(2021-04-29) Oranna and Sparking Joy

Details

Author:	Athena
Summary:	Sir Elohad has given Oranna a three pronged attack for finding a way to heal the scars from past wounds, and she means to do her best to see them through. Chapter One: Horses and Letters. Chapter Two: Fireworks
Rating:	T for Teen

+ Show additional content warnings

PTSD

The journal had seen better days.

Granted, it had not been purchased in pristine condition to begin with — a discount had been applied as there had been some error in communication at some point, and it had been made with the wrong paper — a cheap, pulpy paper meant for the copper novels—and the human who had sold it to her had tried to gently inform Oranna that it was, in all probability, going to simply fall apart one of these days. The exterior was a rich, pleasant to the touch, soft cloth covering some variety of semi-fragrant wood. Oranna had purchased it almost entirely for the fact that it smelled good, like a cross between a forest and a library.

The original purpose of the journal had been a place to write down what she might need for the Company, trying to remember the members, if there were passwords and secret codes like in a novel, or if she had been expected to know military terms. As none of those things had come to pass, the journal had languished at the bottom of her pack, and more recently, been simply a nice looking object on the simple nightstand near the inn bed. Until the other week, it had been where the Bargrimm Rock had been placed, propped near the Dane Bar, with both holding up the small Cressidha Bag.

Now, the small journal was tucked into a nice sized pocket in her pants, and filled with several pages of notes.

First Prong of the Three Prong Attack: Find Joy Activities? Inspiration? Happy?

-Taking long walks in forest. Mountains? Like trees, and not being too warm.

-Tea. (Ask Bargrimm how to make tea the way he did? Ask how badly making tea can go? Ask if tea can explode if done wrong enough. Bargrimm should know.)

-Reading. Books. Learning? Stormwind Library.

-Seeing new places? Travel? Not gryphons. Maybe more walking?

-Eating: apples, apple pies, apple tarts — general theme of apples. Cheese, yes. Bread, yes. Maybe the occasional fire clams from the burning pits that Ivri made?

-Animals. Cats, wolves — yes. Birds — to be determined on an individual basis. Dragons — maybe? Boars — maybe only in cold areas, for the smell. Goats — they’re goats, liking them or not is immaterial, but they are a conduit to cheese, so possible joy? Horses — Unknown

Oranna looked over her list. It was not as long as she’d hoped it would be, and in some cases she had simply written down even just possibilities.

“What makes you laugh, or feel lighthearted, or awed, or inspired? That’s one way to move forward. To remember why you’re alive. What you want to do. Why you’re here.”

She had been thinking on it for the rest of the week, trying to remember what it was that she really enjoyed, and had not been pleased to see the meager list she had been able to come up with, or how many were things that she did so often that they were less bright spots of joy, and more simply nice things she had come to expect as part of her day.

“Something you know you love. That really just excites you or inspires you or makes you laugh. Or did before the war, anyway.”

The deep rush of sorrow when Sir Elohad had asked that had caught her by surprise. She wasn’t sure she could remember anything that she had done that did any of those things. There had been the books that she had read in defiance of her mother’s edict, but that had been nearly all. The rest, well, she was starting to wonder how long it had been that she had simply been surviving, even before the Second War.

“If you never had anything really joyous or fun or inspiring or beautiful in your head, even during the good times, what’s to compete with the bad stuff? Neutral isn’t a good antidote for bad.”

Oranna looked down at her journal, trying to think of more examples. It had seemed too pathetic to barely be able to name three things she could honestly say even came close to sparking joy or fun. She could barely even remember her childhood, before everything had gone wrong, when she had played with her toy sword and slain great monsters as the ultimate warrior, running and jumping off high places and landing dramatically that her youthful knees had happily shrugged off without a care.

But, those days had ended, and left very little in their wake, Irona’s diamond grip over her life crushing out everything that could potentially distract Oranna from her training.

Oranna traced a finger across the paper, where she had written the note on reading. Irona wasn’t there anymore. Oranna did not have to live by those rules anymore. And, she realized, that despite the years she had spent alone, she had been still following those ideals, to cut out anything that might distract her, that might not be for any reason at all except that it made Oranna happy to do it.

She needed to add to the list. Possibly time to find out how many of the maybes could become actual notes.

Well, she thought. Maybe it was time to figure out if she liked horses.

Oranna was already less sure of her plan the moment she stepped near the giant creatures, peacefully standing in the corral, some occasionally leaning down to nibble at the sparse grass at the edges. They had always looked rather interesting, from afar. Up close, she was suddenly extremely aware that they were bigger than her. A lot bigger than her.

“Best stay here, lass,” Oranna had told Befound. The leopard had yawned at Oranna, and curled up on the floor of the Menethil Harbor inn, clearly still tired from the journey. Oranna had wished she’d thought to bring the rug, but she had been trying to pack light with the Company going over land the long way. She would see if they were there longer, or if they were going to be traveling any longer, and if necessary hearth back to Ironforge, grab her other things, and then gryphon back. It would be irritating, but it was important to Oranna that Befound had her comforts as well.

Arranging a lesson had been as simple as explaining she had no intention to buy a horse, but was interested in learning how to ride a little. Silver exchanged hands, and Oranna had secured her first lesson.

The corral was a vaguely circular construction, mostly wooden, with a metal gate that could be opened and closed. It looked like an only slightly larger and sturdier version of the place that great-aunt Nettie had kept the farm goats. The center grass had been stepped on, and grazed enough that it was more pounded dirt than grass at this point. The human instructor, Krystal Hunter, had suggested a very old mare named Legend, who was particularly suited for a beginner, as she was “forgiving of mistakes” and “more woah than go.” Oranna assumed those meant something good, and had nodded along, willing to go with the woman’s obvious expertise.

The mare was a whitish, yellowish color, and was one of the horses nibbling gently on the grass near the edges. Oranna got a sense of placidity from the beast, but when Krystal brought Legend over, the sheer size of the creature had seemed overwhelming, despite the fact that as far as Oranna could tell, the horse had barely even taken note of the dwarven hunter.

