“Would you like. Another. Cup of tea?”

Leafsong nodded reflexively, being physically unable to deny any service offered to her for free. This would be her third cup of human-style tea in as many hours, and she was uncomfortably aware that she might have to leave the warmth of bed and seek out a bush soon. Not that the bedroll was exceptionally comfortable- by the time she had been ferried over from the Old Town by stretcher, all of the Kaldorei/Draenei sized mattresses had been taken up. Earthquake triage had been set up in the antechambers of the Cathedral, the priestesses concentrating on those with life-threatening wounds; while the novices undertook the role of nurses.

Leafsong, on her unconscious arrival, had been labelled as NE-F-8 and assigned to the care of an enthusiastic older novice who had bandaged the broken wrist and bathed the cut head. Leafsong had woken an hour or so later, feeling vaguely nauseated, but in only mild discomfort. The novice, on hearing the Kaldorei’s broken and disjointed Common, insisted on speaking to her slowly and loudly, her mouth contorting with every word. On one hand, Leafsong found this vaguely insulting; on the other, she did find the woman’s Common easier to understand.

She sat up slowly, looking around at the other victims of Discount Groceries’ disintrigation, most of them sleeping or sedated. She had been gratified to spot the paladin who had made an effort to help her, resting on a bed beside some bookshelves. His priestess friend, however, was nowhere to be seen.

“Leafsong. Leafsong!”

Her head snapped upright and rotated to the arched doorway. Her husband was shoving his way past an outraged priestess, who was holding a clipboard and parroting “Name? Name?”

Leafsong waved her good arm at him frantically, sending a shower of dust and flakes of plaster onto the blanket. He spotted her instantly and, on seeing that she was sitting up and appeared relatively uninjured, closed his eyes for a moment, mouth moving silently. A second later he was crouched at her side, gripping her by her shoulders, his face grey. He looked every one of his eleven thousand years.

“Gods, are you hurt?” he demanded breathlessly, taking in the neatly stitched cut and the bandaged wrist. She shook her head, thinking of those next door with the priestesses.

“No-oo, just- I broke my wrist.”

“I saw. My poor child,” he breathed, brushing some of the plaster dust from her dirty fringe. “Has it been healed?”

She shook her head once again, her brow furrowing.

“No, there’s a- a priority service for that. You gotta either be rich or half-dead.”

He growled quietly, still inspecting her grubby form for any hidden injury.

“We’ll have that seen to. My Goddess, Leafsong, they told me that a building had collapsed on you.”

“It did,” she said, absurdly proud. “I guess I’m tougher than what you give me credit for.”

He scowled at her, disabusing her of that misguided belief.

“I’m not letting you out of my sight until these damned quakes cease.”


1 Response so far »

  1. 1

    Aphel said,

    Greaaaat story. Seriously babe, you’re a really good writer! Should pursue it in my opinion! Write a book, because this is really good.

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