eye sockets. A thousand of deep-set eyes of a thousand of different colours. Nighthaven looked like a lurking, waiting monster, a great contradiction to the serene beauty of the forest that surrounded it. But it was only the mist deforming shapes and playing tricks, Angus knew. Despite everything, the land was beautiful. No longer safe, or pleasant, or welcoming, but still beautiful. Not as beautiful as it used to be. Or am I looking at it wrongly?

He leaned forth, against the hard rock of the slope. Closing his eyes for just a moment, he smiled. Such nights of peace were rare. He had been trying to stay as far away from the elves as he could, but it was all but impossible when one - an exceptionally noisy one - lived under his roof. Even so, the last few nights had brought very few disturbances, but Angus thought - no, felt - that it was only the sweet calm before the sour storm. Before the burning storm. Perhaps it was paranoia, he could not dismiss that possibility, but odd anticipation had been growing inside him not only for the past few nights, but for the past few moon-turnings. Odd anticipation. It was odd; he could find no other word for it. Soon, Angus knew, he would be filled with it, shivering with it. Soon he - and it - would burst like bubbles burst upon the touch of a finger. He thought, felt, knew it. Angus was startled to find himself not a bit frightened by it. Not even worried. Was he really that careless now? Was he that indifferent? Am I going mad?

'No.' He tried to laugh, but that strange expression of amusement turned into a series of quiet, uncontrolled sobs, and even they were cut short. His eyes opened and he winced. For a moment, just a small, insignificant and forgettable moment, it seemed that the soft wind, chilly and warm at the same time, was blowing purposely at him, aiming at him, thrusting a cold, invisible dagger deep into his chest. Cold and chilly. Cold and burning. The feeling flashed for just a moment and was gone; it left as quickly as it had come. He realised he was sitting on the edge of the plateau, hands gripping the sharp stone tightly. It had begun to draw small drops of blood. Had he really climbed all the way up? Had he? He could not remember. A haze, a strange, confusing haze.

There. He was slipping. He was going mad.

He knew it.

Am I? Am I really? Am I going mad? No. I do not think I am.

And then his thoughts began to drift - slowly, calmly, but at the same time inexorably. They drifted like a light piece of wet wood in a barely moving river; they went from one thing to another, their pace sluggish and their determination unbreakable. They got more and more ridiculous with each change, with each hint of movement, and none of them were of any importance. None. They were not important to him. They were not important to anyone. No one cared. No one wanted to know. He sank into strange apathy; he sank slowly, calmly and lazily, he sank into that still, murky water. He felt like he could just sit there for nights, and nights, and nights, and...

A colourful butterfly landed on his bony hand - landed calmly, obviously in no hurry. Angus smiled. No, there was no need to hurry. He could be as unhurried as he wanted to be. Yes, even the butterfly seemed to be moving slowly. That strange, strange insect. The elf tried to open his eyes - the heavy lids seemed very ardent in their refusal to move any further than halfway point - and waved the small blue and yellow thing away.

Goodbye, my dear butterfly.

Oh... Why did it have to rhyme? It seemed almost ironic. His eyelids fluttered a few times and closed. He drifted, his thoughts drifted, and...

No. I must not sleep.

Angus shook his head and rose slowly, his limbs still fighting, still crying out for rest. And the cold surface suddenly seemed so inviting, so alluring; he was drawn to it. The thought of rest, rest and sleep, was too sweet. Yet he refused. He ignored it and forced himself to move. He began to climb again, climb down and down, head turning to look at the forest occasionally, hand and foot searching for gaps in the stone. And gaps there were not. A confusing haze in his mind. No thoughts, no feelings, just movement. Down, down, down...

Oh, and the stone was wet. He felt his foot slip. A single movement. A quick, harmless slip. And suddenly it all became a dream. Angus felt his hands let go, against his will. He felt himself lean backwards - no, someone, something pushed him. An invisible hand. Surely. It had to be so. He fell. And as he fell, his mind became blank again. The sudden thoughts of danger and death went as quickly as they had come. They were no more. He knew he was falling, but there was no sudden realisation. No, sudden realisation came later.

But now? Now he fell. And he closed his eyes.

And darkness filled the world.

Voices. Quiet voices, muffled voices. They sounded like they were coming from behind a thick wall. They were calling him. They were talking to him, they were whispering and they were yelling. Angus tried to ignore them. He did not want to hear them; all he wanted was to sleep, to be alone. The voices sounded nervous, almost frightened, but fakely reassuring at the same time. Something was wrong. He swallowed, his throat dry, turned his head and froze. He felt a sharp jolt of even sharper pain in his side. It moved and rose, it turned into a stinging feeling as it went up his body to his head. The pain, he thought it was insufferable; his side burned and his lower back felt like a dozen arrows had been thrust deep into it.

He opened his eyes, but it did not do much good; his sight was hazy, everything was pale and misty, everything but a single greyish shade kneeling beside him; the voices became a voice and the pain only intensified. He groaned and tried to turn over. Sharp daggers - no, axes - jabbed at his aching flesh, but a firm hand caught him by his shoulder. The elf grunted again and decided to give up; he did not want to resist and resisting was impossible. He was in pain and someone was next to him. What happened? He licked his dry lips - oh, they were dry, as dry as parchment, and his tongue felt every stiff curve and ridge - and let his eyes close again, muttering, 'Who...'

'Just be quiet. What did you try to do?'

Angus frowned. The voice was unpleasant. It sounded annoyed and confused, perhaps even angry and slightly frightened. It sounded almost too familiar. He shook his head slowly and another two jolts of pain were sent up his already aching spine. It was hard to think clearly; the strange mist that shrouded his vision seemed to shroud his mind, too; it seemed to curl and crawl inside his head, slowly entangling and strangling his already weak thoughts. He tried to focus. He had to think. Yes, he knew that man. What is he doing here? What did... I try to do? It... hurts.

The pain, he thought it was insufferable.

'Moonshade? You? Why... What hap-... happened?'

'How am I supposed to know? To me it looks like you decided to roll down from there.'

He opened his eyes again. His vision was much clearer this time, but it was still hard to see where the other man was pointing. He did not have to. He remembered something - vaguely, but he remembered. Falling. Flesh-ripping pain. And then darkness. Yes, I... fell. Did I really... fall? Oh, Elune... Fright began to spread inside him, suddenly and unexpectedly, like very malicious wildfire. Why did it not sweep the pain away? It was hard to move - too hard, almost impossible. He had always been able to suffer pain, no matter how strong or fierce, but it felt different now. Strangely different. Angus did not want to think of that; the tiniest hint of the thought frightened him like no other horror he had faced before, and he refused to go any further than that. Yet dark ideas still began to creep and crawl into his mind, not as terrifying as that other one, but still considerably frightful. They slithered like angry venomous snakes in tall grass.

And he had thought this would be a nice night.

'I...'

'You tore yourself open, too. And now I must waste my time taking you back to Nighthaven. Some friend you are. Can you stand?'

The elf blinked a few times, surprised at the falsely bitter sting of the words, and more of the remaining fog retreated, slowly fading from his vision; his eyes burned and the world was blurry, but he could see. At least he could see. He almost smiled at that thought.

And then he realised that he, in fact, could not stand. Could not walk. He could hardly move at all.

Angry snakes slithered.

'No,' Angus replied quietly, lying completely still. He had noticed that the pain was noticeably weaker when he refrained from movement. He could stand pain, but he was not one to go looking for it. And this was different. Strangely different.

'That's just perfect. Perhaps...'

I am not mad yet, he thought grimly, one hand sliding down to his side, where the pain was strongest. The sharp sting had intensified with the first twitches of the muscles that moved his arm, but it was nothing, a speck of dust in a grand sandstorm in Tanaris, compared to the explosion of agony that came when his fingers landed on the wound. He pulled his hand back swiftly, with a sharp hiss and a silent gasp, without thinking. The foolhardy move was followed by an overwhelming influx of fresh pain somewhere around his temples. The feeling of the wound had been almost sickening – the flesh was damp and soft, wet and mushy.

'It was a lot worse,' Moonshade blurted out and coughed. Angus thought he had heard defensiveness in the man's voice. 'I can't do much, you know that.'

Yes. Angus knew. He knew that Moonshade was weak, he knew that Moonshade was lazy, he knew that Moonshade was indifferent. Moonshade was all things a night elf should not be, he knew that. He knew that that useless lump could not do much. He had always known that. And he knew more. Angus knew that what Moonshade could not do, Silentwing could. Why did he not do it, then? Why had he spent so much of agonising time lying there, swimming in pain? Why did he still lay there thinking?

Idiotic miscreant.

And then he did it. His thoughts had been furious, they had been racing, but he pushed them out of his mind completely. And he did it easily. That almost surprised him, even though he knew it should not; over time such things became as simple and natural as breathing. Oh, and he had had a lot of time. Almost too much time. He had had millennia. And when his mind was clear, he reached out, he almost dove out of himself and into the world, expecting to feel the familiar sense of awareness, the familiar warmth. Thinking he was already feeling it.

But they did not come. They were not there. It eluded him. His mind was grasping and clawing at nothing. At emptiness.

He tried again.

Nothing.

He tried again, and again, and again. He thought he had felt something, something far away, something out of his reach. Yes, it had been there. But it had not been there for him. It had been there for everyone, for all those like him, but not for him. Angus felt a cold and unfamiliar touch of fear and panic. The man had known this night would come, he had known it for a very, very long time. Yet it surprised him and frightened him. Because he had not thought it would come so soon. He had never thought that this night, the night that had been perfect just a few hours ago, would be the night. It seemed cruel and bitterly ironic.

Then everything came back - the thoughts, the pain, the world. Angus realised he had sat up, a hand pressed firmly against the mushy wound. The pain had been unbearable before, but now it was murderous. It was a killer pain. The other elf, Moonshade, was trying to push him back down. Angus let him and some of the pain receded almost immediately. Words reached the man's ears as he did so. They were not coming from behind a wall. Now they were coming from somewhere closer, but they were an endless flow of meaningless sounds. Had Moonshade been talking all this time? Angus supposed he had; it was just like that lump. Always talking and talking endlessly. But now that lump was all he had. That lump or death. He had completely forgotten about how he had felt, how he had almost craved death no more than a few weeks ago.

Angus looked up at Moonshade, but the man was still nothing but a grey shadow in a sea of whiteness. He swallowed - no, tried to, but his mouth and throat were as dry as deserts and there was no saliva at all to change that - and, speaking slowly and quietly, interrupted the other man's monologue, cringing as he did so, 'I c-cannot fix... it.' His own voice startled him. It sounded like the hoarse croak of a dying raven.

'And you call me weak. Yes, that's what you are behind all that stuck-up talk. Of course you can't fix it. Now I'll have t-...' Moonshade's outpour of words, mean and bitterly jesting at the same time, was cut by a strange sound, a loud snapping noise. Angus thought he had heard light footfalls. Before long, the other man spoke again, this time much more calmly, and the words that came from his mouth were as simple as they were startling, 'Who are you?'