“All right, let’s get started. Hm. I think maybe we’ll need a stool…” Krystal lead the horse over to a side and gestured to one of the young boys near the stable, explaining she’d need the saddle, the brush, and a good sturdy stool. The boy brought them back with an enviable swiftness of youthful enthusiasm and eagerness to please. Legend plodded over to where Krystal led her, and came to an easy stop with a very small touch from the human instructor. Oranna watched, taking careful mental notes.

Krystal gave Oranna a brush that was still a little too large for Oranna’s smaller hands, and explained that they were going to brush Legend down to ensure that there was nothing that could cause a saddle sore, and to help Oranna begin bonding a little with the animal. “Nice circular motions, like this, and a good amount of pressure. You don’t want her to think you’re a fly,” Krystal said with a smile. Oranna was not sure she wanted to know why the horse would think she was a fly, or what that meant about flies, but she nodded and did as she was told.

It was an awkward process, with Oranna needing to move the stool multiple times to reach the different parts of the back. She couldn’t get out of her head how large the horse was up close, how easily it could over power her if it wanted. It reminded her more of a bear somehow, an enormous lumbering creature that could do significant damage to her by simply turning too quickly.

Her nervousness must have showed enough that Krystal was concerned, and tried to reassure Oranna multiple times how calm and unbothered Legend was, how much the mare was just unlikely to do anything but walk very slowly with Oranna.

The saddling process looked like something akin to the way mages summoned things from the air, leather pieces and ropes and bits almost materializing from thin air in a tangle and then mystically sorting itself out into neat lines.

Getting up on the horse was another misadventure, where it turned out that the mounting block they usually used would be nearly a foot too short. A small adjustment was made until it was closer to Oranna’s height, while she fought off a blush. Everything was just always not quite the right size in the human lands, and this was no exception.

Learning the right steps to mount the horse felt once more like when Irona had tried to drill warrior stances into Oranna’s head. Right hand here on the saddle. Left hand there, gently on the mane, with the reins. Left foot push off, swing right over, wiggle foot into stirrup, hold here, separate the reins, thumbs up, find her seat.

Standing hadn’t been too bad. It was much higher than Oranna liked to be up, but not as bad as riding a gryphon. In fact, for a moment, it felt exactly the same. Same principles of just making sure she kept her seat, aligning her shoulders and hips so she wouldn’t stress the gryphon, and holding on.

Then the horse walked forward.

That was nothing at all what a gryphon felt like.

Oranna tightened her grip on the reins for balance, but Krystal immediately corrected it, explaining in quick terms that made no sense to Oranna about letting Legend have her head, and to not pull or squeeze the reins. Oranna nodded, feeling vaguely nauseated. After a few moments, however, when nothing bad happened, the dwarven hunter relaxed a little.

This wasn’t so bad, Oranna thought. She could live with this, maybe.

“You’re doing great,” the human instructor said. “But, try to tighten your core!”

“Tighten yer core!”

Oranna tried not to flinch at the words, and the memories they evoked, and didn’t quite catch it in time. Legend, perhaps thinking that it had been some sort of signal, sped up to a trot.

It felt to Oranna as though the horse had suddenly decided that it did not particularly care for Oranna’s teeth remaining all inside her head, and had decided to rattle them out by sheer force. She strongly suspected that tumbling down the side of a mountain with a Blackrock orc had actually been gentler on her bones. She tried to squeeze her thighs together to make the bouncing stop, but for some reason this only increased the pace, intensifying the bounce more.

“Please,” Oranna said between teeth clenched hard to avoid biting her tongue into several pieces. “Make it stop.” She kept her voice low, aware that she might spook the animal even more, and breathed rhythmically.

“Just breath, lass.”

“Woah, woah,” Krystal said, coming up beside Legend, and gently but firmly issuing Oranna instructions that the dwarven hunter tried to obey. “Relax your legs. Lean a little back into your seat more, there you go, and just gently, very gently, squeeze the reins. She thinks you gave the order to trot, so we’re just going to get her back to a walk, okay? And then get her to stop.”

When the horse had finally come to a stop, Oranna could feel her hands shaking. She smiled, but it was forced. “I’d really like ta get down, now, if tha’s alri’.”

Even if it wasn’t alright, Oranna was pretty sure she was finding a way down. Her face felt as though some of the bones had been rearranged, and her back was honking warnings at her like an enraged goose.

“Of course,” Krystal said, and it was clear she felt somehow responsible.

“It’s no’ yer fault. I musta spooked her somehow,” Oranna confessed. The human instructor smiled gratefully, but shook her head.

“No, it’s my responsibility. I’m not sure why she listened so quickly to you. Legend is usually a great beginner horse because ordinarily she ignores quite a few of those orders, even from her experienced riders. Normally, you could practically bounce your legs on the sides of her a dozen times and she still wouldn’t move into a trot. I really don’t know what got into her today.”

The instructor coached Oranna through the dismount, which was, if anything, even more complicated that the mounting had been, made worse by the fact that Oranna’s hands were still a little shaky.

The walk back to the inn was painful in more ways than one, as her legs appeared to have developed some sort of ooze like quality, with an uncomfortable burning sensation in her middle thighs, and the stairs were more difficult than they had been just an hour before.

Well, she thought. One thing possibly off the list. Horses were, apparently, something to be potentially appreciate from afar, but up close were less joy, and more pain.

Oranna limped a little over the bed, and sat down, pulling the journal out of her pocket and adjusting the note around Animals.

It was disappointing, to have a first excursion into finding another new thing, something that might spark joy, end in such disappointment. She was sure that Sir Elohad’s word had not been intended to create an exhaustive list, or that he would ever recommend quantity over quality, but Oranna wanted more. She was tired of living on so little, the minimum possible, trying to just make it through with what small joys she had scrounged up for herself over the years. There had to be more, and she was a hunter. Tracking things was part of what she did. She just needed to keep looking.

That was for the joy page, at least. And that had been in many ways the easier page, botched horse riding and all.

The second prong of the three pronged Sir Elohad Method was the Talking Page.

Oranna had slowly filled it with the names of everyone in Cobalt Company, in roughly descending order of familiarity and ease with which she felt comfortable talking with them about moments from her past that haunted her, clinging stubbornly to her mind like the ever present webbing from giant spiders in Duskwood.

