The Grove

[Yemana]

The flowers of Mulgore.  Yemana spooned another mouthful of the cold, cooked grains left over from the previous night's meal and stared without seeing at the huddle of furs in her sleeping place.  The thunder of the herds.  In the pre-dawn light outside the tent, the camp was just beginning to stir.  Soon the sounds and smells of cookfires being coaxed to life filled the woods surrounding Oneqwah.  The great, open curve of the night sky.  Mu'sha's gaze, unhidden by strange northern trees.  A short gust of biting cold blew in the smoke hole above her, and Yemana leaned closer to the small fire in the middle of the tent.  Warm nights.  Warm mornings.  The pile of furs grunted and rolled over, stirring from slumber.  Smallfish caught from the lake at sunrise.

The druid waited quietly, sipping her morning tea.  She thought the other shu'halo might return to his dreams, but after a few moments he stretched some of the sleep from his muscles and opened one eye to question Yemana gently.  "Troubling thoughts, my sister?"

She set her meal to one side and scooped out a second cup of steaming tea from the bowl.  "No, Yichimet," she smiled wistfully, handing the wooden cup to him.  "Merely thinking of home.  I did not think I would wake you."  Yemana began plaiting the thick, wiry strands of her mane as he sipped.

"Some silences can be loud enough.  I will have little trouble finding sleep again when you and your thoughts have gone," he teased.

The druid's smile was warm in the dim light.  "I think it will be your exhaustion rather than my absence that ensures that.  The battle was long last night."  As her fingers twisted and worked her hair, Yemana saw Yichimet's eyes unfocus for a brief moment.  What he was seeing, she could only guess at - Yemana had not joined the Grim in the Citadel but had instead answered the call several weeks ago for aid to guard the base camps outside from the constant, never ending assault of Scourge reinforcements.  The Grim had Leyujin and Lythande; she trusted their strength to protect and gave of herself where she was most needed.

Yemana's soft concern brought the other shu'halo back to the present moment.  "Dreams?"  Her dark eyes searched his face as she wound a leather cord around the end of the braid and began working on the other.

"Some," he allowed.  After putting aside his tea, he rolled onto his back and stared up at the cracks of dim light showing around the edges of the smoke hole.  "That place was built of bones and wailing spirits, meant to house creatures and weapons made from bones and wailing spirits.  Not all of our brothers and sisters could be saved from death, and not all of the dead could be saved from being turned against us."  Yichimet fell silent, remembering the cries of the trapped dead.  "The great tomb in Terokkar was a gentle rain compared to this storm, my sister.  It is only beginning."

"It will end.  Earth Mother give us the strength to help it be soon."  Yemana secured the end of her other mane-tail and stood, and Yichimet rose from the furs to help her with her armor.  It was a simple, silent ritual the two shu'halo had fallen into since the assault on the Citadel had begun one moon ago - he helped her prepare for battle in the mornings, while she welcomed him back from the hunt at night.  Every loop he made of leather through a buckle was a blessing; every soft clink of chainmail in her hands was a prayer.  I'hawa osdega, kwa ishina owa.

They embraced quietly, letting the unspoken prayers settle around them like a coccoon of protection.  Finally, the cry of the morning song sounded from the center of camp, and Yichimet handed Yemana her mace.  A few flakes of snow swirled into the tent as Yemana pulled the flap back.

"Tonight?"

She nodded.  "Tonight."

A moment later, a raven took flight from the ground in front of the tent, and Yichimet closed the flap after she had flown away.  They needed no other words.