Someone is here. Someone is coming. The thought flashed in his head, quick and simple. Angus could not believe a thought as tiny as this one could bring with it such a great amount of fear. He could not explain it. He did not know why, but suddenly he was very afraid.

Whoever it was, the newcomer answered, but the words were distant, otherworldly sounds. It startled him. Some kind of creature had come, and now it would kill both of them, he thought. But then Moonshade spoke again - Angus recognised his voice, but he could not make out the words. Yes, distant, otherworldly sounds. The same strange foreign language.

And then the world began to spin, what little forms and shapes he could see began to blur and blend and mix among themselves.

The last thing he saw was not one, but two elf-shaped shadows in the blindingly white mist above him. And then the darkness came again.

This time it was different. When Angus woke up, he was met by nothing but silence. There were no voices, no loud snaps, no light footfalls and no strange sounds from the forest. He was somewhere else. Hard dirt and vines had been replaced with pleasantly soft cloth and warmth. He lay in a bed - a good one, it seemed. The man's eyes opened quickly this time, but he had not needed them to know that. And as soon as his sharp gaze fell upon his surroundings - now they were perfectly visible, not at all blurry - he knew that the new place was his house, his home, his bedroom. The walls, the ceiling, the furniture - everything was too familiar. They were things he was used to seeing. He could not be mistaken.

Angus sat up in his bed and looked around, a puzzled look on his face and his eyes. He was at home. He felt... good. Yet he could not shake the strange feeling that something was not quite right, that he was missing, forgetting something. He tried to tell himself that it was nonsense, he tried to tell himself that he was letting fancies take him. It did not help. The elf could not get rid of it, no matter how hard he tried. Then he tried to think. Could it be that the feeling was not meaningless? He did not know. He could not remember.

Cannot remember? Cannot remember what?

The air reeked.

Yes! The air had reeked! He remembered a bonfire. He remembered burning and walking and climbing. There had been a mountain, and then...

It descended upon him like an avalanche of cold, fear-inducing snow. He had fallen, and he had woken up, and Moonshade had been there, and someone - something - had come, and he had drifted back into unconsciousness again, and...

Why was he here? How was it possible? Angus had thought that he would surely die. The wound, the pain - the fog had lifted and the memories were clear now. But the pain was gone. He slid his hand back under the covers and placed it on his side, expecting to feel the revolting dampness of the wound, but all his fingers found was normal, unpunctured skin. The wound was gone, too. Someone had helped him, healed him. Someone had taken him back.

Moonshade?

Moonshade was not here. Angus turned his head to look around again, and this time his gaze fell upon something unusual, something out of place. On the flat top of the small wooden cabinet that stood beside his bed lay two pieces of pale parchment - one was small and crumpled and dog-eared and the other was significantly larger and folded neatly. He grabbed the smaller note to read it. The handwriting was a messy scribble and there were blots of ink everywhere. And that was enough; Angus did not need to look at the signature to know that it was Moonshade who had written it.

I wont be bak till tommorow. Som-one left a mesage for you. I put et on that cabnet of yours nexto this note.

Angus smiled. The smile was not very happy or nice - it was forced and mirthless, almost bitter. He closed his hand into a fist, crumpling the poorly written note, and threw the piece of parchment away. It made a small arch in the air and fell, landing on the wooden floor with a very quiet thud. A message? It could not be. Who would send messages to him? The man thought it terribly unlikely, but his hand made its way to the letter and clenched around it against his will. The elf unfolded it and began to read.

And when he had begun to read, he began to pale.

[Dilly]

Chapter IV

Echoes of Memory

Angus stood at the bottom of the small staircase that led up to the unremarkable door that was the entrance to his home. He stood and gazed at the night sky, bearded chin raised, dull and cloudy eyes wandering from one tiny twinkling star to another. Kal’dorei. Children of the Stars. It sounded foreign, it sounded wrong. It disgusted him. That was what they were supposed to be, yet it was not what he felt like. Anything but that. Child of the Stars? It was nonsense – pitiful, pathetic nonsense. At that moment Angus felt no kinship, no unity; he felt like a child of nothing.

Oh, but the stars were beautiful.

It was unbelievable. His thoughts had raced like wild, untamed beasts no more than a couple of hours ago. But now? Now they were simply not there anymore. They had not only stopped and calmed, but also disappeared completely; his head was empty. Blank. And the letter, the source of his terror, the source of his fright and his fear, lay crumpled at his feet, a miserable bundle of dull yellow in a vast ocean of green and grey and brown.

Angus looked down and gave a small, yet still noticeable start as his gaze fell upon what remained of the parchment. And then it all came back – thoughts, memories, feelings. And the letter. It had frightened him so, and he still was not sure if he had recovered or not. He still felt worried and he still felt anxious. What else could it mean but death? What else? And why now? Why now, when it is over? And I thought I had ended it. I thought it was finished and done with. Elune save me.

So it was not finished. He had thought he had finished it, but he had been wrong. There was no way to change that. Truth was something he could never run from; some could manage to escape its righteous sting, but Angus Silentwing could not. There was no way out. He was caught and trapped, like something small, like a fish in a net. He would have to accept it, he knew. And accept it he had tried – to no avail.

Yet he had decided. Accepting, denying – it would make no difference. No difference at all. There was no choice. There was nothing to do but to obey. And he would.

With that in mind, he had left the sweet safety of his home, as pleasant and lovely as it had ever been. It had been hard, but Angus had forced himself to do it. He had had to force himself; he had had to force every twitch of a muscle, every step. He had had to struggle. He had had no choice. He still had no choice. It was a feeling he knew he would never get used to – a feeling of helplessness, of insignificance, of disposability. A feeling of strange claustrophobia that could overcome any man, even in the middle of a vast and open field. But he had to accept it. He had to accept it and he had to move. So he bent down, scooped up the crumpled letter, and, safely placing it in a pocket, began to do what he must.

Angus began to walk. Walk toward death, he was sure of it. What else could it be?

There are more ways to kill a man than one.

Yes, death. Surely. But why now? The elf could not understand. He was not sure if he really wanted to.

And he walked for what seemed like hours upon hours upon hours. He had never before realised how strangely big Nighthaven was. It was a city. It had been the heart of night elven civilisation; it had been their capital. But then that vile white thing and that rotten tree had come and taken its place. That vile, beautiful thing, that shining city. Yes, he thought Darnassus beautiful, he could not deny it. But Teldrassil? Teldrassil should never have been planted. It had been an act of arrogance and fear, an act of stupidity they so fiercely condemned. It had been a vile act, and now its vileness thrived inside the mighty branches of the new World Tree. It was bad. It was corrupted. They had been so full of pride.

Oh yes, his mind really did tend to wander sometimes.

A city? Yes. But it was a strange city. He had sailed to the east once. He had walked in the lands of the humans, he had seen what they called cities. How long ago? It seemed so distant. At least two years, it had to be. Everything had been so different back then. And their cities! They had been noisy and crowded and busy. Nighthaven was not at all like that. Astranaar, perhaps even Darnassus – they came close to that. But not Nighthaven. Nighthaven was different, and he saw that even as he walked. The stone-paved streets and the narrow pathways of hard-packed dirt that crisscrossed the town were empty and silent. The pale wooden houses, their roofs black and blue and grey and green, and the numerous less permanent constructions were dark shadows in the mist that hung above land and water, stoic and stalwart. And he had thought they looked like monsters. And the water… Clean and pure, it flowed beneath arched wooden bridges in streams and rivulets and larger rivers, reflecting the pale light of the moon. It seemed to emit a glow of its own. Tall ancient trees hid the city from bad eyes.

No. Not monsters. Beauty. A strange kind of beauty.

Silence? No. The streets and the houses were silent, but the town was not. Water babbled quietly and fish splashed; wind whispered in the dark foliage of the tall trees and birds twittered somewhere above. No, the city was by no means silent.

Yet people there were not. Angus found that confusing. No elves, no tauren. He did not miss them, no – he had been trying to get away from them for a great deal of time now, but he thought it strange. Even the Wardens seemed to be gone, but hiding in this town was almost too easy, he knew.

Perhaps they are watching me.

A chuckle slipped past Angus’ dry lips, short, quiet and mirthless. Foolish, foolish thoughts. He sped up his pace. The man knew it was nonsense, he knew he was being paranoid, but he could not stop himself. Had the feeling of hidden eyes upon him been there before? He did not know. He did not want to know. He just wanted to hurry on and get it over with.

Yes. Paranoia. It had to be paranoia.

Gripping his grey cloak tightly, the elf stopped. He did not stop gently – his legs simply froze and refused to move any further. Finally. He had reached his destination. He stood before a seemingly small building of dark brown wood. The entrance was a large black opening in the wall. There were no lanterns, no torches and no braziers; there was no light. A black gap. To Angus it seemed darker than night itself. To him it seemed foreboding and ominous. And he was afraid. He knew what waited for him in the darkness. He had gone there more times than he could count, but he had never been afraid.

There are more ways to kill a man than one.

Suddenly he felt very cold. He had to resist the urge to pull his cloak around himself, he had to force his hands to stay where they were. They were watching now, surely. He would not let them see him like that. He would not let them know they had frightened him.

But they knew. They already knew. He was sure of it.

Angus shivered and shook his head. He was being foolish again. He had to concentrate. He would not get anywhere by standing there like that. In the night that seemed so cold. He had gotten out of the habit of moving, he knew. He had to change that.

And he moved.

The elf drew himself up and, mustering up whatever drops of courage he still had, began to walk toward the dark entrance, arms hanging stiffly at his sides. Just a few steps, slow, steady and sure, and he was inside. Just a few dreadful, teeth-clattering steps. It was much warmer inside, but not warm enough. He stretched his hands to the sides and began to walk in the darkness, fingers brushing against hard, unpolished wood. The corridor was small and Angus felt trapped, but he realised he did not care, not anymore. It had changed. He had not noticed when, but it had changed. It was better this way. If he had had any chance to escape, it was gone now. He walked in dull resignation and the darkness welcomed him like a loving mother welcomes her child.

His foot reached for ground and did not find it. And then he knew. After a few moments of blind fumbling, the man’s hands closed around a thick wooden railing. Gripping it tightly, he began to climb down the staircase. The stairs were steep and narrow and slippery. A single careless move could make him fall again, he knew; it would send him tumbling down to the very bottom. He was not sure he would survive another fall. Moonshade would not come, after all. Moonshade had been invited once or twice, but he had refused. Whoever it was who had saved him would not come. Angus was alone now. He would have to take care of this problem himself.