She had added a star next to the names of those that she was afraid might react badly to one of the things she might tell them about, afraid of their judgement as she “aired the wounds” of the stories that crouched within her mind.

Almost everyone had at least one star next to their name. Ivri had two. Dane had one. Cassea four. Niris one. Cressidha two. Nilunelle three. Jo two. Auralind one. Sandy had three and a question mark. She felt conflicted even thinking of unburdening herself to the young lad—who was, apparently, nineteen, an age with Oranna still struggled to believe was accurate—afraid that she might be a painful introduction to some of the terrible things the world held for the human boy.

Sir Elohad was the only one with none at all by his name. It wasn’t that she did not value his opinion of her, in fact, she valued it very highly, but there was something about the paladin that seemed so deeply rooted in a well of unfathomable compassion that there was no fear for her that she would say something and be met with anything other than those warm green eyes telling her that it was all going to be okay. That backfired only a little, in that she knew it was nothing personal. Sir Elohad was like that with everyone, always ready to see the good in a person, and willing to reassure them that they had a place to find peace to heal.

And then there was Bargrimm. He had five stars next to his name.

She had felt that five stars were already excessive, and got the point across. She got it, she told herself, as her hand itched to put another star for an even six. She was very concerned about how he might look at her differently as she told her stories.

What made it make even less sense was that she had put his name at the top of the list in the vague order of who she felt she should speak to first and most, to find a way to take off the sharp edges of stories. She wanted to tell him, but the thought of what he’d see when she was done, well.

For some reason, it hurt worse to think of him thinking badly of her than most of the others in the Company. She warred with herself if he would. He was still much of a cipher to her, his eyes frequently concealed by his goggles, and it was clear he had significant control over himself. Even if he did think badly of her, he likely wouldn’t show it. Simply keep it close enough to his chest that she’d never know. Somehow, she thought, that was almost worst. Because she wasn’t sure she could tell when he thought well of her either.

“Sometimes people said exactly the wrong things. Some of them did judge me. But somehow…that helped too? This was the worst case scenario I’d imagined and…it didn’t actually kill me? They judged me and I just…kept on breathing.”

But, she had already assumed the worst—assumed he had thought nothing more of her than some broken casualty of the war, and it had clearly been incorrect. Even though it had hurt, badly, she had kept breathing. She hadn’t fallen over dead. One of the worst fears she had held deep within her heart, that it was obvious to everyone that there was something wrong with her, and that they only remained to out of pity, had still not been enough to make her simply drop to the ground, bleeding internally. She had been hurt, and sad, but she had recovered. In the end, it hadn’t even been accurate, just her mind overeager to believe someone thinking the worst of her.

"Jus' remember, Oranna — yer no' a cost or a burden t' anyone that knows ye. Yer a beam o' light into a dark mineshaft we're all tryin' t' scramble out of, an' th' rest o' us jus' want a chance t' be the same for ye, understand?"

She closed her eyes until she could actually hear his voice, in his odd but pleasant Wildhammer accent, saying the words. They had played insider her head over and over throughout the week. Had anyone ever said something—anything—like that to her before? Said, out loud, that she was not a burden? That they saw her as something bright in the darkness? If so, Oranna had long forgotten it, but she could not think who would have ever possibly said anything like that before. Not to her, not after she’d been old enough to remember things, after she started proving that she was not the promised warrior prodigy her mother had expected.

If she had been capable of hugging Bargrimm’s words to her chest, she would have. They seemed precious somehow. As it was, she had written them down in the book, on a page, just those words, as something to remind her of them.

Maybe he’d written back to her latest letter. She rolled a little off the bed onto her feet, and tried to test out her legs. Something was definitely sore in her thighs, and she groaned at the thought. Befound yawned at Oranna’s movement and stretched, before looking at the hunter’s hands. Oranna gave the command to follow. “We can at least go see if we’ve got some mail, lass.”

There wasn’t much mail in the box. A small letter from Ivri with rocks. Oranna had not realized how much a sign of friendship it was to send people fish and rocks, and she wished she had more to send to the others in the Company. It was some unspoken social activity Oranna had missed out on learning about, but she was happy she was finally catching up.

Bargrimm had written back, a small note. Oranna smiled seeing how he’d signed it “Rock.”

She’d finally told him honestly how much he did, truly, remind her of a rock, which was why she’d sent the first rocks that she’d come across that she knew were sometimes useful for tinkerers and engineers and such to him. They had just seemed like Bargrimm rocks, somehow. It had occurred to her only after half the note had already been written how it might have sounded though, to say that she’d found some rocks and they reminded her of him. Not everyone appreciated rocks. Some people thought rocks were unintelligent, which seemed strange to Oranna, as they were clearly not actually alive, and if they were, well, they were smart enough to not be ooze, so. Obviously rocks were superior.

It was something Auralind had said, that made Oranna feel more confident in telling Bargrimm her rock theory when it came to him. Or at least a part of it. Auralind had mentioned how her husband, who had died several years before, had been her rock, the person who had helped support Auralind while she healed and learned a new way to live with her eyesight stolen from her.

Oranna’s face turned a little pink as she looked at Bargrimm’s latest letter. Not that Bargrimm was like that for her. He was just a friend, and a friend of a friend. But, he was that kind of person, someone you could depend on like that; he was someone who sought to lift others up, and reach out a hand to those who needed one. Someone sturdy. Calm. Unflinching, and a little stubborn. He seemed to Oranna like the kind of person who had weathered so many things that another would have collapsed beneath the weight of, and Bargrimm had simply remained, refused to break. Now, he was a steady presence others could lean on, and he could bear it.

But, she wondered, how much of that was just what she saw now, after the hard work had been done, the worst scars healed up and hidden deep enough that a cursory glance would be insufficient to show them?

Like with Sir Elohad, who had fallen so far, in his lowest moment. She had seen that he carried the ghosts of his past, some — she suspected—too closely, but she had not seen that he had at once point been unable to do more than drink and beg on the streets of Stormwind. She could actually feel the waves of compassion and peace that surrounded Sir Elohad, when she was closer to him. It was a serene feeling, but it had also made him seem untouchable. She had heard the sorrow in his voice when he had spoken matter-of-factly about the worst things that had happened to him, but it had been said with such control that it had been Oranna who was more stricken with sorrow than the teller. Now, she wondered how much of that had been from him simply telling the story so many times that they felt more like rehearsed lines than something that had happened to him?

