Thursday, March 25, 2010

I am tired of this place. Stormwind.

Scrounging for food. Hoping for peace. I will not beg. How long will I
torture myself? I need a heart balm. My trees. My fragrant home.

I saw him again. The one I fear. The one I long to hide behind. He
smells of protection and danger. Speaking with him is like speaking with a
tree. Rough bark. Living. Essential. Has he lost his roots? I cannot

I marked him once. He was not ready then. Now, he has been with these
others so long the marking does not matter to him. It matters to me. He
seems to have forgotten the depths of his kind. Forgotten his heart. He
cannot smell me.

I am . . . preparing to leave. This place. Nothing holds me.

I want to lick my fur. Roll on the ground. Have my feral neck bitten by
the one stronger than me to hold me. By the one that smells familiar. I
want to snap and snarl and have it be understood. These smooth skins do not
know. There is no depth in them.

When I leave I will not mark this place. It is not my territory.

This place hates me.
I heard he could be found in the cavernous city of Ironforge. As I rode the
oily smelling transport, I tried to think how to approach him. My muscles
tensed. Why was I wary? Upon arrival, I stealthed and wandered in the
firegut below the ways like a coward. I found him easily enough. He was
sitting on his mount. Just sitting. Alone. I turned and ran out of the mountain and sat panting in the snow.

I don’t know what I wanted. Maybe just to speak with someone. There are no
friends. I am afraid if I stay feral too long from fear or loneliness, I will lose myself again. I wish I knew what happened before. I wish I could remember. Does he know secrets I should know?

Stop. Tears do no good. So, I went back. I paced. I shifted and made myself speak to him. He stayed on his mount. Scent of what? Not fear. Perhaps anticipation? I asked about his brother. He had no real news. Something about tasks somewhere. I told him I ran from his brother because I did not want to hurt the innocent. He said,

“Do you know about his past? He was an assassin.”

I did not mean he was innocent of blood. I meant he was innocent of heart.

I asked about his lovers, again nothing. Are all druids alone in their

I trembled as I spoke with him.

This is a dark place. This hard mountain.