Sometimes it's just better not to know

Baby steps

It was but a heartbeat before the first arrow reached its target, burying deep into the demon's left eye socket with a disgusting sound. It screamed, filling the nearby area with its wailing of pain and anger, yet it certainly was far from dead. Even though its peers were surprised, they moved slightly, causing the following projectiles to miss. Samara bit her lower lip, muffling her discontent before leaping forward the fastest she could. A solid short sword she had been given when she was leaving Darnassus rested comfortably in her palm. With as little as a flicker of her wrist, she struct, once again surprising the demonic lot. With her momentum, the slash effortlessly passed through the imp's fragile frame, cutting flesh like a hot knife through butter. Some dark, near-black, thick liquid burst from the open wound, staining the woman and the grass.

Fyrerenna was somewhat pleased with the effect, yet her luck ran out, leaving her mere steps away from the remaining demons. Guided by some survival instincts, she pulled the corpse towards herself when, between the wounded monstrosity's hands, flame formed. A moment later, she stumbled back, pushed by sheer fireball's impact. The night elf's eyes slightly watered, smelling the burnt flesh. Her mind screamed at her to run, but she overruled it. With her teeth clenched, she threw the partially incinerated corpse towards the nearest foe. The white-haired woman barely spotted the next spell coming her way, leaving her with hardly any option but to take it on with her shield. A hardly muffled grunt passed through her tightened throat. Even though her bulwark was iron and withstood the flames, it needed to be discarded immediately as its surface burned into Samara's flesh.

With her only form of protection gone, Tyrande's daughter needed to finish this fight quickly, or she would be forced to rely on her dexterity. Not too keen to play with fate, she charged forward, catching up to the wounded imp with relative ease. Instinctively, it clawed at her, trying to keep any semblance of distance between them, but she evaded the sloppy attack, splitting the demon in half the next heartbeat.

The black plasma smeared Samara's face, slightly hindering her vision and forcing an immediate reaction, even though it would leave her vulnerable. Utilising the sleeve of her undervest, she wiped down the stains as best she could, spitting on the ground afterwards. Some of this liquid intruded her mouth, filling it with a disgustingly salty taste. Yet before she could turn around to face the last remaining imp, she heard it moving, the grass crushed under its clawed feet. A moment later, a subtle wave of burning sensation spread through the night elf as she dodged the attack only partially. The demon's paws brushed against the exposed skin of her right arm, piercing it and leaving a long but shallow line that hardly bled. No matter, it filled the girl with rage she had no desire to contain. As a roar formed, she overruled her body, killing the sound before it could escape her slightly parted lips, not wanting to attract more demons possibly lurking nearby. Instead, Tyrande's daughter allowed this scorching sensation, this fury, to take temporal control. Her next slash caught her by surprise; it was but a blur that reached the last imp, dissecting it effortlessly. As thick and black liquid burst from the mortal wound, Samara tried to resume the command over her body, terrified by the painfully apparent result of this momentary recklessness.

Fyrerenna barely registered when her knees touched the ground. Even though she was covered in the sticky plasma, she did not mind it. No ... it would be a lie; she completely disregarded the fact, too preoccupied with the mess her mind had become. She let go of the blade, raising her right hand. A quiet thud of it falling onto the tall grass sounded as if it was coming from miles away. Her hand trembled noticeably, a sensation the girl had no control of. Swallowing a gulp forming in her tightened throat, she closed her eyes, believing it would be easier to fight clad in an eternal and impenetrable darkness. Her breath was rugged and shallow as if she had been fighting for hours, not moments.

***

Despite her temporal mental breakdown, the white-haired girl managed to gather everything she needed in a record time. Kneeling beside two identical water reservoirs reflecting the bright moonlight and vegetated with Moonpetal lilies, she enjoyed the raw beauty of her surroundings. Nearby, a few trees grew, relatively small compared to the one residing in the Shadowglen's centre. Between their branches, a bunch of small critters could be occasionally spotted. Each was met with the girl's small, amused smile as she savoured the moment. A small passage between the reservoirs was wide enough for two adults to walk side by side. Perhaps when her task was fulfilled, she would return here to relax and clear her troubled mind. She liked how the idea sounded; she really did.