She watched mutely, her breath catching in her throat, her feet seemingly rooted to the earth. The mists shrouded them as if a living thing, swirling and sweeping above and around the ruins of the ancient temple. She knew she could leave, she knew that she wouldn’t be followed. For such was his trust, his love for her… or perhaps it was merely his arrogance.
Huge curving horns began to sprout from the smooth violet skin of his temples, ripping apart the flesh with a sizzle. Ligaments stretched and tore, joints popped, as once muscular legs became twisted and covered with coarse, rattily tufted hair, cloven hooves replacing graceful feet. He allowed himself a muted groan of agony as he embraced the fel transformation, Tirasa retching a few scant yards away.
She couldn’t breathe. Perhaps the magic had affected her, perhaps…
Jolting awake, Tirasa found herself on her hands and knees, completely disoriented, as was the usual aftermath of this terrible nightmare. A nightmare that she would be tortured by for the rest of her now-mortal life, the images forever burned into her mind. For she had been there when her Kaldorei mate had transformed, the visual representation of the finality of his choice. Despite his love for her, he had chosen to follow the magic of the Burning Legion, becoming one of the very satyrs that she reviled. The twin daggers of betrayal and abandonment still burned coldly through her heart as the dream faded, and she vaguely wondered if the wounds would ever truly heal.
Looking around finally, she found herself in a small bed in a small dwarven house in Ironforge, remembering now how she came to be there. It had been a long night, a night of celebration and ceremony… and she remembered now with a grin that the one she called mate was no longer a satyr. He was a tauren.
She had spoken the words of pairing to Mirk as they knelt, naked, bathed in Elune’s light at Forest Song. And he had said some words in Taurahe, which she assumed to be some kind of ritual as well. And then they had celebrated their love as only the newly-paired do.
Tirasa frowned as again the doubts crept in. What if he had been telling her something else? What if all of his crying and sighing was a sign of utter despair? He kept saying that he loved her, over and over, and saying goodbye. Well, she knew that he couldn’t stay with her, that wasn’t a problem. But what if he was not the male she thought he was? What if he was a completely dishonorable tauren, who had heard her vows and had lain with her under the stars, with no intention of claiming her as his mate?
Sighing and swallowing the pride that rose heatedly in her throat, she did what Valgard had suggested. Moving over to the small desk to her left, she retrieved parchment and ink, penning the most unemotional letter to Mirk that she could, asking the questions her heart needed him to answer. Signing it “with love”, she waited for it to dry, then folded it up and tucked it in her pocket to take to Booty Bay.
Of course it would take no small amount of gold to persuade Innkeeper Skindle to translate and deliver it for her, but she was prepared to put forth whatever he required.
Posted by Tirasa at 10:29 AM 28 February 2005