What had Bargrimm done, to seem so steady? He had said that he found his way back, on his own, and that he had wished he could have had someone who would be willing to lend an ear. Who had helped lift Bargrimm out of the hole he had fallen into? It did not sound as though his family had done the work, as Sir Elohad and Auralind’s had. A wave of fresh anger pulsed once through her veins, before she forced it down. For some reason, his family had not chosen to be that ear, be that rock, not for him.

She hadn’t been sure how they could have possibly not seen that he’d so clearly needed someone there. There was, of course, no going back. She couldn’t change the past. She could, at least, however, offer now.

Oranna had revised her letter half a dozen times, trying to find the right words to tell him how much she would be willing to be that ear, now. He had not replied to it.

Oranna had thought, perhaps, she had overstepped. But, when she had sent along the rocks, trying to convey her feelings about how much like a rock he was, to her, he had replied enthusiastically about how rocks made for great explosives.

Perhaps, she thought, he was simply past that step. Or, she frowned with concern, he might not want Oranna to see what he still carried, afraid that she would judge him for what might still be there, lurking in his own dark corners. She wasn’t sure she could say anything that wouldn’t sound ridiculous. She would have to hope her actions would be enough. Not that she was great with those either.

Why did it matter so much to her? She wondered, rubbing a hand over her face. She shook her head. It was fine. Perhaps he just felt that she was already holding too many of her own ghosts, and he did not want to worry about adding to them? Oranna knew she felt the same way when it came to her own, worrying that she would add to the other’s burdens while she shed the winter fur of her own stories. Maybe to him, Oranna did not seem like someone he could talk to about those darker days. She hoped he had someone he could talk to, at least, on the bad days, even if it wasn’t her. He deserved that, she thought.

She folded up the letter, and nodded at Befound to come back inside. When she got back to Ironforge next, she’d put it with the other letters. And in the meantime, she should write a reply to Ivri. Maybe she would get lucky, and she would find something else in Menethil Harbor that could be something new for her list. She smiled down at the letter. Maybe she would ask "Rocks" about it next time she saw him.

---

Oranna looked at the horses, trying not to stare too obviously. Something had gone wrong, when she had tried to ride before, but surely this was not unsolvable. It was true that she wasn’t especially motivated to try again, after all, it wasn’t as though she needed a horse to be her newest interest or anything. She had blinked at the named cost of buying one for herself and thought that perhaps yesterday had simply been a sign from the Light that this was not the way.

The rain had finally stopped at least. It was still gray and overcast in the Wetlands, but oddly warm and slightly muggy, the air an unpleasant sensation on her skin. She had let Befound stay behind to rest more. The leopard had still seemed a little lethargic, especially after trekking through the Wetlands with Oranna and Kenna the night before. Oranna had no intention of going out again without the leopard, so she had left off most of her leathers, wearing only the dark green shirt she’d worn to her business meeting with Tadget, and her sturdy woolen pants that were already some indeterminable shade between gray and brown as it was, so the mud that seemed ever present in the Wetlands wouldn’t show too terribly.

She brushed a hand over her hair, trying to smooth it back down from where it had surely frizzed up from the rain, and considered going back inside. She wasn’t learning much about horses just looking at them.

“Oranna!” She turned immediately—she knew that voice.

“Bargrimm!” She returned the enthusiastic greeting with a smile. The other dwarven hunter was breathing a little hard, as though he’d been running, but had a wide grin on his face.

“I figgered it out — yer las’ letter gave me an idea an’ well…” He handed over a handful of blue sticks that Oranna blinked at for a second, before gasping with delight. Fireworks.

“Wha! Ye made this?”

“Aye!” His grin was undiminished. “Had t’ trade a skinflint goblin f’r some leather but still…G’on. Give her a spark!”

Oranna began to, but hesitated, caution finally winning over enthusiasm. “Does it explode? Well, I mean, obviously it explodes, but, ah, the range…?” She gestured with her hand, holding it near and far from her face to indicate the safe for eyebrows range.

“Jus’ point it skyward, should be fine.” Well. Bargrimm still seemed to have all his eyebrows still, for what that was worth. Oranna nodded with excitement. She could feel her cheeks warming, as she lit the firework, and carefully aimed it upwards.

She could feel the explosive powder, and the sense of the force of the rocket as it launched out of its casing and into the sky. There was an exhilarating sense of controlled danger, and the firework shot up high enough to be easily visible as it suddenly branched outwards, illuminating a tiny, personal star of bright cobalt blue above their heads.

“Oh!” Oranna’s chest felt like it was about to burst into a similar star. “Tha’ was amazin’!” Bargrimm grinned again. Pure joy and adrenaline coursed through her veins, and she felt as though she were nearly vibrating with happiness. “This is incredible.” She meant both the firework itself, and how it had made her feel.

“Aye, got th’ color righ’ too — jus’ about as cobalt as they come.”

Oranna laughed happily. It was perfect. “Aye. I’ll ha’ ta show th’ others.”

“Oh, f’r sure. Could do a treat f’r any parties or whatnot.”

She beamed at Bargrimm, her face feeling as though it would split with the force of her smile. “Thank ye. So much.”

It almost seemed as though Bargrimm’s cheeks went a little pink. It was hard to tell in the overcast light, and half his upper face obscured by his goggles. “Aye, no worries, lass. Glad ye like it.”

“I don’t like it, Bargrimm. I love it.” She stressed the words as much as she could. Like was a pale thing for what she felt for the tiny explosives she held in her hands. “Thank you,” she repeated. “No one’s e’er given me somethin’ like this afore.” A small whicker sounded behind her, reminding her suddenly of where she was standing. She had completely forgotten, the world had narrowed down to just her and Bargrimm and a little starburst of colored lights. “I…probably shouldna light them so close ta tha horses though…” She glanced ruefully back at the stable.

“An’ if ye need any more, ye jus’ ask, righ’?” Bargrimm looked over at the stable as though he, too, had forgotten it was there. “Oh—yeh. Shoulda though o’ that meself.”