He climbed slowly and carefully and it was not long before he saw the first bleak shadows appear on the wood of the walls and the staircase, cast by a steady flow of pale orange light. One dangerous step after another, Angus unhurriedly made his way to the bottom of the stairs. When both of his feet were finally on firm, safe grey stone, he let go of the railing and wiped the cold sweat from his palms with his cloak. He pulled down the hood and, running three fingers through his unwashed blue hair, looked around. The place had not changed; it looked exactly the same. The dark walls and ceiling were supported by thick columns of dark and polished redwood. The floor was paved with large, smooth white stones. Two torches stood at either side of the large hole that was the entrance to the next tunnel.

Angus sighed and turned to peer at the staircase he had climbed down. He knew he had to wait and he tried to prepare for it. Waiting was the hardest part. It had always been the hardest. Standing in a silent cavern where one could hear one’s wheezing breath and the beating of one’s heart spawned the darkest of thoughts. They knew it, and they did it purposefully. He was sure of it. Fortunately, it was not very long before he heard the light sound of footfalls behind him.

'Ishnu’alah, Brother,' a voice spoke. It was calm, low and soft, almost a sweet whisper. 'Have you been summoned?'

Angus turned around to look at the speaker, nodding. Before him stood a seemingly young man, not very tall for a night elf, clad in a plain white robe and a light grey cloak. The newcomer’s words had been polite, but there had been no warmth in his greeting. No warmth at all. He winced as his gaze fell upon the youngling’s eyes. They were amber and blazing, but they seemed strangely empty. Angus found it unnerving, but kept silent and simply handed him the crumpled piece of parchment. He would not speak to a man like that. He would not.

There are more ways to kill a man than one.

The man’s soft smile faded as he took the letter and unfolded it. He skimmed over it and looked up at Angus, eyebrow raised, a questioning look in his eyes. 'Very well then. Follow me, Brother.'

Angus obeyed. He walked with the elf, frowning at his back; he followed him through a maze of dimly lit tunnels and corridors. A bad feeling had filled him. Something was wrong with that man, he did not doubt it. His tone, his eyes, the way he had looked at him – something very wrong was hiding somewhere inside all of those things. He moved his hands unconsciously, fingers brushing against his cloak, but managed to stop himself when he realised what he was doing. No. He would not be weak. He would not show them his disquiet, he would not give them the pleasure of hearing the trembling of his voice. They would not take him down that easily. He would fight.

Or I will try, at least.

The thought that these tunnels would never end had already managed to flash in his head a great many times when they finally reached the exit. The dull darkness of the cavern ended abruptly and gave way to pale light that beamed through the natural archway. The pair went through it without slowing or speeding up their pace and stopped. His guide gestured and shouted at another man in a robe identical to this, but Angus did not notice. He could not help but stare. They stood in a huge hall that had obviously been a cavern once – bits of dark stone were visible in gaps between thick wooden beams that lined the walls and covered the ceiling. Though the floor was different here; it was made of smooth, polished white stone. The only visible source of light was a circular hole in the ceiling, through which flowed a beam of white light. It did not look like much of it was coming in, but it was enough to make everything in the hall almost too bright. And the place was packed. Elves and tauren hurried past rows of wooden tables and boxes and chests and crates, none of them paying any mind to the two newcomers, stopping occasionally to talk to those that sat at the tables. The man had not seen so many people in one place for a very long time.

'Brother? Brother Silentwing?'

Angus jumped in surprise and his gaze quickly darted toward the source of the voice. His guide was gone. In his place stood a woman, slender and a trifle shorter than he was; her skin was a lovely shade of light purple and her nicely kempt green hair were tied into a braid that hung over her shoulder, shining healthily; she held herself up rigidly and her eyes held a commanding and calculating look. He thought she was used to being a leader. She was used to being the one that others obeyed. The bloody woman managed to somehow tower above him despite being the shorter one. Her presence was overwhelming.

The elf realised she had been trying to get his attention for some time now and almost reddened in embarrassment. He had been daydreaming like a foolish child with one hand still clinging to his mother’s belt.

Angus bowed his head down as he spoke, his voice quiet, but not trembling as he had expected, 'Ishnu’alah, sister.' He had been about to make a proper bow, but had managed to stop himself just in time. He could not let himself forget who she was. She was with them. She did not care about him.

'Goddess bless you,' the woman said and nodded firmly. Her voice was tight and sure and steely, yet still melodious. It was insane. 'My name is Elenya Nightsteel, Brother.' Nightsteel. It was fitting a name. 'And I am the one who sent you this letter.'

Angus realised she had been holding the crumpled piece of parchment the whole time. He really did have to concentrate. He had to pay attention. He peered at her silently for a few moments. When he finally spoke, he tried to make his voice as crisp and hard as hers. 'Yes, I thought you were. Well, I believe you already know who I am.'

He thought he saw a displeased frown flash momentarily, but he was not sure – Elenya’s face was back to being smooth stone the next moment. He shuddered in a successful attempt to suppress an amused chuckle.

'Yes, I do. Come with me, Brother. I must speak to you.'

The man did not try to refuse. He knew that arguing with such a woman would not only be futile, but also terribly unwise; he had made it this far into the Demon’s mouth and he could not see how a couple more steps could make it any easier for the monster to swallow him. Turning back and running now would only cause more trouble and give them a whole bag of questionable ideas. Angus did not even want to think of what they would do; call him a traitor, perhaps. Or perhaps something worse. So he went with her. Once they had made their way to one of the few unoccupied tables, the woman sat down on the wooden bench that stood beside it and motioned for him to sit on one of the nearby boxes.

'When you joined the Cenarion Circle, Brother Silentwing, you swore to serve it in any way required and do whatever it would ask of you,' she said, picking up a dusty scroll. 'It has been decided that you’ve spent enough time free from that promise.'

'You do think so, do you not?' Angus muttered and let out a wheezing sigh, hunching as he sat. The interruption gained him a sharp look from the woman.

'We do. We also think that it is past time to change that. Brother Silentwing, we have an important task for you.'

There. She had said it. This was the reason. This was why they had summoned him. He had expected something similar, but it was still shocking to hear it spoken out loud by someone else. By someone who had the power to make those words more than a theory. By someone who had made them more than a theory. He had been right. Angus had known it would end badly, and he had been right. They really did want to…

There are more ways to kill a man than one.

The elf shook his head and realised he was shivering. He did not feel cold, but he could not stop himself. He did not need to. It was already too late; she had seen. She was probably pleased to know that she had frightened him. She probably thought that he had broken him.

Had she? Angus was not sure she hadn’t.

Terrible woman. Mooncursed woman.

'A…' He began and coughed, trying to get rid of the trembling weakness in his voice. He had to force the words out. 'A task?'

'Yes, brother. A task.' There was no sympathy in her icy voice. 'We have discovered the approximate location of a dangerous relic from the age before the Sundering.' She did not stumbled over the word, Angus realised. A fierce woman. 'We believe that it was used to help the Highborne manipulate the Arcane energies of the Well of Eternity. A device so dangerous must not be allowed to fall into the wrong hands, Brother Silentwing… Even if it is only one of many. We need someone to retrieve it. Unfortunately, all of our explorers are preoccupied. We have no choice but to assign someone not as specialised to this task. You have been chosen.'

Angus had gone pale. The thought of a device as terrible as that sent chills down his spine, but what they wanted him to do… Surely they would not take no for an answer. Surely. There were more ways to kill a man than one.

'You want me to retrieve it,' he spoke, audible disbelief in his voice. He goggled at her. He did not try to hide his surprise. 'Where… Where is it?'

No! Featherbrained idiot! Do not agree!

'The Tanaris Desert.' Was it viciousness that he heard in Elenya’s voice? It could not be. 'We… have found a map, but… It did not arrive when it was supposed to, and that was almost a month ago. There is no more time to waste. You will have to retrieve it from our agents yourself.'

All he could do was stare and blink in disbelief. 'How?'

Elenya Nightsteel gave him a level look as she rose, placing the scroll on the table. She sniffed. 'First you must travel to the Emerald Sanctuary in Felwood. There you will meet one of our brothers who goes by the name of Tereal Dragonstar. His task is to aid you in your journey. He will help you find the map.'

Angus followed the woman’s example. His knees wobbled weakly as he rose, but he paid them no mind. The man cursed under his breath before speaking in a voice full of unhidden contempt, 'You have planned it very well. I suppose there is nothing for me to do but to accept this… offer.'

No! No! NO!

'This is no offer, Brother Silentwing,' she told him icily. 'This is a task you must undertake. If you have no questions, you should be on your way. You have a moon-turning to prepare and leave, but we expect you not to take as long as that. Now go, Brother, and may Elune protect and guide you.'

Angus only grunted in response and stormed out of the hall, hands clenched into tight fists. His head throbbed with fear and anger. He darted through the corridors and tunnels and mounted the stairs. He felt dizzy and he could barely see where he was going; his grip on reality was loose and all thought was slowly slipping away, giving its place to emotion. To anger. To fury.

Before long, he found himself standing in the moonlit darkness of the warm night, gazing at the pale trees that surrounded the clearing. Letting his hands wander up and grip his hair, the man fell to his knees, eyes shut. He had thought something like this would happen. He had not known what he would do. He still did not know. Was there anything to do? Anything other than obeying? Angus doubted it. There was no way to…

No. There is a way. There really is a way. And it… just… might work.

Yes. It could work, he knew, but he had no time to just stand and think. He had to return to his home, to safety – there he would try to set the plan that was only beginning to form in his head in action. Angus began to walk, his pace much faster than it had been before. He thought as he moved – piece after piece, he worked on the puzzle that just might get him away from the Circle and leave him unharmed. If only he could get Moonshade to… Oh, what was he thinking? Of course he could. That lump trusted him, after all; that lump considered him a friend. All he had to do was ask and it would be done. Angus was sure of it.

The elf had made his way to the outskirts of the city when he felt something was wrong. He realised the feeling – or the beginnings of it – had come when he was still in the forest, but he had been too lost in thought, too busy gloating in his mind to pay it any heed. Yes, something really was wrong. He had seen shapes move in the darkness of the woods. Not animals, no, but elves. They had darted from tree to tree, trying to sneak and trying to hide, and they had followed him. Angus was not sure how many – they had moved so swiftly, after all – but he knew there were definitely more than one. They were nowhere in sight now, though, and he supposed it did not matter much. Just a couple of hunters stalking prey.

Why did they follow me then? No, something is wrong. I must be careful.

Shaking his head, Angus began to walk again. He walked past huts, tents and houses and the feeling of being watched – of being followed – returned. The man had just made a turn left, into a moonlit alleyway, when he felt a strong gust of wind sweep past his ear. The dark sense of danger filled him as he leapt to the side, pressing himself against the wall of one of the houses. He saw a small dark shape dart past him – it was the one he had evaded, it seemed. It was followed by another. He saw it flicker before his eyes and moved away just in time – the black arrow dug into the wall. Slow realisation descended upon the elf and he began to run.

