Journeys - 8 (Patreon)

Late is becoming unfortunately normal. I should probably change my blurbs since they're clearly inaccurate...

Also, unbeta'd; Trestira is away till the 25th and I'm an awful self-proofreader at the best of times.

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The overgrown mass shielding Ulfar's Den from prying eyes split open for me as I approached, reliefs and niches containing ancient writings illuminated by the fading light of setting sun even in the shallowest reaches of the grotto. Yet, though the sun's light could not pierce its depths, a warm glow beckoned me further in and the warmth of the place bid me welcome.

Taking a breath of misty air, tasting the living essence of Ulfar's personal domain that ebbed and flowed so freely, I made my way forward. Mosses, lichens, and fungi thrived in the early reaches of the cave; some I recognised, including the notoriously rare ghost mushroom.

Fitting, considering what I'd learned of the Thornspeakers and their practices.

Descending deeper the sound of water began to fill my ears and the glow was revealed to come from candles left atop truly ancient stonework, flickering merrily yet not seeming to burn away at their wick or wax. Around each pool of light, amongst vibrant carpets of blue-green lichen so reminiscent of the grasses that surrounded Tal'Doren grew a panoply of wildflowers, thriving in spite of the sun's absence.

As I turned the last corner, reaching the den proper, I was met with an underground paradise. The twin to the aspen I had climbed outside thrived in this sunless cave, its branches host to a dozen gleaming lanterns that gave light to this place.

Scattered around the space, breaking through natural stone and worn flagstones alike, stubby firs marked nature's claim on this place; each surrounded by more lichen fields and wildflowers.

More of the ancient Drust's stonework, time-worn vrykul runes and carvings plentiful, filled every space the plants had not claimed. Foremost of all being the source of the water's trickling; a miniature pool in mirror to the enchanted spring outside, marked with a single runic menhir, took in a trickling flow from the cavern's walls.

"Your reunion with that man that sired you did not as you had hoped." Ulfar rumbled, coming out from behind one of the crumbling walls. "For that I am regretful."

I stared at him for a moment, my tumultuous emotions resurfacing. "Thank you for reminding me." I snapped harshly. "I had just managed to put him out of my mind. That and your rather blatant manipulations."

It didn't take a genius to realise he must've known Clara was my half-sister. Why else would he have put her in charge of greeting and communicating with me when I arrived? It was all to provide a contrast to my bastard of a sire, a family member that I couldn't just dismiss out of hand. A ploy to make me attached.

"Is it wrong to see to reunite my apprentice with a sister she has never known?" He asked rhetorically as he laid out a pair of steaming mugs – one far small than the other – on a stone slab before the pool. "Come. My tea is passable after so many centuries of practice."

Frowning at him I huffed. Really, I didn't even blame him for the manipulation. Compared to some of the things I knew the nobility got up to routinely it was positively tame.

The fact it worked despite me knowing it was a manipulation, however, was annoying. But that was why that sort of manipulation was considered the best; if it was something fitting for the person, something they wanted, it hardly mattered whether or not they knew it was a manipulation. They'd react the way you wanted regardless.

Kinship with long-lost family, without the baggage of it being the flaky motherfucker that was my father? It was everything I'd come here for and more.

"I've been on campaign," I grumbled, jumping on the chance to change the topic, "however bad it is it cannot be the worst I've had." Taking a seat on the lichen carpet and picking up the, frankly oversized mug that was scarcely a tenth of the size of his, I took a tentative sip.

It was surprisingly good, and while soothing that was only in the way a good herbal tea was. "Silversage?" I asked, feeling the minty aftertaste of that herb amongst the sweetness.

He shook his head. "I had considered using the leftovers of the star moss and liferoot brew I used for Morwin's ritual," he said, taking a long draught from his mug – larger than my bloody head – as he waved towards the nearly hidden forms of Athair and Athainne, "but it was made clear something mundane would be preferred. Simple honeymint from Stormsong, a preferred blend of mine for cold winter nights."

Meeting the glowing gaze of the Secret Keeper of the Forest I found it hard to say whether I appreciated or detested the warning. It was a clear invasion of my history, my privacy... yet it allowed the avoidance of a landmine Ulfar could not have known.

I nodded my thanks to the doe; I didn't have to like something to appreciate why it was done. Nor was there much point in holding a grudge against a deity for ignoring the foibles of mortals.

