Daughter of Azeroth

32 | DESOLATION

Winter came and went, and Jac's stranglehold on Westfall increased. Kip contacted the goblin again, and sold all the furniture that wasn't being used, which was most of it. Apart from Unambi, and Kip's occasional presence, there was no one left in the house to protect them. Though of what interest were two children and Myra? There was nothing to take, unless thieves were inclined to start stripping the wooden panels from the walls. Even Myra's jewellery was gone now, taken in the third run by that nasty goblin, along with almost all of her gowns, apart from her plainest ones.

The smithies took it upon themselves to organise huge caravans to help Moonbrook's citizens leave Westfall. Armed with borrowed guns supplied by Captain Greenskin, they escorted the people of Moonbrook across Westfall and over the river bridge into the safety of Elwynn Forest, leaving them outside the safety of Westbrook Garrison to carry on the rest of the way to Stormwind on their own.

The wealthier people shut up their businesses and boarded up the windows of their big houses, driving away in their carriages to the dockyard, followed by wagonloads of crates filled with their most valuable possessions. Idira heard most of them had headed for Menethil, a huge walled city far to the north in a province called The Wetlands. A fresh start, that's what they wanted, they said, away from VanCleef who was rumoured to be going mad, and his warring Brotherhood. They had had enough.

In the middle of spring, Kip let the last of the house staff go, though there weren't many left to send away. Most of them had already left Westfall, fleeing with their families, along with the caravans. Lanira left as well, taking the last caravan, saying she had stayed as long as she could for Idira's sake but her own family's safety was also at stake. Idira cried harder than she expected she would when Lanira finally pulled away and walked out the front door, escorted by Kip. Idira ran out into the empty square and called after Lanira, frantic, begging her not to leave, calling her Mama. Lanira crumpled and staggered in Kip's grip. Her shoulders shook as she wept, but she kept on. Supported by Kip, she never looked back.

Cook was the only one who stayed, saying she had no family to go to and nowhere else to be, declaring she had been born in this house and would die in this house. Idira didn't know what Kip thought about Benny, but there was no doubt he turned a blind eye to the stolen time Benny spent with Myra. Late one night, Idira had woken up hungry and gone down to the kitchen in search of food. When she had walked past VanCleef's door, she heard Myra cry out Benny's name as they made love on VanCleef's bed. It was as if VanCleef didn't even exist anymore. It felt as though everything had come full circle, right back to where they started from. It was just Myra, Benny, and Idira again, poor and hungry, and Papa was still bad, just like before. The only thing that was different was they lived in a bigger house, and now there was Vanessa, and Unambi, and Kip.

Idira woke on her twelfth birthday to a house shrouded in total silence knowing there would be no celebration and no presents. They barely had enough food to manage, just whatever Kip could scrounge from the dockyard intended for the workers on the ship. It had been six months since VanCleef had left for the Deadmines. Idira wondered anew if the rumours were true and he had begun to go mad, maybe they would never see him again. She was glad they had Benny, he would know what to do, maybe they could finally go and live in Elwynn Forest.

She sank down onto her window seat and looked over the deserted square. The smithy lay empty and forlorn, a large tumbleweed rolled back and forth inside it, caught between the forge and anvil. The Weary Traveller, boarded up for more than two months bore a thick chain and padlock around the handles of its front doors. The rest of the shops on the square stood silent and dark, their dust-coated windows broken. Whatever little the owners had left behind was long gone, stolen in the frenzy of self-preservation which had overcome the town as its abandonment progressed.