Someone was shooting at him.

Oh, why are the streets so empty? Why is everyone asleep? Why now?

He ran, he leapt and he stumbled, yet he still heard the sharp sound of arrows flying past him. The man had no time to think – all he had time for was moving, and it was still only barely enough. The arrows came closer to their target with every shooting and Angus was not sure he could keep such a swift pace for much longer. If only he could reach it. It would make this so much easier he knew, but it still eluded him. Oh yes, it was there, but not for him. He had tried to reach out more times than he could count, and he was still trying, but it was useless. Trying and moving was all he could do.

Angus made a sharp turn and slipped into another alleyway. It seemed even darker than that other one. Panting heavily, he leaned against a cold wall and looked around. He listened. He stood like that for a while, afraid to move, but the arrows did not come. Were they gone? He could not believe it. Yet he knew he had to. He could not spend whatever was left of his nights in this alley. Preparing to flee, the elf took a careful step toward the street and the moment he did so he heard something move above. The dark shape of an elf separated from the looming shadow that was the house closest to him and slipped off of its roof. It fell gracefully and landed even more so, without making much sound. Angus turned around and his eyes widened in horror as he saw that burly shape walk toward him with the grace of a saber. The other man’s eyes were two blazing orbs of white; something silvery gleamed at his side.

An axe. Elune save me, it is an axe.

The elf took one backward step and the big man charged at him, weapon raised. Angus threw himself to the side and his hand instinctively made its way to his belt knife and grabbed it. He felt himself thrust it into the assailant’s side – it was too dark to see – and heard a wheeze and a gasp. There was no time to check if he had killed him. Killed him! Killed an elf! It should have been a terrible thought. Why wasn't it?

Angus turned, letting go of the knife, and ran. The moment he set his foot on the stone paving of the street, the arrows came again – this time, two at once. Strangely, the deadly things did not come close to their target, but the man had no time to notice - he muttered an oath under his breath and leapt out of the way. For a while, running was the only thing he could think of. He darted between tall buildings, swiftly making his way through the labyrinth that was the town. Angus almost stopped in surprise when he saw his own house right next to him. He mounted the stairs and leapt inside, slamming the door behind shut him. The sound of wind went. All sound went.

Moonlight grace, I have made it. They cannot go in.

Angus sat down on the floor and leaned against a wall. The wheezing sounds that came from his throat frightened even him. His thoughts were a wild mixture of fear, anger, and confusion and he found it all but impossible to concentrate on any one thing. But he knew he had to. Angus still could not believe that someone had just tried to take his life. They had tried to shoot him, but that had not worked. They had tried to cut him in half, but that had not worked either. He had cut one of them. It was a terrifying thing, yes, but it had gone so well that he could only wonder if Elune really did watch over their pitiful race.

Kal’dorei. Children of the Stars. Suddenly it did not seem so ridiculous.

Noise reached his ears. Someone was coming down the stairs. Someone was shouting. Angus recognised that voice. Just a few moments later he saw Moonshade leap into the corridor, skipping the last three steps. He leapt and he froze, staring at Angus incredulously. Still wearing that ridiculous leaf-robe of his. That lump will never learn decency.

'What happened to you? You look…' Moonshade trailed off, shaking his head. Angus thought he heard him curse under his breath. 'Oh, forget that! The Blackclaws are here! In Nighthaven.'

All colour oozed out of Angus’ cheeks. The Blackclaws. So it was them. They were still hunting him. He had thought they had given up, but he had been wrong. It made almost too much sense.

'I…' Angus cleared his throat. 'I know.'

'You know? How?' Moonshade blinked in surprise as he spoke. His voice was dangerously high. Angus knew what that meant.

'Yes, I know. I believe I… just met them. They tried to kill me.'

'Of course they tried to kill you! They’re bloody insane! And you thought they’d forgotten about you. Told you they’d come back. Just… Take these and go. You have to leave,' Moonshade spoke, the look on his face angry and frightened, throwing a couple of bags at Angus. 'Food, clothes, everything you’ll need.'

Angus gave a start as his gaze fell upon the bags flying toward him and raised his hands to catch them. This was a surprise – Moonshade had actually done something wise. 'Oh, well… Thank you. But do you not think they are waiting outside?'

'Yes, I think they are. But they won’t go away, so sitting here won’t do any good. You know where to wait for me.' Moonshade mounted the stairs and the sound of his footfalls was followed by a loud slam.

Angus sighed, weighing the bags in his hand. He could not believe it, but that dense imbecile of an elf was right. They would not go away. He had to – somehow – get past them.

What choice did he have?

[Dilly]

Chapter V

Bygone Things

Spring. Spring really had come. The flow of seasons had no impact on what grew and lived in the Moonglade, but it could still be felt somehow. To Angus, it made little sense – or none at all, he himself was not quite certain – but it did not bother him. Springtime always made him feel better, no matter how dark his ever-present fears and worries were. Better, happier, almost joyous. The improvement was – no, had always been significant. But that was a bygone thing, one of many.

This time it was different. This time was an exception, the first of what he was sure would be many. Angus could not feel it, this new spring. He knew it had come, he knew it was there, and yet he could not feel it. Another man would have dismissed it without sparing it any more than a moment of thought, he knew – slightly surprised thought, perhaps – but he could not force himself to do that. Angus Silentwing was not that man. It seemed almost ridiculous to him at times, the notion of something so small, so unimportant, so silly making him afraid. Oh yes, he was afraid – very much so. The elf would have admitted it to none but the empty night, but that did not change what he knew, and he knew that he was terrified.

He chuckled. It was funny. A funny thing to be afraid of. Perhaps he was a funny man to fear such funny things. And that thought, that thought was funny, too.

Not yet. Not yet, not yet.

And there the mirth ended. Not funny; it was cruelly ironic. Spring, it meant rebirth. It meant fresh things, it meant new beginnings, it meant life. But to him it would soon bring his bloody death. Even if he managed to get away from the dark horrors that were the Blackclaws, he would still not be safe. It just might place him in a danger far greater than that. He was the Cenarion Circle’s marionette, now; he was a humwing tangled in their strange killer webs. He did not want to dance.

And then they came again, the memories that bore so many – too many – dark echoes. The Blackclaws. It was a coldly shocking thought, an icy shower of rain to drag him back into grimy reality. It made him pull another fur coat over his head and shuffle closer to the glowing embers before him. They had been a blazing fire not too long ago. How quickly things changed.

A fire. It brought back memories – other memories, some with echoes, some without. He had tried again; he had tried to get rid of the fog inside him, to feed it to the flames – all unsuccessfully. Strange, that was. He remembered them being ever-hungry, the flames, but those memories were from long ago. How long, exactly? Angus could not say. There were too many uncertainties, but there was a bright side to that, no matter how skewed the brightness – with uncertainty came knowingness. A dark kind of knowingness, in this case, but fumbling in the night was easier when a man had hands to reach and feel with than when he did not. Angus knew it was time to give up. He knew that, oh yes, but he could not force himself to admit helplessness. It had seemed strangely simple, strangely easy a few nights in the past, but the Blackclaws had changed that. He thought it had been the Blackclaws. It had to be the Blackclaws; always the Blackclaws. He could not understand why they had had to break into his life again.

And so spring had come. It had come gently, quietly. To Angus, its coming seemed the coming of a raging storm – one that a man noticed no sooner than it was upon him, one that came washing away grime and sorrow, letting all joy foam away in gushes of bubbles, leaving almost nothing behind. Almost nothing. Angus’ hands felt weary, but the thought of life without them was enough to chill even those depths of his heart that never felt fear.

The past few nights – how many? He had lost count; that happened too often – had been a slow, gentle kind of torment. Angus knew an elf who would have likened it to swimming in puffer waters, and that was a strangely apt comparison; he was in puffer waters, and the fish were making their circles around him, not even thinking of touching him, but the sight of their spiked shapes was enough to make him feel them biting and pricking his skin once and then again, and then a thousand times a thousand. Imaginary pain, it was a featherbrained thing to feel, but there it was; a man either acknowledged the tree in front of him and went around it or tried to strut through it and ended up with a black forehead. Angus much preferred the former, but his tree was a wall wider than the sea and taller than the sky, and there was no evasion, no roundabout way to avoid tasting its bitter bark. Still, he would delay trying to chew his way through it for as long as he could – waiting was the best thing that could be done now. Waiting was one of the puffers that were making him cringe so, but there was nothing to be done about that.

And so, the past few nights had been a torment. Waiting – they had been all about that. Oh, Moonshade had been visiting, but those visits were nothing to look forward to, even if they had become daily. Truly, there had not been a single night without the lump coming at least once; not one night of true peace, but instead many with Moonshade showing his useless muzzle without reason, without cause. And still, those visits were a ritual that helped Angus stay focused, if a rather aggravating one. They always were the same – Moonshade came and Moonshade blabbered, and soon Angus found himself trying to stifle yawns and ignore humwings in his head without frowning as if he had swallowed an unripe frostberry. After all, being in the company of a lump did not mean he had to cast all remaining sanity out of his head and remake himself in that lump’s likeness. Though truth to tell, the man could not say those meetings were all bad – Moonshade did his best to bring news from Nighthaven, and some of those snippets were useful in a way, even if most of the time the other elf’s assumptions on what Angus might find interesting were off by an Ancient’s armlength. It had been a long time since he had last needed someone else to be his eyes and his ears, and the man had never thought that need would arise again, but that was what Moonshade had become. A flawed substitute for that other man – Yverian; Elune, he would not let himself forget Yverian – but it would have to do. Broken hands were better than none. No, they were not bad, those meetings. They were a nuisance, surely, but bad was too strong a word.

Angus pulled his cloaks – all white fur, and warm enough to ward off the northlands’ cold – around him more tightly still, and leaned back against the tree behind him, letting his thoughts drift for a moment. A dangerous thing, that, now more than ever, but he had been doing it fairly often recently, and, strange though it was, not once had it led where Angus feared it might. Still, it was walking the heights, but the man was tottering along cliffs as it was, with the Blackclaws in Nighthaven and him not as far away as he wished to be.

And his thoughts did drift, until they were strongarmed back into place by a cracking sound – a foot breaking a twig, no doubt – from the woods. Not the Blackclaws, Angus knew – they might have a turn-stomached frog’s skill with the bow, but he had seen too many times that they were never careless in their hunt – and that made Moonshade the likeliest intruder – the place Angus had chosen was a remote one, far from the usual paths of druids and creatures of the grove alike, and making noise when silence was needed was just like something the miscreant would do. His suspicions were proven true mere moments later, when a reed of a man emerged from the undergrowth surrounding the clearing – trees as massive as those in the Moonglade should have killed it before it had a good chance to sprout, but surprisingly, it lay thick over the land – and bent his head in a mockery of a bow. His grin was genuine enough, at least – a yellow-toothed grimace that twisted a face Elune had not chosen to cast Her grace upon into something uglier still – but even the dimples it made did little to soften the marks of tiredness. The youngling was all joy and cheer now, but by the bags under his eyes and the strained and dusty look inside them, it was plain in moonlight that he had lost sleep – many of hours of it, seemingly – over something, and Angus was fairly certain in his guess that the Blackclaws were not very far from the cause of it; Moonshade thought him a friend, after all. Good-natured, but nonetheless a lump.