If I wanted to participate in that foolishness, Lord Renard existed and was my patron.

"Life and Death." I said, breaking the silence after a time of us both simply enjoying the tea. "The cycle of life, death, and rebirth. All things live, all things grow, and all things end. In that ending, in that death, new life takes root, and begins the cycle all over again."

Ulfar let out a low rumble that it took me a moment to recognise as a hum. "Those are a part of the whole, the cycle of spirits and the cycle of the forests. Yet, what of the beasts?"

My first instinct was to object: Animals weren't special, they weren't separate from the cycle anymore than a tree was – but there was something about the way he phrased the it. He separated spirits from forests, and he called it the cycle of the forests not plants. "By forests you mean nature as a whole." I stated, receiving a short nod of agreement.

Life, death, and rebirth. The great spirits like Malorne, Cenarius, and all the Wild Gods came back. They rested for far too long in the dream but eventually returned – the cycle of spirits. Not apart from nature but they had rules of their own.

From Ulfar's point of view, from the view of the Thornspeakers, beasts did as well. And thinking back on what I'd already seen, I knew what it was.

"The living take strength from the dead and make it their own." I said slowly, gaining certainty as I spoke. In time they die, and another takes their strength for themselves. Thus does it pass down through the ages."

He smiled kindly, like an ancient grandfather looking down on their great-grandchild's first steps. "For all our ways are strange to you, you show more understanding in days than many do in years." His smile, his words, his genuine joy, they were all startlingly warm. "Should you wish to learn more I offer the warmth of my hearth and the shelter of my lodge."

Despite myself I felt strangely tempted by the offer. "I will have to refuse." I said, knowing I had not the time for it. Nor would I be truly comfortable touching on Death magic.

I may have determined that it was different from what I knew, but it was... still uncomfortable. A moment of revelation wouldn't remove the revulsion I felt entirely, no matter how undeserved that revulsion might be.

"However," this was a perfect time to bring up something I had considered asking of the Thornspeakers while I calmed myself after Gunther, "the insights of the Thornspeakers into Death and its part in the natural cycle would be a great boon to the Alliance. The Scourge, the undead monstrosities that plague the continent, are a mockery of all that lives; a vile repudiation of the cycle the Thornspeakers are sworn to uphold."

His smile faded as I spoke, but still I pressed on. "The balance has been broken, High Thornspeaker." I met his gaze with steel in mine, the horrors I'd faced in defence of the wall flashing through my mind. "Darkness has swallowed the north and comes for us all. The question is whether you shall face it alongside us."

Silence fell in the grotto, nothing more than our breathing and the trickling of water to be heard as the old giant lowered his eyes to his tea thoughtfully.

Even as Athainne rose and made her way to the pool to drink the silence is not broken. Her midnight coat flickered in and out visibility under the lantern light, her hooves fading into the shadows which swallowed the sound of her footsteps.

"Gods walk the land once more, Ulfar." I sighed. "Sleepers awaken from the dream, demons prowl the world, monsters lurk in the dark, and though we have averted one doom another will approach soon enough. We live in a time of upheaval – if you do not reveal yourselves, you will be revealed in time. Perhaps when it is too late to help, or, if whatever it is you fear returns, too late to be helped."

Letting out a titantic breath, enough to set my hair blowing in the wind of it, Ulfar stood from the stone table. "Something stronger than tea." He mumbled, retreating into the recesses of the cave.

When he returned, falling to his seat, he held a heavy wine skin and his beard was already stained with the stench of alcohol. His eyes now showed his age more than ever; not just the wisdom and knowledge he carried, the surety of his presence, but the centuries that weighed down on him like a millstone. "I am the last of the Drust." He said, taking a deep swig from the wine-skin. "Drustvar is my land and I am of Drustvar. I cannot, will not, depart this place great cause." He sighed tiredly. "Yet your words ring true: Something must be done."

"And if you asked it of your people, something would be done." I pointed out bluntly.

Ulfar snorted at me, taking another swig. "But what? I know little of the mainland or its politics, I know less of this Scourge, and I know what little you have spoken of your Order of Amber." He waved a hand at me. "We will learn and then we will decide."

I frowned down at my tea, finding myself disappointed in his response. I shouldn't be, it was an entirely reasonable one; what sane person would commit their people to a cause on the say-so of one measly girl?

None. To the detriment of far too bloody many.

