Grim Views

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Chaindog tosses in her sleep. The dream invades her mind like a faint whisper. "One of us." they whisper on the wind in her dreams. The lull in sleep pulls her deeper into the emerald dream. She been around long enough to know what it is. This realm as it were keeps pulling her every night. And every night it pulls her further. Like the druids that sleep forever, it scares her. The whispers grow in volume until the wind is deafening.

She drags herself out of her slumber like she's wearing her dress and trying to pull herself out of a lake. She rolls off the bed and onto the floor. She lands with a thump and a crash as a clay cup is shattered as she lands on it.

The pull is harder to resist these days. She fumbles around for her boots. She pulls Finkle's Skinner, her favorite knife. She sticks out her left forearm. Starting at the wrist she starts to cut herself towards her elbow. The pain helps pull her out of it. But today it is different. The sleep is more resistant. As she struggles, she blindly pushes the knife deeper and further along her forearm. She is troll. Pain is life. Is this what her grandmother meant?

The pain grows deeper and she starts to scream. She pushes the knife deeper and harder all the while screaming louder. Suddenly the knife hit's the bone at the elbow and her eyes flash open. She looks at her arm and notices the knife is hilt deep and through her arm. She looks to the sky and screams, "Leave me be!!" Her scream echoes throughout the guild hall.

The pull of the emerald dream is gone. For now.

Her pulse is racing and she takes deep breathes to calm herself down. She slowly pulls the knife out of her arm and while her arm starts to mend itself together her heart nearly stops.

Her gaze lifts slowly from her arm to that of her wolf, Mist Howler. Her first true friend. Chaindog knew Mist was getting on in his years. He'd always been a faithful friend. Of all her pets, Mist was the only pet allowed inside. Mist's chest was no longer rising and falling. It was still.

Dropping the knife on the floor she crawls forward and gently lays a hand on his back. She gently lifts Mist up and holds him in her arms. Her head bends forward and for the first time, a tear of sorrow runs down her cheek. It falls on his matted fur.

She stands and places Mist on her bed. Chaindog then dresses for war as she usually does ensuring to place Finkle's Skinner back into her boot. She then also grabs her ceremonial gear and packs it up. She then bundles up Mist her blanket. She pauses for a moment to reminisce about how often Mist and Chaindog would fight over the blanket. Chaindog knew he was just playing with her when they fought. She takes a breath and sighs a little. It seems like he'll win the blanket this time.

She straps him to her back. She picks up her bow and heads for the door. Honour must be paid to such a friend. But where to go she thinks. She pauses just before the door and reaches up above the door jam. She pulls Rhok'delar down off the wall. Perhaps the ancients will know of a ceremony to honour her Mist Howler.

Everything has changed again. She just can't keep up with the changes. She thought she could ask the ancients in Felwood where she got her bow for help, but they're gone. Or at least the she wanted to talk to is gone.

She then picks the next best place. The very place she first met Mist Howler in north western Ashenvale. The land has been ripped asunder and yet the world adjusts. Animals shift their homes, and adapt.

Chaindog lands gently amongst the trees. She spots some wolves still around. Maybe they're cousins or related. It all seems moot. Chaindog sniffs the breeze and notes an unusual cat nearby. Probably a druid, but she ignores it.

She starts to gather wood to form a small bonfire. After lighting it, she unslings Mist Howler from her back and unwraps him. She kneels before the fire and lifts Mist Howler into the air above her head. She doesn't know what she wants. To ask the spirits for him to return? To set him free? To beg for another loyal pet? Words escape her so she says nothing.

She places him upon the fire and slowly it burns. She pulls her blanket tightly around herself and she breathes deeply taking in his scent to hold onto him just a little bit longer. She stares at the fire lost in it until nothing is left but ash.

Old traditions begin to surface in her mind. Trolls of old would honour their dead by taking the ashes of their brothers of war and mark themselves like war paint to carry them onward as spirits. Only the worthy could be honoured so.

Chaindog reaches out a finger and places it in the still warm ashes of Mist Howler. She draws the symbol of brother upon her brow and then the symbol of comradary upon her heart. She then leans forward and rests her head upon the ashes themselves.

As she slowly opens her eyes and leans back up, a spirit sits in front of her. It's sloppy grin, and wagging tail greet her. The spirits didn't need to her speak to know what was in her heart. It barks at her and she cries tears of joy for her Mist Howler has returned as a spirit wolf.

The End.