‘Sometimes, Moonshade,’ Angus said slowly, a slight slur twisting his tongue – that was no surprise, what with him spending so much time in silence, but still unpleasant in a way, ‘I wonder how a man like you could make his way down into the Dens without rousing the roots and the stones as well as the sleepers.’

That made Moonshade stop, and if his grin faltered for a moment – Angus was not sure it did – it was back to its usual rotten-toothed state momentarily. His eyes were another thing, however – something sharp and, moonlight dear, jovial wiped away the dust that had dulled them. ‘Sometimes I wonder how your tongue doesn’t trip over the things you say,’ the elf spat, no more than a speck of mirth tinting his otherwise flat voice, which did not suit that obnoxious smirk of his at all. ‘And fall and break its – what is it that you say? Mooncursed? – mooncursed spine, too.’

Angus could not help but smile at that, and smile he did – and threw his head back for a quick chuckle, too. There really was no need for that emphasis, of course, and the elf felt a twinge in his chest as he let his shoulders slide back into their hunched posture again; it was silly, worrying over a thing so small as a movement of one’s head, but when a man was laden with stones worth three oaks in their weight, even a grain of sand seemed too heavy to add. ‘Time does not temper your tongue, I see,’ Angus muttered, his low tones sounding odd after all that nearly boisterous mirth. And what he muttered was true – Moonshade had been like that as long as Angus could remember; even when he tried to recall their first encounter in a fond light, it was much too hard to do with that steady stream of graceless insults Moonshade had washed the druid in still so fresh in his mind. The lump did have a sharp tongue, oh yes – it was neither clever nor cunning, that sharpness, but it was there. ‘I wish I could see why.’

Moonshade’s response was a snort.

Elune shelter me. Anything to escape all this.

Silence followed as the young man made his way to the dying fire to sit across from Angus and made himself comfortable – rather slowly, Angus noted – raking four unwashed fingers through his unwashed blue hair and unpinning his cloak – a ridiculous garment, truly, sewn with leaves and oddly long blades of dried grass that, for some reason, refused to break or crumble. It was not meant to last too long, however; Moonshade gave the other elf but a couple quiet moments while he fished out two leaves, green with a faint hint of blue, from the labyrinth of pockets that was his similarly designed robe and placed them in his mouth to chew – then he let his tongue flap again, and the things that slid off it were just as unpleasant to Angus’ ears as before, if not exactly in the same way. ‘Things aren’t good,’ Moonshade more grunted than spoke. ‘The Blackclaws.’

‘What about the Blackclaws?’

‘Seems to me they’ve finally realised you’re not in Nighthaven. Took them a turning, nearly, but there it is. Fools.’ Moonshade spat one of the leaves into the heat of the embers, then resumed his noisy chewing, earning a highly displeased frown from Angus. Not that he seemed to mind, that lump – if he did, not a twitch of his face slipped by to put the truth in moonlight. ‘Saw them putting their hogsnouts in the dirt just out of town today. They think that’s tracking.’ Another snort showed what Moonshade thought.

‘Moonlight dear, they know,’ Angus breathed, burying his face in his palms. That was all he could do – he had been sure that he had another moon-turning yet, and now there was only this awful truth. It tasted rancid on his tongue. His life was home to many bygone things, but the Blackclaws had never been among them – no, that threat would hound him until his daybreak hour, Angus was sure – and he had been wrong to let himself forget that. He had waited too long, and now he would have to face them again. He knew he could not bring himself to do that – not the way he was now. But what else is there to do? Elune!

‘No need to curse the sun before it rises,’ Moonshade put in levelly. ‘There’s a way out of this.’

‘Is there? I am not so certain.’ Elune’s truth, he was not.

Moonshade rubbed the bridge of his nose lazily, still chomping on that leaf of his, and leaned back slightly. Perfectly indifferent. If there was one thing Angus envied the man, it was this ability not to care too much. ‘Of course there is.’ The youngling narrowed his eyes to tiny slits – when had they become so glazed? Perhaps it was the moonlight – his mouth twisting into a teeth-showing smirk. ‘There’s a caravan leaving here in just a few nights. That… Vana, is it? That tauren, Landcaller told me about it, ah…’ He paused, putting a long-nailed finger to a patch of bare earth and drawing a wonky line in the dirt. By the interested look on Moonshade’s face, it might have been the sun rising at midnight. ‘It’s taking her herbs somewhere… Somewhere south, maybe.’ The man shook his head. ‘Taking some sort of trader’s route across the mountains. And you can go with it.’

A caravan taking some off-road route? The timing was almost too perfect, but it just might work. Angus would get far away from the Blackclaws, and he would have much more time than a single moon-turning to think and weigh. There was much to think about, oh yes; he had made a decision about those mooncursed men many years in the past – too many years in the past – and Elune knew he did not wish to break the words that bound him, but the truth was that there may not be another way out of this.

No. No, I have sworn. The tree may be rotten, but it will not break. But Elune, it just might work. It might work! And yet…

‘How many nights, exactly?’ Angus asked, and winced immediately after – his head bowed down, he tried to keep anxiety out of his voice as well as his face, but still it sounded too strained, too demanding. Moonshade knew his fright as it was, of course, but there was no need to make it too clear. ‘How many nights until it leaves? If they are searching the woods, I may not have nights.’ That was true, too – well, that was a possibility. Truth to tell, however, it was far from a strong one. The place the druid had picked was as far away from Nighthaven as a man could go without treading into the mountains or too open a clearing, and the likelihood of the Blackclaws moving so deep into the forest in just two nights’ time was almost none. That meant he was being paranoid again – a featherbrained thing to feel, that paranoia, but it was another grain of sand added to the stones he bore.

‘Two nights,’ Moonshade said just as calmly as before, his grin unaffected by the harshness of Angus’ tones. But was he just as calm? Or was he calmer? ‘Just two nights. Look, Silentwing, they didn’t even have the head to wait for you to leave that awful house of yours! There’s no way they’ll find you before you leave.’

I do hope he is right. I do hope.

But all Angus said was a simple ‘perhaps’, spoken crisply, but in far softer a voice than before, accompanying it with a slight tilt of his head. That should be enough for Moonshade – the man was not one to push a suggestion too far – not with Angus, at least – which, unfortunately, did not hold true for all the other things the coarse imbecile said. And it was – Angus all but smiled when the youngling gave him a satisfied nod. There would be no more pushing, and that was just as well. He would go with Nava’s caravan – he thought he would – but there were things to be done before he went. The elf realised he had forgotten all about them – no, he had put them out of his mind – but now that he had a way out before him, they were back and unwilling to retreat into the shadows again. That was strange – he did have a way out, and it should have had the opposite effect, but there it was. Perhaps the strange killer webs were tearing, but there were things to do; perhaps he would not have to dance, but Elune, he had to know the steps. It all lay clear in his head – not the schemes he had woven upon emerging from the demon’s den – no, those had been broken by the Blackclaws’ arrival – but something nearly as good – and to put this plan in motion he had to know the dance he did not want to do.

Moonshade did not need to know that much, though.

‘Around this time tomorrow, Moonshade,’ he said, breaking the stretching silence, his voice perfectly cool now, ‘I will be waiting by the falls. Be there, and know the where of the Blackclaws.’

Moonshade’s smile really did falter then, and not just for a moment. His crooked lines in the dirt already forgotten, the man raised his smoky eyes to fix a gaze of equal scrutiny – well, if a look as diluted as that could be called scrutinising – on Angus, his mouth working – or chewing – silently for a moment. ‘What is this about?’ he finally asked roughly, and this time with no hint of mirth on the hard, if no longer sharp, edges of his voice.

‘I am going to bid farewell to Nighthaven, of course.’ How easy it was, spinning words into weaves with such delighted precision when wild fear had ruled him mere minutes ago. Angus chuckled at that – genuinely this time – and took a care to add another ‘not yet’ to the wall of his thoughts when Moonshade gave him an odd look. It was easy, and darkfire take him if he would ever forget it again. ‘You need not worry your head, child.’

That snapped the twig. Moonshade’s previously concerned face twisted into a grimace of unrestrained indignation, a thoroughly displeasing sight with looks such as the man possessed, as he rose to his feet too quickly by half, gathering his ridiculous cloak around him and thrusting a simple silver pin through it to hold the garment in its place, and spat the remaining leaf, now no more than a shapeless wet lump of dark green, into the fire.

‘Is that my dreamfoil?’ Angus asked, adding a tinge of sweetness to his voice.

Moonshade’s response was a filthy, shaking finger, raised to point toward Angus accusingly. As if he had a right to accuse!

‘I do not care what you do with yourself, but never do it before me, Moonshade.’

The lump worked his mouth silently for a moment or two, undoubtedly biting off oaths he wanted to scream, and then turned on his heels to storm out of the clearing – he really did storm, kicking up dirt and leaves that followed him in flurries, caught in the wind of his passing, as he walked – no, stomped off into the woods. With hands clenched into fists, eyes making fire, and a face like a thunderhead, more pink than Moonshade’s normal blue, it might have been a worrying sight to some, but Angus had seen it too many times to do more than laugh. There was an urge to do just that, oh yes, but he restrained it for another moment yet, choosing instead to simply shout, all care lost to him now. ‘The falls, Moonshade, not here’ was what he shouted, and then he did laugh – he lay down on his back and laughed, throwing all those fur cloaks off of him – suddenly the air did not seem chilly at all – and rubbing the heels of his hands against his eyes; he laughed loudly – that rusty, but still somewhat melodious sound could hardly be called boisterous – and he did not even try to mute it, no thoughts of threat in his head. There was no room for them – all of it was taken up by mirth. It was a good kind of mirth, mirth that did not make twinges in his chest, mirth that had been truly rare in the past year – or had it been longer? – of his life. And, in keeping with its scarceness, this mirth passed momentarily. It passed, and it left emptiness, and there was no ‘not yet’ to fill it now.

