(TW: Blood, death.)
--
You have always been your fathers’ daughter.
There
are still raven feathers coating your fingers; the dying caws of avians
still sound in your ears, and though you know later you should
apologize to Eli for the life being ripped from her friends, now you
push it from your mind.
You move through the snow at a clipped
speed, ducking between the trees with daggers in hand. You had the
foresight to grab your armor and favored weapons before you disappeared
into the mountains of Alterac without a trace, evading Lormeus’
increased patrols. Rarely do you use your rogue skills any longer, but
there’s something refreshing about being free of obligation and people
watching you. That thought alone makes...