02-15-2011, 08:23 AM
Mula stared deep into her tea, the herbs and spices permeated her senses. She was feeling like that tea, right now--a mix of complicated emotions: Regret, fear, anxiety, denial, and relief, to name a few.
She'd run into Aracna earlier that day and the news was confusing, to say the least. She'd wanted to follow Aracna right then and there to their campsite to see if the news was true; that her father was still alive. But she knew that rushing blindly into this would be dangerous. What if she said the wrong thing? Aracna said that her father had lost his memory, and worse, could not remember something he did five minutes prior.
She'd never appreciated her father, not really. She'd always thought him to be weak. She'd lied in her original letter to the Tribe, so many moons ago, saying that she'd taken up his sword after he died in battle against the forces of the Lich King, but that was not the case. He'd never been a warrior. It had been her mother's sword that she'd taken up. It had been kept safe for her by the tauren in Bloodhoof village. Her uncle had kept it safe until he'd died and he'd had the tauren keep it for her until she returned.
She'd learned much since then. Since then, she'd come to appreciate the ways of the druid, for that was what her father was.
"You know, if you look any harder into that cup, you're gonna bore a hole into the bottom of the cup."
She looked up, "Rince, hey.'
The forsaken mage looked at her, "You're supposed to drink it. What's on your mind?"
"My father."
"He's passed on, no?"
"Aracna seems to think that he hasn't. The thing is...I think I already knew that."
Rince just stared at her for a moment, then he regained himself.
Mula continued, still staring at her tea, "The thing is, I think there's something else I'm forgetting, as well." She looked at the mage, who was as pale as a sheet of ice.
"How is she?" He asked.
She patted him on the back, "She's...ok."
Rince stood up and walked out of the room. Mula didn't try to stop him. Her eyes fell back to the tea...It had been her grandmother's recipe. Her father and she would spend much time together gathering herbs and preparing them. At the time she thought it was absolutely boring. But she'd gone back to drinking it when she was carrying Lucerra.
She brought the cup to her lips and drank.
She'd run into Aracna earlier that day and the news was confusing, to say the least. She'd wanted to follow Aracna right then and there to their campsite to see if the news was true; that her father was still alive. But she knew that rushing blindly into this would be dangerous. What if she said the wrong thing? Aracna said that her father had lost his memory, and worse, could not remember something he did five minutes prior.
She'd never appreciated her father, not really. She'd always thought him to be weak. She'd lied in her original letter to the Tribe, so many moons ago, saying that she'd taken up his sword after he died in battle against the forces of the Lich King, but that was not the case. He'd never been a warrior. It had been her mother's sword that she'd taken up. It had been kept safe for her by the tauren in Bloodhoof village. Her uncle had kept it safe until he'd died and he'd had the tauren keep it for her until she returned.
She'd learned much since then. Since then, she'd come to appreciate the ways of the druid, for that was what her father was.
"You know, if you look any harder into that cup, you're gonna bore a hole into the bottom of the cup."
She looked up, "Rince, hey.'
The forsaken mage looked at her, "You're supposed to drink it. What's on your mind?"
"My father."
"He's passed on, no?"
"Aracna seems to think that he hasn't. The thing is...I think I already knew that."
Rince just stared at her for a moment, then he regained himself.
Mula continued, still staring at her tea, "The thing is, I think there's something else I'm forgetting, as well." She looked at the mage, who was as pale as a sheet of ice.
"How is she?" He asked.
She patted him on the back, "She's...ok."
Rince stood up and walked out of the room. Mula didn't try to stop him. Her eyes fell back to the tea...It had been her grandmother's recipe. Her father and she would spend much time together gathering herbs and preparing them. At the time she thought it was absolutely boring. But she'd gone back to drinking it when she was carrying Lucerra.
She brought the cup to her lips and drank.