Angus’ senses returned to him as he sat up, both he and them rather dazed in their manner and their pace, and let his gaze rest on his three bags, neither large nor small, strewn around the campfire in a haphazard crescent. His bags; there was something in them that he needed. He had forgotten all about it – he forgot too many things as it was, and still the list kept growing with each night as it passed. The elf scrambled over to where they lay, and, making himself comfortable close to the heat of the embers, dragged the largest of the bags onto his lap, unpinning its lid with a swift flick of his hand. Moving so quickly felt strange with his mind in such a confused, torn haze. Putting the unnerving feelings it brought out of his thoughts, Angus thrust his hand inside sharply, and, after a few long moments of blind fumbling, he knew what it was that he wanted – his hand clenched around the sharp planes of a small box, wooden and unadorned by the way it felt against his palm, and drew it out of the darkness of the leather sack – the bag was little more than that, really – and into the bleakly bright light of the Moonglade’s night. The feeling had been right, mostly – the box was of plain light wood, devoid of any ornaments or carvings, but the lid and the sides were far more rounded than he had thought. Strange, how he could not remember the look of things he saw each day, even when the daily rituals went on for years. The box was one of those things; gifted to him by Nava Landcaller not long after she first came to the Moonglade, it was what the tauren called a timekeeper. Angus had seen other timekeepers in his life – mostly in the eastern lands; those children, the humans, they called them clocks, a word the elf tripped over even in his head – but this one was nothing like them. He pressed the sides of the box and the lid sprung open with a creak, revealing seven ticking wooden protrusions, all of varying thickness and length and slightly darker than the rest of the timekeeper in their colour; Nava called it a simple mechanism, but to him, it was nigh incomprehensible. Still, at least it did not fail its purpose, and that was what counted when dawn broke – if Angus’ quick measure of the slowly moving cylinders was accurate, Mulgore would see the sun rise in just over an hour, and while that did not say anything definite about the northern forests, it was close enough an estimate to go by.

Closing the lid with a snap and then a click, Angus slid the timekeeper into a pocket in his shirt and lay down on his back again. The forest floor felt cool even through the single cloak he had not shed, but he did not mind – the remains of the fire still gave off just enough warmth, even if the embers had lost their glow. Another hour yet. Most of the night elves he knew – and tauren, too – appreciated the shelter from the flow of time that the Moonglade’s perpetual night provided, but he had never shared their feelings; time gave life rhythm, and without rhythm things turned too loose by half.

Another hour yet. He did not want to sleep, but sleep took him.

Angus Silentwing had had the dream again, and there was nothing the serenely fierce babbling and splashing of water – a sound of which the air was truly full; full to the point where there was room for nothing else – could do about the bitter taste of it. So many things were bygone; so many things came and went, and while some of them did linger – like the thoughts that were but whispers in his head, and yet somehow seemed to shout and yell about the hidden weight they carried – while some of them did linger and remembrance did echo, no echoes clung to the man as strongly as this awful, Elune-forsaken dream. Five times had become ten and then more still in a turning of the moon; Angus had stopped counting – well, he had tried to – but that did not change the feeling restless days brought. The dream – no, the nightmare, it had been little more than an unpleasant hindrance at first, but now it was far past that; now it was a thing that came with fear and, lately, a sense of utmost urgency. Still, for all the persistence with which it clung to him, it went away with all its grime when the moon rose. Not completely – never completely – but at least it faded. It had faded today, too, but the bitter taste remained nonetheless.

What is keeping him?

There it was again. This and other similar thoughts had been cutting through the tired, shadowy haze that was Angus’ mind like blinding streaks of white for Elune knew how long, and still Moonshade was nowhere to be seen. Angus had been certain he would come – he was still certain, in a way, but that did little to soothe the impatience bubbling inside him. And there were other thoughts, too. Had he taken things too far, perhaps? Surely not. Nothing was too far for the lump, and no matter that it did not come off of his own tongue. Surely not. Angus was certain; he had to be.

Surely not was right, it turned out – it took him another short while, but Moonshade did show himself; for once, he came without noise in his company, appearing far too suddenly. Angus nearly jumped when this lanky reed of an elf slipped out of the bleak shadows right beside him – luckily, he managed to force his startlement down to a barely visible shiver at the last moment, and thanked the moon for that. Moonshade rarely noticed anything of importance, but he could not risk showing his feelings too freely, no matter how slight the chance of it registering in the dense child’s useless head.

‘What kept you?’ Angus asked quickly – just a little too quickly, perhaps – to mask the little surprise he did show, deliberately keeping his voice soft and smooth. It felt good, finally being able to ask that question, but there was no need to show his frustration, either.

‘The Blackclaws,’ Moonshade spat, accompanying his words with a derisive snort. ‘Took me a while, but now they’re busy looking for you in all the wrong places. Shouldn’t bother you before you leave.’

The wrong places? The lump had actually tried to lure them away! ‘I asked you to find out where they were,’ Angus said quietly and coughed when he felt a tightness grip his voice. Running such a risk! Not that much bigger than the one he had asked the youngling to run, truth to tell, but still he felt something, not quite anger, swell in his chest. No, he would not be angry. He would not. ‘I did not ask you to… do what you did.’

‘No need to curse the sun before it rises.’

That mooncursed saying again. Angus wanted to growl, but instead he just asked, fighting to keep his voice level, ‘Is that all you have to say, Moonshade?’ The words came out in much cooler a ring than the man had thought they would, and that was something to be pleased about.

‘You should be thanking me.’ Moonshade did growl, though for what reason, Angus could not imagine. ‘Now you’re free to hug this place goodbye and have a night of peace. And the fools did not catch a whiff of me! Does that count for nothing in your eyes?’

Angus winced at that, and did not bother trying to hide it this time. Admittedly, the lump’s words held truth – he was free to do those things, and it did count for something – but Elune knew he would not thank that man. He knew it was useless stubbornness, an odd thing for him to give in to, and yet for some reason, that did not make him want to change his mind – instead, it made that thing in his chest swell still further. Angus forced it down, however, and gave Moonshade a small nod; he did not trust himself to speak right then – all that walking the heights he had been doing had him teetering on an entirely different kind of edge, a fall from which could land him either in whispers cold as ice or infuriated shouting. The possibility alone made the elf want to shake and shiver and claw at his own skin until that edge went away and solid ground took its place, but there was hardly any chance of that happening.

Moonshade’s cough, deliberately loud and rasping, cut through the endless roar of the waterfall, dragging Angus out of his thoughts. ‘Oh yes,’ he said quietly, rubbing the side of his nose with a bony finger. It was too easy, getting lost in the slowly swirling currents of the mind, and far too embarrassing when someone noticed and ended the swim prematurely. ‘Let us go.’

And they did go, and everything went more smoothly than ever. Having expected the worst, he found that to be a pleasant surprise. Perhaps he was too critical of Moonshade. The lump was rash, foolhardy – surely, he was – and he made all the wrong decisions, but it was plain in moonlight that most of what he did worked, and that could not be truthfully said about Angus’ plans. No, he would not apologise, and the youngling would not get gratitude – Moonshade hardly knew his place as it was, so there was no telling what that would do to him – but he just may place more trust in the man – or try to, at least.

And so, everything went smoothly – until Angus found himself standing in the middle of his bedroom, his back stiff, trying to shake the feeling that something in his home was not quite right. He had done what he had come for – the letters he had received from the Circle were now safely tucked away in one of his shirt’s many pockets – and yet he could not bring himself to leave the house. Hours had passed since then with the elf pacing back and forth through hallways and corridors, checking every room again and then again, but now he stood still because he thought he saw the cause of his worry – a cupboard, an unadorned thing of pale grey wood, just like most of the furniture he possessed; a cupboard with its doors ajar. No, the feeling was wrong. Everything was fine – surely he had left it that way. Surely. But he hadn’t, and before too long, despite the sheet of fear that had been draped over him by a cruel hand, Angus felt his feet carry him forward; before too long, he stood before the cupboard with his eyes resting on what seemed to be a note placed on one of the shelves; before too long, he felt his hand reach in and take it. The writing was simple but precise, elegant but not too delicate – it was not entirely unfamiliar, that script; something tugged at Angus’ memory, though he could not, and, truth to tell, did not want to place his finger on it. And suddenly that sheet of fear was a thousand sands, a thousand times a thousand, placed upon the stones he carried.

A letter from home. How long ago?

He had known something would go wrong.

[Dilly]

Chapter VI

With the Crows

Elune take that man and put him in a pit.

Angus Silentwing strode down a winding hallway – it was a dark place, lit only in patches by the Moonglade’s glow flowing in through the rare window, and the damp, musty feeling the air had to it did little to ward off painful memories of caverns and elves in white and women like steel; darkfire take him if he knew how that awful scent had come to be, but he would not be the quarry here, not in his own home – and Elune, he had to strain to keep his hands from clenching into fists. All because of that awful miscreant of an elf! And so Angus strode, head held high, a determined set to his shoulders and his jaw, and eyes promising thunder; Moonshade believed he was used to Angus chiding him, but – moonlight willing – he would put that foolish notion out of the man’s head. Such awful disobedience. The lump likely thought himself another Stormrage, running off to toy with the Blackclaws as he had, and look where that had got all of them! Intruders in his home! What use was there in worrying over distant Nordrassil when the trees in front of you were rotting? A man had to have solid ground to stand on before he went off chasing wisps – he had to walk before he learnt to dance – but Moonshade clearly had no sense of such things. Such awful, awful disobedience! Elune’s truth, if the man were still Angus’ subject in the Hand—

Angus forced himself to a halt, and his shoulders slumped, and determination drained out of his face. He had forgotten himself again. The Emerald Hand was gone, and so was the man who could pass judgements such as those he had been considering. Who was he to judge, to punish? He was no leader, not anymore; he had no such rights. No, as appealing as browbeating Moonshade into remorse seemed, the child would not know his fury. And it had been a night already, at that. Why did he still feel so livid? Anger, it was becoming too much like a habit; Angus knew it could not – must not – continue this way, but how could he try to change anything when every night held a dozen different sources of aggravation? No; no, Angus had restrained himself the night before, and he would do the same now. There would be no fury, but he would not smooth his tongue either. His glare still held thunder, and that was just as well.

Angus sauntered another couple of paces down the corridor – he did saunter, his step more leisurely now that he had done away with that foolish fury – before he stopped again, surveying the place with confusion. Where under the moon was he going? This way led only to the roof, he realised now. Turning around with a resigned sigh – a part of him still wanted to grumble oaths unfit for any man’s tongue, though; oh yes, a part of him did – Angus retraced his steps to the last intersection, then turned right – just a mite too sharply, perhaps – and ambled down a flight of stairs just around that corner. Getting lost in his own home! He had put his stones down for now, it seemed, but now there was a tree to climb, and it was tall enough without such petty things making it grow still further.

The other corridors he passed through did not have the luxury of windows, and therefore no light – there should have been candles planted along the hallways somewhere, but the place had, evidently, gone right to shambles in less than a moon-turning without Angus to keep it all orderly. Moonshade did not make a good housekeeper – Elune, but he hated to think of the man that way; he dared not think what the fool would do to the place when he finally left.