“Ye can make more?!” She looked down at the remaining bunch of fireworks with excitement. “I don’t ha’ ta save them fer a special occasion then?” She had intended to hoard them away, for whenever something magnificent had happened, but if he could just keep making them… Bargrimm nodded with equal enthusiasm.

“Jus’ takes a wee gram o’ blast-powder an’ some know-how. An’ th’ leather. F’r casing.”

“I can get ye more leather, if ye need it. I’d be happy ta. Fer such a good cause.” She winked, a massive grin still on her face.

“Come on, let’s set a few more. Outside th’ walls or something.” They turned away from the stables and walked out of Menethil Harbor, towards the small bridge. “How’s th’ Company doin’, anyway?”

“Well,” she said. “Tired, some of us.” She looked around for a good place to light her personal explosives.

“Long efforts?” Bargrimm said as he pointed to the middle of the bridge. “Off th’ main course.”

Oranna could feel her smile dimming a little. “Aye…it was…” She looked out across the water. “Gnomeregan was…well. I think it was hard fer e’eryone. An’ then the journey here, well, it took some time.”

“Yeh, I heard a rumor ‘bout th’ Gnomeregan expedition.” She hoped that was an oblique reference to the letter she had sent him, otherwise something had gone wrong with the mail. She nodded.

“Aye. It was fer Jo. Tha’…was why I was goin’. She needed it, an’, well…I understood. But it wasna at all wha’ I thought it’d be like.”

“How’s tha’? What’d ye expect?”

“I ne’er really understood how devastatin’ tha’ mus’ ha’ been. We ne’er lost Ironforge. An’ Gnomeregan…” She shook her head slowly. “Bargrimm, I cannae imagine how they’re e’er goin’ ta put tha’ ta right.”

He nodded soberly, but his lips quirked into a small smile. “If anyone has th’ brains for it, tho…It’s a whole people o’ smart folks, really.”

“I know. I jus’…think I thought tha’ maybe it’d be easier. Somethin’ we could go in, get some things done, come back up, an’ the cure would be ready soon, an’ we’d go in an’ patch things up, ri’ quick.” The devastation had been so much worse than she had thought. There would be no quick clean up. There were bodies down there, still, and things buried beneath rubble that she did not want to ever look at closely. The foundation had been destroyed or badly damaged in so many places. That was just the physical things; she knew just enough about building structures to know what she was looking at was nothing like a month or two long fix. Even if they could get the air cleaned, stop the troggs, and cure the leper gnomes, it would take years to repair it. The resources alone…it boggled her mind. At some point, something might be too damaged to ever truly repair. And it had all been, to her understanding, down to one man.

She looked down at the fireworks in her hands. “An’ we…we killed th’ one who did it.” It had been terrible. He had attacked them, obviously in the throes of madness, and yet she had been painfully aware the entire time that even if he had surrendered, begged for his life, that they likely would have killed him anyway. It hurt to know that she would have helped, because she knew what that felt like, how deep that need for death could go. “I…hope it gave Jo some peace. I know how I felt, hearin’ tha’…” She had to pause and take a breath, even now, just saying his name out loud felt like something twisted in her chest. “Doomhammer was dead.”

Bargrimm sighed. “Aye, nothin’ as simple as ye’d like, mos’ days. But seein’ it yerself, that’s…when th’ copper drops.” There was a world of knowledge in those words that spoke of firsthand experience, and Oranna felt her chest tighten at the thought of what he had seen that had given him that knowledge. “Glad t’ pass tha’ closure along t’ Miss Jo, tho.”

“Aye. An’ ta anyone else who needed tha’.” She thought of every gnome who might sleep a little easier, knowing that Thermaplugg was not just cast out of their society, but cast out of the world itself. She stared at the fireworks again, and went to light one of the fuses. “For Gnomeregan.” It was what they had said, all together, before going in to kill the mad former self-declared king of the gnomes.

“Aye!” Bargrimm shouted out, as the firework shot up and burst once more into a pure explosion of color. Oranna felt the same surge of joy again, her heart beating wildly at the sight. She grinned again, feeling immediately lighter than she had a moment before.

“Tha’ really is so beautiful.” She stared up at the sky where she could still almost see the memory of it lingering in the humid, stale air of the Wetlands. It was an incredible thing, and made even more so knowing that Bargrimm had just pulled it out of almost the air itself, mixing a little here and a little there until could do that. “It’s really amazin’, tha’ ye can do tha’. Jus’…make tha’.”

“Ah, well…Jus’ a way a mind works, I’m guessin’.” He said it with a humble note in his voice, and it made Oranna’s smile grow even larger.

“It’s a wonderful way fer a mind ta work,” she said, trying to fill her voice with sincerity. There were footsteps behind them, and a voice spoke from near her left.

“Wot’s all this, then?” Dane’s voice was a little gruffer than usual, but Oranna hardly noticed as she turned with delight.

“Dane!” She ran up to him. “Did ye see the fireworks?”

Bargrimm nodded at Dane, and the human man grunted. He squinted off at the horizon, scratching the side of his face. “S’that wot the ruckus was?”

“Look! Look!” Oranna held up the remaining fireworks closer to Dane’s face, although she carefully kept them pointing away from his face, just in case. “Bargrimm made this fer me!” She plucked one out and lit it. “Watch!”

Once more, the firework launched up, bursting with what felt like extra enthusiasm, as though it were fueled purely by the dwarven hunter’s joy. She laughed with delight, looking back at Dane’s face. He was frowning a little.

“Mm. S’been some time since I seen ‘em.”

Undeterred, Oranna asked, “Isn’t tha’ amazin’?” It was clearly rhetorical as she looked back up where there had been briefly a flash of cobalt in the sky.

Bargrimm eyed Dane briefly through his goggles. “We met before, lad? Been a lot o’ folks back an’ forth since I got down south here.” Dane shook his head in response with a grunt, but stepped forward to offer a hand.

“We’ve not, but I’ve heard your name.” Bargrimm reached out to accept the handshake.

“Dane, is it? Ye look like ye swing a mean blade. Pleased t’ meet ye.” The human man nodded once, as they shook briefly. He looked over at Keane, who stood watching the Wetlands.

