Ranger Lord Elaeryn Stardrifter

He awakens to the shimmering garnet light of smoldering coals. The faint tinge of smoke upon the air, mixed with the faintly spicy scent of their entwined bodies, brings him back to the very beginning. To that fateful night in Outland, surrounded by the gruff protectiveness of the Mok’Nathal tribe. A resigned drifter and an earnest lieutenant willing to follow him to the painful corners of his past; to the shattered land of the lost Ranger-Captain, demonic lies, survival of the fittest and jaded Scryers.There they would build a sacred trust, forged beside a simple campfire and written in ardent whispers on the nether-threaded sky.

Kissing her shoulder he shifts, sitting up to watch the cinders thoughtfully. Dark brown hair flows freely down along high cheekbones to pool upon his clavicle, and fall still farther, half-way down his back and chest. The half-light catches glinting strands of chestnut and the few greys at his temples. Rubbing his beard, he considers a trim. It’s been some time, as here in their private retreat, appearances matter far less than in the gilded walls of Silvermoon. It reminds him again of his days of freedom: drifting, hiding from his past and present, serving as a Scryer in the far flung land of his shame.

Now he has a new, very personal mystery to solve; and despite his reticence that Captain Neristrana accompany him, she has insisted. Peering sidelong at her slumbering form, she seems so peaceful;her lithe form partly covered by the furs upon their bed. In this state, natural and unfettered, she seems slightly feral. The firelight enhances the freckles upon her shoulders, and through a trick of the light and shadow he fancies he sees her spotted and striped like the large cats she favors. The wolf in him grins, amused that a canine and feline make such a devoted pair. The faint smile quickly drops however, as he muses darkly on what a return to Pandaria might do to her; to them.

Reaching out to stroke her golden-red hair, twining it through his fingers, he holds it possessively for a long moment, squeezing before releasing it with a quiet exhale. No use in fearing for the future, now as ever…there -is- only now, only this moment that matters; that ever matters. Turning fully back toward her, he throws circumspection to the wind, indeed -hoping- for her tiger to take over as the wolf inside of him stirs, lunging forward greedily.