When he left. That was tonight. Just a couple of hours away – he had checked with the timekeeper, and as imprecise as such a measure was, it was all he had to go by, and still he had more than many others – and he was still far from ready. Shaking his head, Angus pushed thoughts of departure away; there were more urgent matters now. And so, he made his way down staircases and corridors – each darker than the one before it, but Angus did not mind – as he worked methodically to snuff out what anger remained. It would not do to let it burst out – surely, it would put Moonshade down, but Moonshade was not the only one Angus was dealing with, and it would only shame him before everyone else.

By the time he stopped before the door he needed – it was a fine thing, grown out of wood so smoothly that it did not need polishing, with intricate carvings displaying hunting scenes mixed with scenes of rituals – there was little if not none of his displeasure left, but Angus was surprised to find himself traipsing away from the entrance and then back, hand hovering just above the handle, as sleek and delicately patterned with ornaments of runes and blades of grass and leaves as the rest of the door. What in dear moonlight was there to fear? For once, he saw no reason to feel so apprehensive – Elune send that lasted – but there it was. It was incomprehensible, but that did not change the fluttery feeling Angus had somewhere deep inside, sure as starlight did not cut through stone. Where had his determination gone? Suddenly he felt that it would not be too bad to feel some of that anger he had subdued right now.

Fear or no fear, a man did what needed to be done – especially when there was no reason to be so jittery – and Angus pushed the door open, slipping quietly into a spacious room filled with light draping in through three large windows. It was sparsely furnished – that may have added something to the roomy feeling the place had about it – with a poorly crafted bookcase on the far side of the room, likely holding all kinds of unworthy texts Angus had chosen to archive over the years; with a rug spread where he stood, woven red and white and brown and yellow in the tauren fashion of mazes and squares and sinuous lines; with four chairs, two of them occupied by Nava and a man he did not know, all of them lined up on one side of a long table of dark wood inlaid with amber, on which lay—

Angus blinked and barely managed to keep himself from hissing. On the table lay a map of Kalimdor, weighted down with wooden paperweights shaped like elves, two of them men and two women, in long, flowing robes, faces hidden in deep hoods, each holding a different object – one an orb, another a bowl, the others a scroll and what Angus knew to be a mirror, though others would have found it hard to make out what it was; and on that map were scraggly lines of red joining the Moonglade with Feralas. Angus cursed at himself inwardly, straining to maintain an image of calm as he went to the table, straining to keep his hands from shaking as he removed the paperweights, and straining to suppress a sigh of relief as he rolled up the map, carried it to the bookcase and placed it on a shelf that looked like it had not seen dustcloth or polish in too long. At any other time, he would have felt a sting of shame at that – blaming Moonshade was all very well, but clearly he had not been doing as good a job keeping his home tidy as he had thought. Now, however, there was only frustration. How much had they seen? Nava knew too much as it was, of course, but the elf? Those lines, they marked a route that an expedition had taken about a year ago. It was an expedition he had led, and an expedition that had marked the beginning of the end – for Angus, and for too many others. By moonlight’s grace, he did not want such things resurfacing. Well, a glance or two should not have done too much harm, he supposed, but rumour was a wild beast, and it had a way of always reaching the person that had the least right to the twisted news it carried. He had not used the room in too long, and now he could only blame and curse himself for it; had he known about that awful map, he would never have let these people go near the place.

Elune, I should have known.

Was this the cause of his fear? This map? It had slipped the clutches of his memory, surely – too many things had been doing that in recent nights; far too many – but there was no way to be sure. Only a fool claimed to understand the workings of a mind, even if it was his own. Angus Silentwing was no fool – not in this regard – but he thought it unlikely. No; the maps were tucked away safely now, and still that fear clawed at him, a terrible force screaming to get out. Moonlight burn him, he wanted to scream; he wanted to pace, to claw at himself like the terror he felt did, to peel away his skin and then his flesh and then whatever else remained, until his hands met the hands of the fear and they tore each other into shreds. Then he would know peace, perhaps.

But all he did was draw himself up and dust off his hands, wailing inside.

Nava cleared her throat – coming from the tauren, even that was a slow sound, like the earth moving somewhere far away – dragging Angus out of his thoughts. ‘Angus Silentwing,’ she rumbled, ‘is there trouble?’

‘No,’ Angus lied, turning on his heels far too suddenly. Again he had chosen a terrible time to let his mind wander – perhaps startlement was what he deserved, but there was no need to show it too obviously. ‘No, there is no trouble.’ Plain in moonlight, there was. ‘I was just, ah…’ He paused there, rubbing the side of his nose with a bony finger. ‘Thinking.’

The tauren eyed him for a stretching moment, and there seemed to be a hint of something like a question in her eyes – how Angus hoped she would refrain from voicing it! – but she only gave him a nod, gesturing toward the man who sat with her. ‘I have done as you asked. This man says he might have seen your… intruder,’ Nava rumbled, and when Angus shifted his gaze to the elf, he inclined his head slightly. Had he really thought he did not know the man? There was something about him that tugged at Angus’ memory, something about his face – it was a very odd thing, that face; retaining still that immortally youthful look despite the fresh, tiny wrinkles around the eyes, it had an ageless feeling to it – that screamed at him to remember, just like that fear deep inside screamed at him to run. Alas, he could do neither.

‘Ah. Did you… see someone?’ Angus asked, and, after a quick glance at the amber glow of the other man’s eyes, added, ‘Brother?’ And then it came to him, and it came in a flood. He had still been an apprentice around the time the foolishness with the Emerald Hand began, and he likely new of neither Angus’ failures nor his crimes, and he had been brilliant for his age, very promising indeed, and the Circle, the awful Circle, the awful tangled killer web, they had put great hopes in him, and, sure enough, those hopes had been fulfilled, and he worked with the finer minds of the Moonglade now, just as Angus had once, and he worked to heal Felwood, and he might even succeed, and he might not, and his name was Aalaros, Aalaros Nightstar, but—

But it would be wholly inappropriate to use it before the man gave it to him personally.

Angus blinked himself out of his stupor – memory had come back in a flood, and an overwhelming one at that – and he felt a twinge of panic when he realised that Aalaros had said something and he had missed it, and now the man was looking at him expectantly and he knew not what to say, and—

And that was a fool thing to panic about. Elune’s truth, he did not know what went on in his head half of the time. ‘You have my apologies,’ Angus said warmly, forcing a small, perfectly polite smile as he leaned forward slightly. ‘I appear to have… lost myself for a moment there.’

That smile was returned, along with a slight wave of Aalaros’ hand. ‘No need to apologise. I said I did see someone. I’m not sure if he was your intruder, Brother, but the house seemed to be empty when he went in – or at least the windows were dark. I thought nothing of it at first, as it wasn’t my business, but when the honourable shu’halo started asking questions…’ He paused here, offering Nava a slight nod of his head and a shrug. ‘It was a man, as tall and stocky as any kaldorei I’ve ever seen, dressed all in furs. He had this cloak… or coat – looked like it would crush anyone smaller than him…’

Aalaros kept talking, but Angus listened no further – the man’s voice was but the buzz of a humwing to his ears – as that was when he felt something within him freeze, freeze and ice over and become like glass, and oh, it would shatter any moment, any moment now. He felt something dark wash over him, and—

a man in a coat

—there were images, so many images, and it was all dark, and—

a man in a coat, dressed all in furs, dressed all in furs

—and, and—

dressed all in furs, and it was all dark, a man in a coat, all dark in a coat dark in a coat

—and he knew who it was, and he could not believe it, it had been so long, but oh, how it hurt—

a man in a coat and fish in the pot
a man in a coat all in furs dressed all in a coat dark in a coat and it’s broken

—he could not believe it, it had been so long, and he felt his hands fly up to his temples, and it hurt, but there was something else now, something light, and—

fish in the pot and your harpoon’s broken
broken, broken in a coat and broken, dark, so dark, dark all in furs

A man in a coat, and fish in the pot, but your harpoon’s broken, oh, it’s broken

‘—and fish in the pot, but your harpoon is broken, oh, it is broken, it is broken, broken.’

‘Angus Silentwing?’

And it was all gone. Had he been saying that aloud? No, it could not be; it had all been in his head, and now it was gone. It had hurt – he had felt himself rubbing his temples – but the pain was gone, too.

‘Angus Silentwing? Are you sure… there is nothing wrong?’ That deep sound like boulders rolling down a rocky slope, it was Nava’s voice – her voice, but no Nava. He did not look at her; he could not look at her – he could only look at his feet now. It was gone, but what had it been?

‘I…’ A little word, but even that took tremendous effort. Moonlight dear, if he had to speak, he would break. Angus was certain he would break, but he still spoke, pushing every wobbling word, his voice not that high above a mutter, ‘Nava, why have you wasted this man’s time? You could have told me this yourself.’ She could have, but truth to tell, that would have been just as bad. It was poor judgement to start this search in the first place, and it only got worse when he decided to speak with this Aalaros. He had known it would end badly – somehow he had known – but still he had gone ahead with this foolish plan of his.

Foolish. A fool is what I am, worse than that miscreant Moonshade. At least his idiotic plan worked.

Nava gave him a worried look – she clearly tried to keep her face impassive, but the worry still seeped through – and he could not blame her. Angus was rather worried himself – a funny understatement. He felt like he would burst out laughing any moment now – laughing, or howling. Either way, silence stretched for a couple of moments before she spoke again, ‘I brought him here because that was what you had asked me to do, Angus Silentwing. I thought you might have questions for him.’

Questions. That was entirely reasonable. He should have had questions for the man, but he did not. He thought he might come up with one or two if he tried hard enough, but he did not try at all. Asking questions was the reasonable thing to do, but reason was the last thing on Angus’ mind. For a few frightening moments there, he had felt something – he had known who the intruder had been – but it was a fleeting echo, an echo of an ancient memory that had brushed against his mind lightly and then fluttered away again, like the butterfly that had alighted on his bony hand more than a moon-turning in the past. As far as Angus was concerned, that defied all reason, and somehow it was more stable, more solid, more real than all of his worthless philosophical musings. Those lead to fear, and only lead to it – this had given his fear a sense of meaning, as vague as it was.

‘I… apologise,’ Angus muttered. He had let his hands fall back down from his temples at some point, he realised, and now raised one of them up again – this time to tug at the skin on the bridge of his nose. ‘I have wasted your time, Brother – and yours, Nava.’ The man paused here, shaking his head and closing his eyes. The sight of his feet was no longer bearable, and the darkness that enveloped him was an almost comforting escape from that. ‘Nava, if you could see the honourable guest out, I will bother you no further.’

Silence stretched for a while, and for a moment Angus thought the tauren might refuse, but right when he was about to speak up again, the scraping of chairs on the floor put his mind at ease – well, what ease there could be. He heard Aalaros start to say something as they rose, but a wordless rumble cut him off. The man appreciated that – Nava could be aggravating at times, but she was a good woman. Truly, one of the few people he could still admire.