“S’fine beast you’ve go there.”

“Aye, he’s a good lad,” Bargrimm replied, affection in his voice. “Hinterlands stock, if ye ever made it ‘round th’ Peak.”

“Long ago,” Dane said with a small shake to his head. “S’a lad. Wildhammer, are you?”

“Clan family, aye. Flintsparks been ‘longside th’ Wildhammers f’r more’n a few generations.”

“Good stock,” Dane said and Oranna stifled a smile at the strange compliment. “N’an engineer too, or sommat?” Bargrimm’s lips quirked up into a smirk.

“Got t’keep th’ hands out o’ trouble some way. Otherwise ye’d be seein’ a throwin’ hammer headed f’r the wrong spot most o’ th’ time.” He cracked his knuckles and laughed. Oranna blinked several times in surprise and confusion at it. It seemed such an unlike Bargrimm thing to do, to her.

“Aye, well said,” Dane said with an amused scoff. He glanced back and forth between Oranna and Bargrimm for a moment, before addressing Oranna. “S’Befound?”

“Oh, she’s back a’ th’ inn,” she explained. “She’s still tired. I don’t think she’s sleepin’ well here.” She ran a hand distractedly over her hair. “I didna bring her rug wi’ me, thought it was too much ta carry…but…” She frowned as she considered. “I think I mi’ need ta Hearth back ta Ironforge and take a gryphon back fer it. I don’t think she’s getting enough rest.”

“Aye,” Dane said, titling his head back and forth. “S’damned humid in these parts, innit. Nothing like the Morogh peaks.” Oranna nodded in firm agreement.

“Don’ talk ‘bout tha’ rug too loud, Oranna. Keane’ll think he’s bein’ ill-used," Bargrimm said, his voice light and amused when he addressed her.

Dane’s eyes darted back and forth between the two dwarven hunters again. “You lot shacked up, are you?”

Bargrimm burst into a coughing fit, as though he’d swallowed something down the wrong pipe. Oranna titled her head to the side.

“No, I don’t think Bargrimm e’en has a place in Ironforge.”

Dane’s expression remained unaltered as he said, “I mean are you courtin’ or sommat. Dunno much of how dwarves go about that.” At those words, Bargrimm sucked in some air and shook his head, an unreadable expression on his face.

Oranna felt a small surge of panic, one that took her a little by surprise in its intensity. Please, she thought, not again. Don’t tell me I did it wrong again, thinking I was just friendly, and doing it all wrong, and it’ll just be Rhadam all over again—no, no, of course it wouldn’t be, she reassured herself, trying to quell the rise of nausea at the thought, Bargrimm would never, he was nothing like Rhadam. Nothing like him at all. Dane had just misunderstood. He didn’t know, didn’t realize what Oranna was like. The thought of trying to explain to Dane that it wasn’t like that, that she wasn’t someone you could really court, because she wasn’t like Ivri who found people interesting in that special way—in front of Bargrimm, nonetheless — caused a bright spark of panic so strong she felt a wave of dizziness at it.

“Oh, ah…no, tha’s…I’m no…ah.” She felt her words tumbling out, getting worse as the panic worsened. “Ivri…” If Ivri was there, she would explain. She might even just sweep Dane away and tell him she’d explain later. Oranna looked around with hope that perhaps, somehow, Ivri would drop down from the sky itself as she had dropped from the rafters in the Stonefire Inn.

“Ivri?” Dane looked around, raising his brows. “Wot’s she — “

“Showin’ instead o’ sayin’ can go a long way.”

Oranna was absolutely sure that this was not at all what Bargrimm had meant, but the advice seemed to serve.

“Look!” She yelled as she hastily lit a firework. “A firework!”

The firework burst with all the strength it had, and despite the still burning embers of panic in her chest, Oranna felt better immediately, the bright twinkling lights soothing even as her hands burned from holding that one just a little too tight as it had launched.

"S’quite the bomb,” Dane remarked, as he watched it explode overhead.

“Not th’ only one,” Bargrimm muttered under his breath.

“Bargrimm made it,” Oranna said, her voice a little too loud. “He makes lots o’ things tha’ explode.” She paused and added, “Safely.”

“An’ some tha’ don’t!” Bargrimm added. “But those are f’r combat.”

“Y’look to be sommat of a huntsman yourself, Bargrimm,” Dane said. Oranna’s chest loosened a little more at the change of subject.

“Oh, aye. Been in th’ shops f’r a spell, but it’s comin’ back t’me.”

“Ye should see him in action,” Oranna said, relieved that both the men seemed to be willing to talk about anything else. She smiled at Bargrimm, remembering how far back he’d stood while they fought the worgen in Duskwood, his shots nevertheless finding their exact targets. “I don’t understand how he stays so accurate from so far away. He mi’ actually be a better shot than me, honest.”

“Eh, no’ likely, lass. Ye got a keen eye.” Oranna felt the last of the tension melt away at the compliment, her cheeks going warm again.

Dane scoffed in amusement. “Leave it to dwarves to shoot straight. Served with a great deal of mountaineers in the war. You serve?”

War. Ugh. Well. She had wanted a change in subject.

“First War, aye. Deployed wi’ recon company t’ th’ southern theatre.” Bargrimm waggled his left foot, which gave a metallic squeak. “Had t’ sit th’ others out, what wi’ this issue.”

“Reckon you’ll be moving with the company going forward? Seem we’ll be in these lands f’r a time,” Dane said, glancing around at the Wetlands.

“Aye, Ference mentioned t’be needin’ extra hands now an’ again. He knows where t’ find me, that happens.”

“L’be good t’have other trackers n’ gamesman around. Proper scouts can save the company a mess of trouble.” Oranna felt something sinking in her chest at the words. It was something she had known Sir Elohad had probably hoped to find in her, when she’d presented herself as a hunter, but she had owned up early on that with her sense of direction and lack of expertise, he would be better served not using her as a forward scout as much as a rear guard.

“Support an’ skirmish is where I cut best. Ye need somethin’ looked into, ye can always call f’r me.” He paused and looked over at Oranna. “Tho’ I’m guessin’ ye usually have tha’ sort o’ thing sorted right well wi’ Oranna here on hand.” The sinking feeling intensified. It was odd though. He had seen her in action, witnessed her having trouble navigating around Duskwood, getting startled by insane ghouls rising from the ground even after he’d predicted that it would happen. She looked over at him curiously, wondering why he’d said it with such confidence.

