Ranith was engaged in a time honored activity of her people, flight. They'd been running for ten thousand years, and it had come to them once again. She cursed vividly under her breath, head lowered against the nonstop drizzle. "We are a joyous people, Ranya. Never forget that." The words were a promise from her parents, but they haunted instead of comforted. Even before she'd been set on this path, Ranith had rarely felt joyous. And now, nothing could bring joy to her heart. She carried on because she had been told to, and that was more of a direction than she could come up with on her own. Behind her rested Shattrath, the City of Light… or it had. By now, its defenders, her parents among them, must have fallen. And hers was the generation that ran now.
"You are our only, Ranya." Her mother had hissed when she'd tried to stay. "Our only. If you die… Then we both die as if we have never existed." Her father had remained silent in the shadows, willing to allow his spouse to do the arguing, but Ranith knew he agreed. Nothing could convince either of them to reconsider their stance, and that stance had been reflected by Ranith's teachers. She must go. The people must carry on… except the nihilism that had gripped her soul asked those questions that shouldn't be asked.
Gravity and shifting muck jolted Ranith out of her fugue, knocking her to her rump in the deep, slimy mud. She sat for a moment, contemplating utter defeat. Why go on? The answer to that was simple, if she wanted to die there were better places and worthier causes to do it. She fought back to her feet, and stood. Her people were not designed for swamps, on firm ground; Ranith was graceful, speedy, and delicate. All of her weight was balanced on cervine legs that terminated in small cloven hooves. Those small cloven hooves punched through this muck and left her slogging and panting, weaving uncertainly from hillock to hillock. "Bah." She grumbled, finally raising her head to study her surroundings. She needed to rest, perhaps to eat, and the rain seemed to be increasing from its earlier monotonous drizzle. There would be no clean, dry clothes… she carried everything she owned. No shelter, either. She was such a baby, spoiled, hadn't she learned how she was supposed to do this from the legends, the stories? She sighed. The stories were one thing, but the reality another. Nothing changed the fact that she was alone, in the middle of an unfamiliar swamp, headed towards some nebulous destination.
It took her awhile to find any sort of shelter at all; a large trunk had fallen over a dip, and had then been overgrown. Underneath was drier than she could have hoped for, and she curled up and fell asleep immediately, pressed into the deepest part.
The rain was steadily increasing, and Alexei stared morbidly into the sky. He hated Zangarmarsh. He hated the fact that he'd been pulled off of duty and sent this way. With Shattrath under attack, holding the enemy off of the city's flanks had seemed direly important. There was nothing important here, but duty was duty and an order was just that.
Rain, rain, and yes, more rain. He could feel his armor rusting as he stood, and he was afraid to look at the sword he carried slung over his back. He contemplated his surroundings, pulling thoughtfully at one of his tentacles as he did so. It was getting late. The footing was bad, sinking under his considerable weight with every step he took, and he didn't want to risk it in the dark. Time to seek whatever shelter he could and carry on to the Harborage at first light…
He was pleased to find the overgrown spot, and much less pleased to realize it was already occupied. His hand was on the sword the moment he heard stifled breathing, and he dropped into a careful stalk. He needed that shelter, and was willing to fight over it…
He dropped his grip a moment later. He was willing to fight over it, yes, but not willing to fight one of his own. He could see little of the occupant, but enough to prove his identification… she, and that was definitely female, was one of his own. She was curled into a painfully tight fetal knot against the back of the indention, but that skimpy tail and those small, angled hooves could only mean one thing… Female draenei, one of those he was sworn to protect. One of his own very endangered race, out here... Perversely, her presence made this so much easier. She was something of his to protect. Some reason to be here, other than a coward's flight, ordered or not.
