[Jolhur] Journey
He’s done this before, though he can’t remember. Last time was a wild guess, a leap into the dark. This time he’s ready.
Yunari gives the bottle a small shake, wincing, and passes it over. By rights she should be the one diving into the realm of spirits, but her arm’s half healed and her leg still aches. Tashorr insists that she rest, and she does not object. It’s only for a few days. (She tries not to think how much quicker it would be with the healing Earth took from her. That brings thoughts of the twins, and worry-)
Jol gives the clear liquid a sniff, wrinkling his nose, then nods to the woman. There’s not much to say. Her husband flew off an hour ago to warn their family, and now he’s doing the same. He sits, making himself comfortable against the wall, and swallows the sapta down.
She watches his eyes widen, then close as his limbs go slack. It’s not an easy road he travels but she suspects that the world he enters is far different from her own.
For one, Fire’s not there to greet him.
The wolf shape is smooth and comfortable, and each press of his paws against the grey, shifting earth feels as bright as a summer afternoon. He never feels quite right anymore, not when he’s himself, but this is him, this is how he should be. He lifts his head, listening to a distant call - but no, he has a warning to deliver. He runs south.
The realm of spirits is not shaped quite like the waking one, and he finds himself flying, leaping over rivers as if they were puddles. He’s quiet - no knowing who might be listening - but the image of the ones he searches for beats loud inside him.
He will not let the enemy put his family in danger.
The anger flows through him and dissipates as he runs, leaving a curling black trail behind him.
He finds Mawly first, or Mawly finds him, waiting atop a shimmering grey sand dune. The big wolf watches him, a sense of amusement hanging about him.
“Found your paws, I see.”
“Always have.” It’s truth, mostly.
He stretches, standing to sniff the air. “There’s trouble following you.”
“The Zandalari?”
“No. Your own. Be wary, pup of the Vilebranch. I’ll pass your message on.”
“My thank-”
A nudge from the wolf’s snout and he’s awake, coughing, spitting up the last of the potion. Yunari watches from her bed, propped up on her good arm.
“How long?”
“Only an hour.” She gestures to a pile of furs in the corner. “Go, sleep. I’ll have Tashorr wake you when he returns.”
Gratefully, he stumbles over and collapses. Every muscle aches, and his head’s still spinning. His legs weren’t meant to bend like this…
She watches until he’s asleep, then lowers herself back down to rest as well.
Yunari gives the bottle a small shake, wincing, and passes it over. By rights she should be the one diving into the realm of spirits, but her arm’s half healed and her leg still aches. Tashorr insists that she rest, and she does not object. It’s only for a few days. (She tries not to think how much quicker it would be with the healing Earth took from her. That brings thoughts of the twins, and worry-)
Jol gives the clear liquid a sniff, wrinkling his nose, then nods to the woman. There’s not much to say. Her husband flew off an hour ago to warn their family, and now he’s doing the same. He sits, making himself comfortable against the wall, and swallows the sapta down.
She watches his eyes widen, then close as his limbs go slack. It’s not an easy road he travels but she suspects that the world he enters is far different from her own.
For one, Fire’s not there to greet him.
The wolf shape is smooth and comfortable, and each press of his paws against the grey, shifting earth feels as bright as a summer afternoon. He never feels quite right anymore, not when he’s himself, but this is him, this is how he should be. He lifts his head, listening to a distant call - but no, he has a warning to deliver. He runs south.
The realm of spirits is not shaped quite like the waking one, and he finds himself flying, leaping over rivers as if they were puddles. He’s quiet - no knowing who might be listening - but the image of the ones he searches for beats loud inside him.
He will not let the enemy put his family in danger.
The anger flows through him and dissipates as he runs, leaving a curling black trail behind him.
He finds Mawly first, or Mawly finds him, waiting atop a shimmering grey sand dune. The big wolf watches him, a sense of amusement hanging about him.
“Found your paws, I see.”
“Always have.” It’s truth, mostly.
He stretches, standing to sniff the air. “There’s trouble following you.”
“The Zandalari?”
“No. Your own. Be wary, pup of the Vilebranch. I’ll pass your message on.”
“My thank-”
A nudge from the wolf’s snout and he’s awake, coughing, spitting up the last of the potion. Yunari watches from her bed, propped up on her good arm.
“How long?”
“Only an hour.” She gestures to a pile of furs in the corner. “Go, sleep. I’ll have Tashorr wake you when he returns.”
Gratefully, he stumbles over and collapses. Every muscle aches, and his head’s still spinning. His legs weren’t meant to bend like this…
She watches until he’s asleep, then lowers herself back down to rest as well.