“Ye mean scout ahead? I’m no’ good a’ tha at all. I don’t ha’ enough experience fer it. I’m still learnin’, an’ too much o’ wha’ I know is jus’ theory, still," she said.

“I’ll take y’up on tha, n’aye,” Dane said to Bargrimm, and looked over at Oranna. “She’s a fine shot, n’ she’s got that beast of hers.”

“Well, ye made it this far, lass,” Bargrimm said to Oranna, his voice gentler. “So I reckon tha’ speaks t’ yer instincts pretty well, ye ken?”

“Aye, I mostly…provide support, from behind.” She felt herself squirming under the attention of the other two, especially from needing to admit her faults so openly. “Away from…well, I try mostly no’ ta get in Dane’s way. Or t’others, who figh’ in the thick o’ it.” She tried to smile, but she knew it wasn’t reaching her eyes.

Bargrimm gave a little laugh at her words. “I reckon most folks would be served pretty fair t’ no’ get in Dane here’s way.” Dane exhaled lightly.

“Wars’r not won only by those in the front. Everyone n’ the company’s a necessary sort.” The words bolstered her a little, and she smiled warmly at Dane.

“I cannae tell ye how often Dane here’s taken a blow meant fer me. He’s a righ’ good lad,” she said, partially for Bargrimm’s benefit, but also for Dane’s. “An’ it helps me do my best by th’ Company.” Dane rotated his shield shoulder, frowning and shaking his head.

“S’wot I’m here for. You’re here t’shoot.”

“That’s th’ way — everyone coverin’ th gaps f’r everyone else,” Bargrimm said.

“Damn straight,” Oranna agreed.

“Aye. Imbalanced army gets knocked over by a breeze, so I’ve seen.”

That sounded like dangerous territory, full of more mines of memories. Oranna looked down at her last remaining firework, and considered lighting it. Maybe it would help change the subject again. Except that it was her last one, and she’d wanted to save at least one to show the others.

“Ference a decent tactical mind, by most accounts, aye? Seems t’be doin’ right well by all o’ ye.” Oranna felt a wash of gratitude towards the other dwarven hunter. He must have read her discomfort again.

“Sir Elohad is lovely,” she said.

“Man was there for all three wars, leading from the front,” Dane declared firmly, holding up three fingers. “He knows which way the sword points.” That image made Oranna chuckle.

“An’ he knows people,” Oranna added, looking meaningfully at Bargrimm. “He only asks th’ best o’ people ta join.” Bargrimm returned her look with a smile, and a wink.

“So, what brings th’ Company t’ Menethil? Or are we hush-hush on assignment?”

“Aye,” Dane answered, smacking his lips bemusedly with a nod. “Some sort of secret shite. Don’t like it much. Prefer a proper face to face fight most days.”

“I think,” Oranna said with a sigh and glance at Dane. “Sir Elohad prefers us no’ ta talk about it where we migh’ be o’erheard. E’en this much.”

“Fair enough,” Bargrimm said easily. “Speaks t’ a wise mind. Loose lips an’ th’ like.”

“Aye,” Dane grumbled. He gestured towards Oranna. “M’not meant much f’rit.”

“I’ll admit, it has me nervous as well. I wish…well. It’d be a comfort o’ sorts ta at least be able ta talk about it, but.” She sighed and shrugged. It would do her mind a great deal of comfort to at least be able to Bargrimm what they were about, and how much it made her nervous as they closed in around the plans the Defias leader had laid, especially with Kenna amongst them, and how much danger it might be putting her in. “It’s Sir Elohad’s call.” She had promised to try to trust in him more. She did trust him. She was letting her worrying get the better of her again.

“Well, Dane, I reckon ye been ‘round enough t’ know tha’ a quiet march sometimes gets ye a better face t’ fact wi’ th’ opposition.” Oranna tried not to feel a tiny spark of envy that Bargrimm appeared to have no problem grasping human ages as she did.

“Aye,” Dane agreed raising a hand to scratch at his beard. “Aye. Builds the tension nice. Puts the blood on slow boil.”

“Naught wrong wi’ a good ambush in my mind. Reckon Befound would agree, aye?”

“Aye.” Oranna smiled with a nod, thinking of the leopard, likely napping on the bed while Oranna wasn’t there to catch her at it. “She’d be much happier ne’er bein’ seen until th’ last moment. There’s a reason her name is Can’t Be Found.” Dane hummed in thought, a low rumble in his chest.

“S’that’s the reason of the name.”

“But,” Oranna said, her mood sinking lower with every word. “I mi’ as well be called Not Subtle or Bear In A Forge, or somewhat. I don’t know how ta do all this…hush hush mystery novel stuff.”

“S’not for me either,” Dane grumbled. “But ‘cher well ‘nuff at it.” Bargrimm chuckled in clear agreement.

“Like ye said, ye’re learnin’. I’m no’ much good at th’ chatty subtleties either. Can lay a trap, jus’…no’ so much wi’ words.”

Dane glared at the thought, glancing back at the Keep. “In ‘quieter’ days like this words get more power. War’s hell, aye, but there’s something to be said marching with your colors in the sun. Letting combat sort things out.”

The human army's flags flap wildly in the wind, as the orcs scream in pain — the crush of bodies. Everything is so close, everyone is all over the place. Humans, dwarves, orcs, gnomes—she can’t keep them straight. Everyone is constantly in her line of sight, and she’s firing on automatic, she can’t stop it, Light, please, please don’t let her hit the wrong targets —

A spray of warmth on her face and arm, and Darnarath falls at her side, his eyes shocked and empty—no. He’d come so far. They’d lasted all this time! She goes to grab his arm, but Khaz is already there, barking the order, fire.

Fire.

And pray she’s hitting what she’s supposed to.

“Oh, ah,” Oranna said into the silence after Dane’s words. “Well, I’m no’…one fer th’…full march either.” Just keep talking, she told herself. Don’t say what you’re thinking, how you’d rather run back to the mountains forever than try to do that ever again. “I…don’t…do s’well wi’ th’…all th’ fightin’ up close, an’ armies…clashin’.” She felt almost lightheaded, and looked at the ground, close to using her breathing to calm down.

