Domino

Thunder Bluff, Mulgore – Kalimdor
Yesterday
 
“Bring her in here!” The tall shu’halo shaman said, waving an arm toward the center of the healing tent. As the three tauren braves carried the unconscious body of the shu’halo woman between them, the shaman directed others within the tent before lastly pointing to one of the braves as they set the body of the patient upon a clean rug on the floor.
 
“Merawe, fetch hot water and clean cloth. Talutah, bring my totems. Mato, see what you can do about getting her out of that armor.”
 
Het’heru lay on the rug as the many tauren of Spirit Rise scattered like so many leaves upon the wind to tend to the orders they’d been given. It had taken several hours to fly her up here from Un’goro after Sorvitsune left her with the explorers. Still, the Sunwalker hadn’t awakened. Even as she lay there she showed no signs of stirring as two of the sturdy braves set to unlatching and unstrapping her armor. As they peeled away the breastplate they were careful around her midsection where the bullet had torn through the metal. The gambeson beneath had kept the shredded metal from tearing into the pale hide but not the armor-piercing round. It was fortunate for Het’heru that the bullet had hit nothing vital. Fortunate – or planned.
 
The shaman received and laid out his totems, one in each cardinal direction for the Spirits of Fire, the Spirits of Water, the Spirits of Earth, and the Spirits of Wind, and each would be used to coax and influence the various humors of Het’heru’s body in order to promote healing and regeneration. As the young shu’halo maiden brought his pack of herbs and poultices, he set to grinding them in a mortar and pestle, and mixing them with waters from the local waterwells. He murmured in Taura’he, saying prayers to the Earthmother and to An’she whom the Sunwalker obeyed, asking them for their blessings and for their powers to heal.
 
The shaman shook the end of his staff over the Sunwalker’s body, the bones and shakers tied to it rattling in rhythm to his prayers. He had the young shu’halo girl light several small braziers of incense, the soothing scents wafting through the open-air tent. As he took the ground herbs, making them into more of a pesto, he motioned with a hand toward his patient. The young shu’halo girl, with the help of another woman, removed the gambeson and the rest of Het’heru’s clothing, covering her with a blanket enough that only her wounded side showed toward the shaman.
 
“The wound is deep, but not fatal.” The shaman mused aloud as he inspected it. Taking the clean well water and cloth, he cleansed the wound and made sure that there were no frangible pieces. The war machine on both sides of the Horde and Alliance conflict were finding ever increasingly painful and diabolical ways to gnaw away at each other. Bullets that shattered into tiny pieces of shrapnel within their victims into tiny pieces were but one of them. Thankfully, whatever had been fired upon the Sunwalker did not appear to be so. Wound cleansed, the shaman slathered on a thick layer of the herbaceous paste he’d made before covering it with bandages that he wound around the taureness’ body. “She will recover.”
 
☼
 
Westfall, Kingdom of Stormwind, Eastern Kingdoms
Present Day
 
The auburn-haired woman trudged up the dusty road of the homestead, rifle perched on her left shoulder, the bindle of grungy blue gingham swaying behind her with each step. Lifting her head, she tilted her cowl back to look onward. “Ho, the house!” She called in a friendly manner.
 
Moments later a young boy of perhaps some twelve years of age came pelting helter-skelter down the sunbaked lane. He was a bright, freckle-faced youth with sable hair and flashing green eyes. He would break hearts later in life, of that the woman was certain. As he neared her he slowed just enough so that the impact of his arrival as he hugged the woman was minimal. He smiled up at her. “You’re just in time, Mother!” He said exuberantly. “We just laid out afternoon tea!”
 
“We? Who is ‘we’?” She asked, looking down at her son curiously. Her son knew better than to let any strangers into the house when she wasn’t at home, so whomever had come to visit was someone known to him. Someone he trusted.
 
“Jovi is here! She got here a little while ago. She brought lemon cookies from Silvermoon!” He told her excitedly.
 
She looked in askance at her son, but said nothing further about their unexpected guest as she looped an arm around him and approached the house. As they neared the tall quel’dorei woman stepped out of the house, drying her hands on a coarse, burlap towel. “We were beginning to wonder if a boar had gotten you.” The elf-woman said as she looked over the human with only mildest concern.
 
“No, hunting was slim. I didn’t get anything worthwhile.” The human woman replied as she unslung the rifle from her shoulder, shifting it around to remove the bindle from the end of it. She handed the unloaded weapon off to her son. “Put this in the rifle cabinet for me, will you, Jamie?” The boy nodded, taking the rifle respectfully in both hands before walking off with it. He did not run.
 
Once the boy was out of earshot, the human looked at the elf. “What are you doing here, Jovi?”
 
“Just checking on you and Jamie, Lauren. No need to sound so hostile.” The high elf drawled, inspecting her fingernails, as if she’d just polished them. “I promised the Captain that I’d take care of the both of you. I can’t do that if I never show my face.”
 