"Fine." I huffed irritably. "I'll write a letter of introduction for whomever you send to the Order, since that's the most obvious avenue of you learning more." Grabbing the cup I drained what was left, almost wishing it was something stronger myself. "Suppose we should find something else..." Trailing off I hummed. "'Great cause', you said." I let a smirk form on my lips. "Ulfar, would you consider stopping your slumbering vrykul kindred from being turned to the worship of the Lich King, the ruler of the Scourge, a 'great cause?'"

He paused with the wine-skin halfway to his lips, eyes flicking to Athainne beside us who gave no tell that I could see. "You were surprised by me." He said calculatingly. "Not by my stature or what I am. You were surprised by where I was – that I was here, in Drustvar."

"More or less." I shrugged, finding some amusement in his surprise. "You're a Drust vrykul just as I'm a Gilnean human. The Winterskorn and the other Northrend clans aren't Drust... but they are vrykul."

Slowly, Ulfar started to chuckle. "You call my manipulations blatant, yet now you offer me kin I had thought lost to time centuries ago?" He shook his head, putting the wine-skin aside. "Tell me of them and I shall tell you of the Drust. Not the Thornspeakers, but... my people."

-oOoOo-

"And so those parents who could not bear King Ymirjon's cruel order hid their 'cursed' children from his sight, sending them away in secret to be raised amongst the glades of Tyr's Fall." I laid out the last part of the story for Ulfar, the piece that tied the Order of Amber to our ancestors through the millennia. "There they taught us to survive, to thrive, despite our 'weak' bodies. Though in time they faded, their memory fading into myth and legend, we still uphold their ways. We still remember what they taught us so long ago."

It had taken more than an hour to detail all that I knew of the vrykul and their culture to Ulfar's satisfaction. It was not all one-sided, I heard much of the Drust's culture in turn, where it compared and contrasted to the vrykul.

Despite the ages that separated them, even the sheer distance and difference in climate between Northrend and Drustvar, far more remained the same than changed. No one could claim that titan-forged races did not cleave to type; vrykul were, at their heart, a warrior people who upheld valorous deeds above all else.

Not that revering feats of strength made them good people; a sense of honour was a poor replacement for a moral code. The fact they would so easily align with the Lich King made that clear.

"To think that Gorak Tul's madness was merely a repetition of a more ancient evil." Ulfar breathed tiredly, then slowly began to shake his head. "No. From what you have told me of my northern kin I could no more change their path than Sef Iwen could that of Gorak Tul. Not so long as they believe humanity is a curse placed upon them by their once-gods."

I frowned. "Not as a whole, no. But there will be some amongst them that were reluctant, some remnant of those who could not slay their own children."

"How would one know?" He asked, taking a long swig from his wine-skin. "Would you wake them, one by one, and kill all those that speak hatred? Spare only those mourn children long since past? Read the truth of their hearts to know?" He scoffed, but it was filled with resignation and weariness, not condescension. "I know of no magic to achieve such a thing. No, it is better to leave them to their slumber until the skein of fate offers a clearer path."

Pushing against the ground he rose to his feet. "Yet those of Stormheim remain? Serving this... All-Father." He hummed deeply, eyes turning to the pool, then gesturing towards it; or rather the menhir behind it. "Do you know what that rune represents?"

Glancing at the carved stone I squinted, trying to clear away the tired bluriness maring my vision. "It's... the ocean?" No, that didn't seem quite right... "Waves? Something acting on the ocean."

"Close, but no." He huffed. "Before we Drust came to worship the beasts of this land, the great wilds and their power, we had another. A cherished guide who led us across the ocean to these isles. Much was forgotten, long before I was born, but some still remains: 'The king of lies rules from his high mountain, most faithful cast into dark depths with cruel purpose; exiled for knowing, her whispers guide us to new lands.'"

"Her name is a secret of the seas. Guarded jealously by all." Athainne whispered softly, her breath trickling along my skin like liquid shadow. "But these isles call her Tidemother."

Ulfar nodded to the doe, watching her carefully, as I shivered. "What you have told me leaves a question in my mind. Were either the king of lies or the whisperer herself amongst the keepers?" After a moment, in which Athainne offered not further insight, he turned back to me with a sigh. "Of the keepers, who ruled over the seas?"

