Zaravala Nightcaller

Resting with her back up against one of the few tress not wildly ablaze, the Illidari, slipped her gloves from her hands and draped them across her raised knee.  Weeks of constant battle, order after order and gruesome vision after grueling death, even the stoic Demon Hunter was beginning to show signs of uneasiness. 

Plucking her water-skin from her hip, she gingerly popped the cork and lifting it to the open maw of her mask, skillfully pouring it within, she lapped up the water until the dry scratching at the back of her throat eased.

Footfalls near by had her to her feet and glaives at the ready once more, the source of water tossed by the wayside in her haste. Before her stood a slightly startled mage an oddly pristine envelope clasped in their hand.

"Sorry to startle you,"

they said quickly before peering down at the letter in their hand, "I believe this is for you Miss Nightcaller."

Lowering her weapon she pushed the tip of one of her glaives into the ashen dirt to free up her hand. Reaching out to accept it she bowed her head curtly to the postmaster returning to her place at the base of the tree.

She leaned over retrieving the abandoned source of water and slowly slipped the envelope open.

Zaravala,

I’m sure you know of the happenings today on the battlefront, you always were at the front lines of anything you put your mind to. Let me know you are alive at least. 

I don’t want to know about how it felt or what you did, all I care about is you made it out alive.

Don’t lose yourself in this useless mess.
Remember who you are.