“My husband has been dead for years, Jovi. It’s time to move on.” Lauren said, stepping past the elf-woman and into the interior of her own home. Jamie was still in the back of the house, storing her rifle. She turned toward the elf. “You’ve seen us, now will you please leave?”
 
“Mm, but he wasn’t your husband, now was he, Lauren?”
 
Lauren scowled, bit her lower lip and said nothing. She hadn’t been James’ wife, not in truth. There had been intent, once upon a time, but war had kept them from ever making the arrangements. Right before James’ death, however, legal documents proclaiming their marriage had been conveniently provided by the elf-woman she now scowled at. Documents that, after his death, entitled her to a widow’s pension as well as the homestead that the Alliance had awarded James for his years of service. A means by which she might live and have a place to live in James’ memory.
 
Jovi continued, turning to follow the human woman into the house as she laughed quietly and shook her head. “Tsk, tsk, now where is that renowned Westfall hospitality?”
 
"You can stay for tea, but then… you leave." Lauren said tersely. On the stove in the kitchen, the tea kettle began to whistle, making the human woman jump in startlement.
 
Jovi smiled and sailed into the room, going into the kitchen where much of the afternoon tea had already been laid out by her and Jamie. She fetched the kettle from the stove, stymying the whistling as she poured it out into the delicate porcelain teapot. The elf's carefully manicured nails clickety-clacked against the fragile ceramic. Silence swelled in the room, filled with Lauren's nervous energy.
 
Jamie came back into the room, looking between the two women in uncertainty. "Is everything all right, Mother?" He asked, moving over to his mother's side as he picked up on the tension in the room, as children often did.
 
Lauren smiled, reaching out a hand to tousle the boy's hair. "Yes, yes, of course. Help Jovi."
 
Returning his mother's smile, Jamie ran forward to do as he was bade. Over the boy's head, Jovi gave Lauren a saccharine sweet smile. The three of them settled down to tea, Jamie pouring out cups for his elders before settling in with his own tea, a plate of sweets, and a couple of the savory finger sandwiches.
 
"It might comfort you to know, Lauren, that I have finally come across that little item that plagued James. In fact, it's likely to become little more than a footnote in the good Captain's story, if I have anything to say about it."
 
Lauren twined her napkin between her hands in her lap, conveniently covered by the tablecloth. A sick feeling of remorse filled her. In the days before his death, James had gone on and on about a tauren girl that had ruined his career during the conflict at Camp Taurajo. This tauren had escaped and because of that escape, his own men had turned on him, reporting him to high command. Not long after they returned from there, James had been dishonorably discharged for conduct unbecoming of an Alliance officer. She had never been given more details than that.
 
Until Jovi darkened her doorstep.
 
She learned of her husband's cruelty; how he'd tortured and killed innocent civilians, trying to pry information out of them concerning the war plans of the Horde. He had gone against direct orders of Commander Taylor. It wasn't until he'd pushed the tauren girl face-first into a brazier, disfiguring her and pushing her to the point that she fought back – and escaped – that James' men had decided they'd seen enough.
 
It had made Lauren sick to hear, because nothing of what she had heard matched up with the loving, deeply devoted man that she had known. He had been loyal to the Alliance, a family man and one that had been looking forward to marrying her when it was all over. Her life and her heart had been irreparably broken the day she'd found his body suspended from the rafters in the barn. He'd given up. The love and family he left behind must not have been enough.
 
All they were left with now was Jovi and while the elf-woman looked after them well, there was just something… ominous about her that made Lauren’s skin crawl. Like this whole business about the tauren girl.
 
Lauren sipped her tea without tasting it. “I hope you’ll finally be able to put the matter to rest so that James can finally be at peace.”
 
Jovi smiled; it was the kind of smile that made one’s hair stand on end. “Not until I’ve had my fun. Not until I’ve watched her wriggle like a worm on a hook.”
 
Her son stared between her and the elf-woman; the boy could feel the oddness in the air. The strange, sinister quality in Jovi’s voice. It was starting to scare him. “Jamie, it’s later than I thought. Why don’t you head out to the barn and get started with the evening chores.” The mother said, rising abruptly to her feet. The boy all but ran out of the room, out the front door, in his haste to exit the uncomfortable room and get to the barn.
 
“Jovi, please excuse us, we have chores to get on.” She said, gesturing to the quel’dorei, then the door.
 
Jovi squinted, but the shark-like smile remained. “Of course, of course. I would never look to impose upon the good Captain’s family.” She rose, going to the door to collect her things; a pack and a high-powered rifle, both of which she shouldered with ease. “I’ll keep you apprised of matters, shall I? Or I’ll come visit again, perhaps give you her head personally.”
 
Inwardly, Lauren quailed, but outwardly she merely inclined her chin imperiously. “Just go, Jovi.”
 
The elf-woman laughed and departed, waving congenially. For a long time after Jovi left, Lauren stood on the porch of her modest house. Only once she was sure it was safe did she bury her face in her hands and weep.
 
Light save that poor soul.