For a moment I stared at him blankly, blinking sleepy eyes. The seas? I had absolutely no idea. It was puzzling, really, but even the best fits were a long way off; hodir was the king of the frost giants, he held dominion of winter and ice, thus kind of water... but that wasn't it. Then there was Thorim, who was the Storm Lord, but... storms weren't oceans, even if they were often linked.

In hindsight it began to see like an oversight. Gol... there was a Titan who ruled over the oceans, so why not a keeper? "There isn't one." I shook my head, only stopping to stifle a yawn. "But the king of lies? That is easy. Loken."

Who else could it be but the Deceiver? The Corrupt, the Betrayer, the Keeper of Lies himself 'ruling' as prime designate from the high mountains of the Storm Peaks.

With the long lives and memories of the vrykul it was believable that bits and pieces of an exile from Ulduar would linger so long. Even after what must've been a second migration, one after the Sundering that made Kul Tiras into islands. The only question was still who the Tidemother was – and to that, I had no clue.

Neptulon? Maybe? But he was, firmly enough, male.

"The traitor." Ulfar hummed. "Perhaps. With so little remaining, the lack of care for those ways even in my youth... I suspect we will never know." He held out a hand to me. "It is late and time I retire. You as well, I believe. Do bid Clara a farewell before you depart."

I grasped a single finger, letting him effortlessly pull me to my feet. "I will." Part of me felt I should push, to try and convince him to help again... but honestly I just wanted to sleep. "Goodnight, Ulfar."

-oOoOo-

"Thornspeaker Gladeheart!" I called out as I approached the man and his companions. They sat around a fire, cooking what smelled like a hearty stew, as they chatted amicably – most I recognised as those that had joined him as a bramblebear, though I hardly knew their names. "I didn't have much of a chance to congratulate you on your success yesterday, nor to apologise for stealing the limelight as I did."

Morwin raised his head and turned a curious eye towards me. It was somewhat relieving to be speaking to someone who was actually shorter than me when they sat; even if it was only by a head. "No hard feelings here," he grinned widely, "rather liked the distraction if I was bein' honest."

One of his fellows chuckled. "Got a chance to sneak off with his lady after. Had their own private celebration of becoming a bear."

"Not that we couldn't hear all the roaring!" Another laughed.

"I only roar," the woman at Morwin's side growled fiercely as she half-rose from her seat, hands extending in front of her like claws, "when I gut fools who make fun o' me an' mine."

Morwin snaked an arm around her and pulled her closer. His cheeks were tinged red, but if anything he was grinning harder now. "What matters is that the people I cared to be with were there. Ain't a problem at all." He dipped his head lightly. "And thank you for your kind words."

I smiled back warmly, trying to ignore the continuing byplay of innuendo and death threats that flew back and forth over the fire. "Not just words." I pulled out a small token from my pockets and dangled it towards him where it caught the fire's light. "Though I hardly had time to craft a proper gift, the aspen were more than willing to work with me this morning."

Red leaves glistened in the firelight as they spun they twisted upon the cord, each one still holding their living vibrancy as they framed a bone-white bear's head I had called forth from the trees that had taken part in his ritual. As gifts went it was still rudimentary and plain in my mind, but it was the best I could manage in such a rush.

"It should hold some of the bear's power, though only a spark." Had I crafted it last night it would've been stronger, the echo of the ritual he went through ringing louder in the aspen colony's essence. "I hope it serves you well."

Several heads peered at it closely as I dropped it into his waiting palm, but he held it drew it close and out of their reach with a chuckle. "You needn't've, girl. But I accept gratefully."

"I'll leave you to your celebrations, Thornspeaker." I dipped into a curtsy before turning away. "Life Warden's blessing go with you."

Walking away I heard their good-nurtured banter pick up again, an argument quickly forming over who would get to examine the 'foreign craft' first. Honestly, I wondered why they bothered; his ladyfriend was going to win.

A few Thornspeakers caught me as I sought out Clara to bid her goodbye. None of them ended up being terribly important and, wanting to be gone sooner than later, I escaped them quickly; the wishes of safe travels and various animal blessings were welcome, as was one old lady offering commiseration over her own, long dead, 'salty' father.

Kul Tirans having a name for the kind of father who'd get a girl pregnant before sailing away, never to see them or their child again, didn't exactly make me happy... but her story of how she got her own back, short as it was, was amusing enough.

In the end, I didn't find Clara – she found me. A bird, all branches and leaves save it's eerie skull, fell out of the sky beside me.

