Eye of the Beholder

Twenty-One.

As always with times of war, moments of peace were few and far between. The company hadn't ridden far from Suramar before the Burning Legion caught up with them once again.

Hours of fighting ensued. Eliana, Tyrande, and the rest of their fellow priestesses were soon pushed back from their position near the front lines, no longer able to see Lord Ravencrest's banners from where they now fought. Tired, dejected, and losing morale, the Night Elven forces struggled to keep the demons at bay. As the fighting continued on, seemingly with no end in sight, the entire company was eventually pushed back to the plains surrounding Zin-Azshari.

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Eliana's blade sliced clean through the delicate skin of a demon's neck, and the creature fell to the ground with a heavy thud. Exhausted, she brushed back loose strands of her hair that had plastered to her forehead, slick with sweat. With her chest heaving, she scanned the battlefield around her, searching for Tyrande who had been at her side only moments before.

A fierce cry rang out from her left, and when she faced the sound, she saw Tyrande leaping off her saber towards an Eredari. Tyrande drove the point of her blade into the juncture between its neck and shoulder, and it cried out a guttural, inhuman sound before collapsing to the ground. Eliana hurried over to her friend's side with Kal'Shalla on her heels, and Tyrande faced her when she neared; her fellow priestess' beautiful features were scrunched in concentration, fueled by adrenaline.

"Are you all right, Tyrande?" Eliana asked, slightly out of breath as she gently touched her friend's arm.

"I am fine. And you? Are you hurt at all, Eliana?"

Slowly, Eliana shook her head. "Physically, I am fine, but . . . we cannot keep fighting like this. There is only so much our troops, and we, can handle before we are spent."

Tyrande sighed, nodding slightly in agreement. "You are right. But what can we do? We've run from the demons in every direction, it feels like, and though we cannot fight forever, we also cannot run forever."

Her optimism fading fast, Eliana dropped her gaze to the ground. Before she had a chance to formulate a response, Shandris appeared at Tyrande's side, seemingly out of nowhere. Eliana shouldn't have been surprised at the young one's close proximity to her friend. Ever since they'd rescued her, Shandris hadn't been farther than a few steps from Tyrande, despite Tyrande's repeated pleas for the orphaned female to stay behind with the other refugees.

"Why don't we push for an offensive?" Shandris suggested, bouncing up on the balls of her feet.

Tyrande seemed to be fighting to hold back a sigh. "That would be highly imprudent. We are far too weak and exhausted to do that, and be successful." Tyrande's face then quickly twisted into a scowl. "Shandris, I asked you to stay behind the front lines, and yet you disobey my request again. Please, go back!"

Shandris opened her mouth to retort, her brows cinching above her silver eyes, when she was interrupted by a quick, sharp whistle. High Priestess Dehjana, in an attempt to alleviate the stresses of battle, had ordered her priestesses to regularly switch formations. It was time for Tyrande and Eliana's group to step back, allowing the next group to return to the front.

None-too-gently, Tyrande grasped Shandris' upper arm and hoisted her into her saber's saddle. "Come. I'll escort you to the back of the group myself," she stated firmly, climbing up into the saddle as well. Without another word, the pair rode off for the back of the company.

Eliana mounted Kal'Shalla to follow after them, shaking her head in disapproval. War was dangerous, and so many of their kind had perished already. Tyrande was trying to help keep Shandris alive by ordering her to stay behind, and the young female refused to heed those orders. Though Eliana knew how difficult it was to simply sit and wait, it was one of the few things ensuring Shandris did not join the numerous dead.