Author's Note: The story takes place in Azeroth, a fictional world created by Blizzard Entertainment for their game World of Warcraft.
This story was created to explain why my character, Maralah, suddenly had a daughter. When the player with the character "Nariko" joined our guild she looked so much like Maralah we decided it would be a neat history. The player stopped playing soon after, but the story went on. Most of what I write is something that was role played out in-game (World of Warcraft) or via our forums RP.
~
A blade of grass rustled, setting her heart into a flutter again. Surely everyone within four miles must hear the frantic pounding of her feline heart! Breath... breath... creep forward... stop. Why? Curiousity hardly seems like a worthy answer, but isn't that always the response? Curiousity. This damnable cat form. Tocho always said it went too deep for me. But here she was, way beyond where she should be with all avenue of escape cut off. How long could she avoid the patrols of Scourge before she made a mistake?
Footsteps. The shambling footsteps of those who are no longer completely whole. A moment of panic froze the tuaren in place, her whiskers twitching frantically. A shout, she had been discovered! RUN!
She broke cover and sprinted away from the sounds of pursuit, her heart beating faster than before, adrenaline and fear fueling her speed. There were too many, one struck from the side and stunned her. She lay there, staggered a moment before her fury came to the surface. She was Elder of the Den, of PACK SPIRIT, she would not go down without a fight!
Fuelled by her rage she allowed the bear within her to come to the surface, roaring fiercely in defiance of these attackers. It was all a blur, weapons struck from all sides increasing her rage but slowing her down. Blood began to pool beneath her, the bright red blood from her own body and the rancid sluggish blood of the Scourge undead, pooling together to make the ground slippery beneath her paws. Blood was everywhere, even in her eyes, she was beginning to fade and knew it.
From a distance, what seemed like miles away, she heard the battle cry. Through the melee she lifted her head and saw, barely through the blood, the form of a magnificent tauren racing in his weapons drawn. It was the last thing she saw before losing consciousness.
~
It wasn't entirely dark, and there was pain, a great deal of pain, that must mean she's alive. She closed her eyes again and tried to take stock of her surroundings through touch and sound. There was a soft pallet beneath her, it was dry and comfortable, most likely a bed. The sounds of nature were muted, nature... in the plague lands... either way, it was muted, perhaps she was indoors. There were voices, muffled and indistinct, but solid... not like the undead who sounded like a brisk walk through autumn leaves. Her injuries were severe, she could feel each one sharply, but there was a firm pressure on them, she had been bandaged.
The tauren? Through the fog in her mind she visualized him again. Strong, swift, and deadly, had he rescued her?
The voices had stopped, she kept her eyes closed and concentrated on looking like she still slept. Someone moved into the room, a big someone. The pallet was disturbed, presumably as that someone sat down next to her. She almost flinched as a cool cloth was pressed to the wound above her right eye. The touch was gentle, almost tender, she couldn't help the increase in her heart rate as she wondered who was there.
"You are awake," his voice was deep as many tauren's voices are, but there was a kindness and gentleness that came through in his tone. He was not angry that she feigned sleep, he seemed more amused and perhaps slightly concerned. "I heard your roar and thought a bear had... well, when I saw you I knew you were no ordinary bear."
Slowly she opened her eyes, the room seemed brighter now, perhaps her own mind fog had dimmed her eyesight earlier. She blinked away a droplet of water from the cool cloth he held to her forehead and looked him over, carefully not trusting her voice. He bore many wounds of his own, all bandaged expertly, but he seemed whole and hale. He met her eyes without shyness, a slow half smile formed on his face while she inspected him.
"I am Mingan, is there a name I can use for you other than 'the druid'?" Again his voice held that odd mix of amusement and concern.
Carefully she opened her mouth, her words were quiet and broken, clearly she had not spoken in some time, "Maralah, of Pack Spirit."
Mingan smiled warmly and removed the cloth from her wound. "Welcome, Maralah of Pack Spirit. Rest and heal, we will speak again soon."
~
Had it really been two months? Maralah lifted her head from her work and looked across the room at the peaceful form of Mingan sitting before the fire. No longer was he such a strange sight, she smiled and went back to crafting the leather before her. Two months and still there was no escort to take her safely back to Undercity, or even one of the nearby borders. Mingan had assured her there was no one to spare, the Scourge were too plentiful in the Plaguelands... he suspected they were gearing up for a full scale invasion.
"Is it so bad?" Mingan had moved to her elbow when she was lost in thought, startled she looked up. "Being here with me, I mean." He smiled down at her. Such a charming smile, his eyes twinkled with the same amusement he'd always shown, she couldn't help but return his smile.
"I just miss my Pack, Mingan, I really do enjoy spending time with you here... but I can't stay here forever." Her voice sounded almost wistful, even to her own ears.
"Why not?" She expected to see his eyes twinkle with amusement again, but it was something else this time, he was completely serious. "Maralah," he kneeled next to her, "I... I don't want you to go. Please stay with me?"
The leather lay still in her hands; she stared at him in amazement, shock, unable to say anything.
The silence stretched on, and for the first time Maralah saw something close to fear in his eyes, with barely a thought she spoke quietly, "yes."
Mingan whooped for joy and scooped her up in his arms as if she were a mere child, swinging her around and shouting for joy. After several moments he slowed and set her on the ground, not releasing her from his grasp, "be my wife, Maralah." It wasn't a question, nor a harsh demand, it was a statement from a tauren who is use to getting what he wants. Maralah smiled and nodded at him, a warmth filling her from the hooves up. Without even realizing it she had fallen in love with her rescuer.
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