With a wrenching crack that startled me more than the appearance of the bird did, Clara shifted into her far-to-tall human form. "Gwen!" She yelled, grabbing me as if I was about to vanish. "I almost thought you'd left... I..."

"I was looking for you." I huffed up at her, tentatively reaching forward for a hug – and quickly being engulfed by the larger woman, my face pressed into her torso. "Wouldn't leave without saying goodbye to my sister. I came here looking for family and, unlike him, you didn't do anything wrong."

She laughed, the sort of laughing one does when they're not sure what they're feeling. "Yeah... thank you." She let go, giving me a chance to breathe. "He's... he was never a bad father." She mumbled sadly, not seeming to recognise that it was something I really didn't care to hear. "Even asked permission to court Lorena before he did..."

I bit my tongue, holding back the words I wanted to say. That he thought it only mattered here, with people who had power.

Maybe I was being biased and he wasn't some kind of classist bigot.

But, frankly, I didn't sodding care.

"Anyway!" She shook her head. "I... wanted to hear about your mother? How you grew up and where you live?" She looked away as she smiled awkwardly. "If that's alright."

Part of me wanted to get it over with a fly away, but at the same time... this woman was my older-sister. "Alright." I said with a huff. "But only if you tell me about your mother in exchange, and what it's like being a Thornspeaker growing up!"

-oOoOo-

The shape of the Indefagitable stood out like a sore thumb amongst the Kul Tiran ships that filled Boralus' harbour, her hull and masts shaped in a distinctly different style to the fleets of the Proudmoores. But though I briefly admired the sight of Gilnean ingenuity as I cut through the wind towards the ship, my attention was caught by a spot of red that stood proudly on the decks.

Letting out a loud croak I circled briefly, ditching the height that had carried me over the rooftops, before folding my wings in and diving.

Vivi opened her arms wide and caught me, twisting into a spin that set me laughing as I returned to my human form. "Welcome back Gwen!" She cried exuberantly. Keepers, the smile on her face, the light in her eyes from seeing me...

"I'm back." I couldn't help but smile back, my heart beating from more than exertion even as it started to hurt from what I'd done. "And I'm sorry for leaving you." My eyes fell and my hands clasped in front of me. "I shouldn't've flown off loke that. Not without saying goodbye."

I'd been thinking of how to apologise for much of the flight back. What I did felt right, to snub Daelin, but it hurt Vivi. I forgot about her in the heat of the moment like a cruel idiot.

No matter how much I loved her I wasn't acting like a good girlfriend. Like the one she deserved.

"You're right. You should have said goodbye." Vivi huffed, crossing her arms across her chest. "But..." She mumbled, sounding a little sheepish. "It was cool – you should've seen the look on Proudmoore's face!" She started snickering and I looked up, seeing forgiveness in her eyes. "I just wish I could fly too, then I could've joined you."

My own giggles started up in turn. "We'll find something. Even if I have to figure out how to be big enough to carry you!"

There were forms that could carry people, birds that were big enough – ravens that were big enough! I'd figure it out for Vivi, and then we could both jump out of an arsehole's tower and fly away.

With that thought in my head, the picture of Vivi riding on my back as we flew off into the sunset, I stood up on my tiptoes and caught her lips in a kiss. My cheeks were burning with delight at the thought; flying with Vivi would be the best thing ever.

She wrapped an arm around my head, holding me closer as the wind rose around us, curling in swirls that set our hair aflutter and mixing in a melange of red and brown.

"Ahem."

We snapped apart, both blushing furiously as our eyes turned to – oh Tyr, I just snogged Vivi in from of Admiral Candren...

"Much like Lady Mistmantle I am glad to see you return, Gwyneth." He said, a single raised brow passing a truly extraordinary amount of judgement upon us. "However, before the two of you retire to... enjoy one another's company, perhaps we can speak of the success of your task? Did you find these 'Wicker Men' of the Kul Tirans?"

"A-ah..." I cleared my throat, trying not to let the pitiful whine that escaped be too loud. "Um. They're called the Thornspeakers, and yes. I also found... family. A half-sister five years my senior. It was... enlightening."

"Senior?" He frowned at first, but it quickly morphed into a scowl. "I see. Typical Kul Tirans, giving all sailors a bad name."

Vivi was a little slower on the uptake, though not by much. "Wait, that means– he had a child when he–" She glowered furiously at the city, as if she could ignite Gunther through sheer spite despite the distance. "You better have kicked his arse!"