A man in a coat and fish in the pot, but your harpoon is broken.

The only sounds that followed were a short series of footfalls and the creaking of the door as it swung open, and then swung shut. And then there was just silence. He appreciated that, too.

Angus curled up on the floor, knees and hands and forehead against the hard wood, and he shook. He shook and he shivered, again and again and again, but he did not weep.

By the time Moonshade stormed into the room, however – he did storm in, pushing the door open with such force that it slammed against the wall loudly – by the time Moonshade stormed in, Angus had managed to pick himself up and now stood looking out a window, hands clasped behind his back. Had the youngling bothered to look closely, he might have noticed that that clasp was a strained, vein-popping grip, but Angus knew that the lump never paid attention to such small things, and so he did not even bother trying to relax. And even if he saw it, it likely would not matter to him either way.

‘Bad news, Silentwing,’ Moonshade said idly, his lazy tone not at all remorseful or apologetic. ‘They’ve found your little… campfire.’

‘What?’ Angus asked without turning – or even looking at the other man. His campfire? What was the fool on about now? Angus had thought that he did not know his own mind, and that was true, but Moonshade’s addled brain was a still darker place.

‘The Blackclaws,’ the other elf almost groaned impatiently. Groaned! After what he had done, what right did he have to groan? Plain in moonlight, it was he that tested Angus’ patience, not the other way around, and yet he had the audacity to groan! ‘I followed them again. They found the little funeral pyre you built for your… books.’

That brought a slight chill, but Angus was quick to suppress it. He had managed to find a tentative kind of peace within him, and he would not let this nonsense Moonshade was spewing ruin it. Elune’s truth, it was not the easiest of tasks – this odd, brooding serenity was precarious at best, and it would fall apart all too easily. That was the last thing Angus wanted right now – dark as it was, serenity was a state of mind that visited him rarely, but when it did, it brought with it a nostalgic feeling, a feeling of longing; when it visited him, he felt like the old days might come back again. That would never happen, of course, but a man had a right to dream about such things – especially when all his other dreams did was cast yet another shadow over his life. Either way, Angus Silentwing would do his very best to make it last, and may his daybreak hour come right here and now if that was not true – especially when it was threatened by such small, foolish things. After all, that funeral pyre, as Moonglade had so idiotically put it, was nothing to worry about; he had seen the documents burn with his own eyes, and surely even their ashes had been carried away by the wind by now.

That was what Angus thought; however, all he said was, ‘And this is bad news… why, exactly, Moonshade? Why would I care about the Blackclaws finding charred wood? Elune knows your judgement gets poorer by the night.’

The other man just snorted at that. ‘You know what Elune also knows, Silentwing? She knows that, apparently, it wasn’t just charred wood that you left behind,’ Moonshade intoned just as mockingly as before. Perhaps it would have been wise to give the fool the rough side of his tongue. ‘I saw them dig one of your journals out of the ashes. A little singed, but no more than that. Looked like it was just far enough from the fire to stay readable.’

And then all of his serenity went away, and it winked out like a dying star, and it left a void – only for a moment or two, however. That void – that awful sense of utter confusion, of complete blankness; that awful sense of being uprooted – was terrible, that was true, but before too long things grew worse; before too long, an onslaught of fear, and of panic, rushed in, even greater than what he had felt before, and washed away even the smallest echoes of that inner peace Angus had tried so hard to preserve and treasure. And it was an onslaught; it was an overwhelming torrent of chaos that burned away all rational thought, leaving only instinct, and instinct told Angus to scream, and it told him to run, and it told him to die, but there was not enough time to do any of those things because—

because the fish are in the pot

—because that fear went away as quickly as it had come, and serenity came again as quickly as it had gone away. That was funny. Fear was an appropriate reaction – he should have been screaming; this was not. The Blackclaws had one of his journals – one of the Emerald Hand’s journals – and that could easily mark the end of his life; there was no way of knowing which of the books those monsters had dug up, but all of them guarded crimes of some sort – some smaller, others hardly believable – and then there were the secrets. If any of them fell into the wrong hands, Angus would likely find himself facing the wrath of the Circle again, and they would be unlikely to be as lenient as last time. It was a disaster if he had ever seen one, but he was not afraid – not anymore; instead, he felt that feeling of amusement coming back again. That was funny.

That was hilarious.

This time, he did burst out laughing. He thought saw Moonshade give him a flat look, but he did not mind. What did it matter what Moonshade – Moonshade of all people – thought? Elune’s truth, that was not at all important – it did not matter a whit. A man had a right to laugh. A man had a right to dream. Sometimes laughter was liberating – it had been liberating in the past; just the previous night, for instance – and sometimes it was not. Perhaps this time it was not – perhaps this time it was just ever so slightly unsettling – but that did not mean he could not laugh. None of that mattered.

Elune, it does not, does it?

Angus knew not how long he stood there wheezing for air, but his amusement faded eventually – just a little, but it did fade – and as soon as it did, he tried to speak, pushing words in between bouts of cackling, ‘You must retrieve it. You must get it back; you must make sure they do not give it to anyone. Elune, if you fail, they might do worse than send me on a deadly trip.’

He neither heard nor, truth to tell, cared what Moonshade’s response was – another wave of laughter washed over him as soon as he wrangled the words out, and this one was not something he could stifle or even slightly suppress – but, with the way the lump slammed the door when he left, he must have said something. Somewhere in the corner of his mind, Angus was glad he did not hear it, but that was something he realised later.

Right then, he only laughed. Angus Silentwing laughed until the tears came.

Every step brought forth a wheezing huff – Angus liked to think of himself as a man used to climbing, but the slope he wrestled with now was a particularly steep one, and, as if that was not enough, the slippery patches of mud and the rocks strewn all over the pass – rocks of dozens of different shapes, and twice as many sizes – helped not a whit. Scaling a small plateau – and then falling, and then having to face Moonshade – was one thing, but trudging up and up and up a path as tricky as this for hours – it felt like hours; surely it could not have been more than one – was entirely different. He was old; he had been old for so long, but rarely did he feel the burden of his years – so many years – as strongly and clearly as he did now – now, when each step he took drained something out of him, when each step became a mark of this body’s frailty… when each step brought forth a wheezing huff. It was true; with each step he felt his strength wane and his bones grow weary, but such exertion brought with it a temporary kind of relief – it did not calm the storm that raged inside him, but it was enough to keep his worries at bay. It was enough to make room for thought.

It was just his luck that there was almost nothing pleasant to think about. If all went well, he would soon be out of the Blackclaws’ reach and the Cenarion Circle’s webs both, that was true, but everything could go awry – Elune knew that was an understatement; everything could fall apart – just as easily. The Blackclaws had found one of his journals, and only the moon knew what they would do with it – Angus, of course, feared the worst, as any wise man should.

Prepare to see the sun rise at midnight; that way the stars will shine all the more brightly when the hour does come.

And that was the truth, but it was still all up to Elune now. Angus had done what he could, and what he could not he had had others do for him – all he could do now was let the wind lift his wings and see where it would take him; he had thrown the rattle-bones, and all that remained was to see how the would fall. The man had never liked being caught in the flow of events like this – he had never liked being carried by the stream – but a man had to know when and how to accept his fate; there was an art in well-timed submission, and Angus Silentwing had considered himself artful once. Now was one of those times. And either way, he had no desire to dwell upon matters of the sun any longer than he absolutely had to, and while there was not much else to think about, there were some things. There was his departure from his home, for instance – Angus had never imagined he would find joy in leaving the place, but he had never thought he would end up this withered wreck of a man, either. Leaving the house behind had been like dropping half of those stones he carried – and he suspected leaving the Moonglade would either put them back in his arms or rid him of what he still held.

Yes, the rattle-bones still rolled.

‘We’re here, Silentwing,’ Moonshade announced jovially, cutting through the stream of his thoughts – he seemed to have a habit of doing that – and, as Angus noted when he looked around, the lump was right.

Before them the mountain pass levelled out, and opened into a scene bustling with elves and tauren – some groaned in their efforts to haul boxes and crates and sacks of various sizes; others traipsed around with rolls of parchment in their hands, haggling between themselves and keeping sharp eyes on the haulers; still others stood with faces so sour they might have eaten a bowl of unripe moonberries each – these held their hands on the weapons at their belts, and eyed everyone else suspiciously; still others – most of them with bags of some kind clutched to their chests or slung over their shoulders – kept their distance from the rest, huddling together in small groups and chattering amongst themselves quietly. That was not the end of it, but Angus spared these people no more of his attention; what mattered to him was the heart of all this chaos, the axis around which it turned, and that was a long line of wagons pulled by creatures he could not quite make out – the Moonglade’s glow was weak here, this deep in the mountains, and two rows of torches arrayed on either side of the line were the only true source of light. Still, he had never seen nightsabres used in this way, so they must have been some kind of animal from the south, or perhaps even from across the Great Sea. Either way, those wagons were a jarring sight plastered over the otherwise drab landscape – while there were two or three whose true colour, with torchlight painting them in blotches of orange and blotches of yellow, was indistinguishable in the night, most of the others stood out as bright blots of blue or purple or even pearly white. With towering mountains like grey slabs of stone – they were mostly grey, greenery showing in but the smallest patches of scraggly growth – dominating the world as far as Angus’ amber eye could see, this colourful jumble looked inappropriately whimsical.

Angus could not help but appreciate it, though. The place would have looked too foreboding otherwise.

‘So you’re really leaving?’ that annoying man spoke up again.

‘Of course I am leaving. What dreams have you been dreaming?’ Angus’ response came in an even, almost tranquil tone – there was no real heat in his voice. But Elune, Moonshade did ask the most foolish of questions sometimes.

Moonshade’s only response was grunt. It would have probably ended with that, but at the last moment Angus felt something tug at him; he had only two farewells to make – one had been taken care of already; Nava had wished him favourable winds back in Nighthaven – and it would have been wholly inappropriate to leave one of them unfinished. That lump may have had the manners of a satyr in a mud pit, but Angus did not have to be like him. And so he turned around to give Moonshade a lingering glance – and almost smiled. The child looked ridiculous in that leaf-robe of his. Would he ever learn decency? Likely not. Still, he would get his farewell – he did not deserve it, of course, but Angus felt generous.

‘Elune watch over you, Moonshade,’ he muttered calmly. ‘You will need Her to see you through this. And you may need Her if you fail.’

Moonshade opened his mouth to answer, but luckily, he did not get the chance – a dozen croaks cut through the chattering hum. It was a rough, unsettling sound, and it came unexpectedly – for a moment or two, most of those gathered there seemed to go quiet, but then they let their tongues flap again. Angus, however, remained silent; he looked up, and in the strangely bright night sky he saw a flock of birds, a solid black cloud heading south.

So he would be leaving with the crows. But would they follow him, or would they find someone else to haunt?