"I got to see his eldest daughter tear out his heart in front of all of his peers." I said with a vicious grin. "She did not take kindly to him cheating on her mother. Not one bit."

Clara had told me what the significance of the necklace she'd torn away from him was. It was the gift her mother had given him as part of their marriage ceremony, one of the bones of her ancestors passed down through the generations. As the bearer of that family's blood, by taking it from him, Clara had marked him as an oath-breaker in front of them all.

Still would've liked to slap him silly, truss him up in thorns and hurt him, or see Clara do it, but... it was good enough for me to be satisfied.

"Good." Vivi grabbed my hand and held it tightly. "Is... Clara a good sister?"

"I... don't know?" It wasn't as if I'd ever had a sister, but comparing her to my brothers from before... "She's a good woman, if far too bloody tall," I grumbled for the sake of it, "but she wants me to be family and... I do too." If she was a Gilnean I'd try to keep in contact via raven, but with her living in Kul Tiras that wasn't going to work... where was the Azerothian postal service when you needed them?

Maybe something to bring up when we got to Ironforge. On which note... "Where's Darius and Frazzle? I'm guessing Vivi felt me coming, so..."

"Lord Crowley is finalising some matters regarding the repatriation of Gilnean refugees to Gilneas." Admiral Candren answered easily. "He has moved quarters to the ship, so he will return by the evening. Magus Tindersnap on the other hand–"

"Is supervising Trix and Tricks' playdate with Finnall." Vivi snickered gleefully. "The moment the ship got into port she was kidnapped to befriend another princess!"

I glanced up at the looming towers of Proudmoore Keep, just imagining Trix somewhere within trying to hide a looming princess induced panic attack. "How does she manage this?" I asked, utterly bemused. A moment later I let out a gale of laughter.

Trix was a bloody princess magnet. Jaina wasn't even here and she managed to find a Proudmoore princess to befriend!

-oOoOo-

"By Hodir..." I whispered, ignoring the repeated bellowing of the foghorn that ripped through the air as I stood on the deck of the Indefagitable. What lay before us was... I just didn't have words. "No wonder they consider that mountain sacred..." I'd flown across the Duskrock Peaks with Lorna and Vivi, I'd climbed into the Alterac Mountains to find the Frostwolves.

They were nothing compared to the endless slopes of Khaz Modan.

For three days they had steadily grown on the horizon. First had come the great peak, white with snow that would never melt – but it was just one amongst many. Dozens more peaks made themselves known, then the slopes that flowed down, and down, and down.

What blocked out the horizon was less of a mountain range and more a sheer wall of stone that denied the ocean's existence. And despite the fact that we were at the tail end of summer, coming out of the hottest days of the year, more than half the mountains' slopes were still blanketed in white snow. As if the seasons meant nothing.

"Get those cables tied!" Admiral Candren bellowed at the crew. "The currents are fiercest at the base, we need the tugs to guide us in!"

Two answering horns sounded out from the Gnomeregan tugs as they pushed up against the Indefagitable. The paddlewheels at their rear fighting to keep them in place as they guided us into port against the currents. A port that didn't lie on the open ocean.

No, there was no land here, only cliffs and mountains. Deeprun Port, the port of Gnomeregan, was built into the wall of stone itself. A titanic cogwheel embedded into the mountains that stood half as tall as the Greymane Wall out of the water, and surely did the same below – the national symbol of Gnomeregan was no lopsided creation after all.

Slowly it split apart, the two halves turning away to open up the great cavern of the port for our entrance. A cavern that could hold two, or more, Indefagitables stacked atop one another. Masts and all.

"Gnomes... don't do anything by halves, do they?" I asked rhetorically, sparing a glance at Frazzle as she peered at the sight beside me.

"Well. There was the whole crash-expanding of the marine corps in the Second War..." She mumbled. "But, ah, I didn't know Deeprun was this big?" She looked up at me, mouth widening into a giddy grin. "I've never been to Gnomeregan! I've only heard stories from my family! It's exciting."

Leaning towards my other side, where Vivi stood, I rested my head on her shoulder. "Yeah, it is." I was really getting to see the wonders of Azeroth. Maybe... maybe I could find the time to visit the Stonewrought Dam?

I'd always liked Loch Modan, and it could only be more impressive in real life.