Bargrimm bent over suddenly, as if to rub some mud off his boot, and as he moved, his pauldron brushed Oranna’s glove. The touch sent a jolt of something through her, a spark of comfort behind it, and it steadied her. She smiled warmly at Bargrimm, grateful in that moment how easily he really did see right through her.

“I’ll take th’ complexity o’ peacetime given th’ choice. Less folk dyin’ tends t’ be in my favor," Bargrimm said as he straightened back up.

Dane’s eyes flitted back and forth between the hunters again, and lifted a single brow. “Why don’t you set off another one of ‘em off?” He nodded at her last firework.

“I only ha’ th’ one left, an’…well. I did want ta show t’others it,” she explained. “Did ye notice, Dane? He made it blue. Fer Cobalt.” Some lingering happiness settled around her again, a small dusting of the memory of the fireworks landing lightly on her shoulders, like tiny talons from a dozen sparrows.

"Aye. Blue’s a fine choice,” Dane said.

Bargrimmed grinned at Oranna, and passed her another batch of fireworks. “Tha’ should help a bit.”

“Oh!” She felt a rush of happiness, and looked up with a wide smile at Bargrimm. “Thank ye,” she said, again. She knew she was thanking him too much, but it still seemed insufficient somehow.

She lit it and watched it go, wondering all over again at it, laughing with delight at the explosion. Even after seeing all the others so recently, nothing had diminished in the sheer joy it brought her. “I want a thousand o’ these,” she said out loud, hardly paying attention to her words as she stared at the air where the blue sparkle had been “I’ll jus’ set them off whene’er I think I can get away wi’ it.”

“S’good signal flares,” Dane remarked gruffly. Oranna laughed at Dane, who seemed confused by the laughter, though not insulted by it. Someday, someone was going to need to teach the lad the meaning of the concept of fun. Maybe she’d get Ivri to try teaching Dane how to use fireworks.

“Oh, c’mon, lad,” she chided in good humor. “Let yerself ha’ a little bit o’ fun. No’ e’erything’ has ta ha’ a use.”

“Mm, aye. S’good…colors.” Well, she’d take it as an improvement. She wasn’t exactly expecting Dane to wax rhapsodic about the ephemeral beauty contained within the demonstration of the power of the science behind a controlled explosion made beautiful for a moment, and the meaning behind the gift itself adding to that beauty.

“Befound and this one do much fighting?” Dane gestured with his chin at Keane.

“Befound and Keane?” Oranna asked, confused by the sudden abrupt change of subject. Why was Dane asking if Keane and Befound fought? “No, they get along jus’ fine,” she answered honestly. “Well, I mean. Befound mostly ignores him, an’ Keane generously shares his space wi’ her, when they’re together. Tha’s about as good as ye can ask fer.” Dane eyed Keane for a moment, shaking his head, before he turned back to Oranna.

“S’not everyone that can tame beasts like these.” She shrugged and looked down at the ground, feeling the grin from the fireworks fade a little.

“Well. It was…one o’ th’ only things I was…sort o’ good a’. Jus’ naturally.”

“Beasts? Not surprising. Wot you know of horses?”

Oranna made an unladylike sound in her throat and stretched her back dramatically. “Well, I ha’ learned tha’ they’re capable of dislodgin’ wha’ mi’ be e’ery bone in my body jus’ by walkin’ funny. An’ tha’ I’m no’ great wi’ horses.” She thought of the terror of feeling totally out of control on the horse, unsure how to make the bouncing and shaking stop. “I…tried ta ride one. Yesterday,” she confessed. “It didna go well.”

“Wot happened?”

“I don’t know?” She shrugged. “I was on th’ horse, an’ then, I jus’…I don’t know. I did somethin’ wrong, or somethin’ too righ’? An’ it jus’ went from a walk ta, oh what’d she call it, a trot, an’ I thought my teeth were goin’ ta come loose. An’ I couldna stop it on my own, an’ it was jus’. Well.” She moved her mouth around in thought, shaking her head a little. “I think maybe I’m jus’ no’ meant fer horses. They’re…awfully big. An’ all I can think when I’m close ta them is how many ways they could crush me wi’out e’en tryin’ verrah hard.”

Dane scoffed with good natured amusement. “I know the feeling, lass. I’d watch ‘em as a lad. All muscle n’ hide. They’ve a tameness that can be brought ‘bout from ‘em.”

“They feel a lot different from wha’ I’m used ta, wi’ Befound, or e’en th’ goats I used ta look after, on th’ farm.” Well, she was willing to admit though that it should be just generally understood that goats did not conform to any real category, and were in fact in a category all their own simply labeled Goats.

“Oh, aye!” Bargrimm agree. “I’ll take a good goat against a cavalry horse any day.” Oranna laughed. She knew he’d understand.

“I’ve only experience with horses,” Dane continued. “Mainly the large kind, the bruisers. The kind of horse with enough guts t’charge an orcish warg n’ enough muscle to back up their actions.”

“Well, sure,” Oranna said a little dryly. “But, yer like two o’ me lad. I could barely e’en get up on th’ mare they had me start wi’, and she wasna a big lass.”

“Maybe so.” He grunted. “But’cha know beasts, ‘Ranna. Horses are no different than the wolf here, or your Befound.” At that, Oranna put out a hand and waved it back and forth, squinting a little, and Bargrimm winced.

“There’s knowin’ a beast, an’ then there’s knowin’ how tha’ beastie reacts ta ye. I’ve always had a way wi’ most animals.” She wasn’t counting birds. “But tha’ doesna mean I’ll always be able ta manage it.”

“Well, I mean,” Bargrimm added. “Horses are a wee bit different than yer average predator.”

“Aye,” Oranna agreed. “Prey animals. Different set o’ instincts.” And ones she had only read about in theory, not had to work with in practice.

“Aye, different foods, n’ sommat,” Dane said. Oranna thought to herself she’d work on that definition later. “But they’ve to be broken in, and lead.”

“I thought I understood enough theory ta work wi’ it, but…ridin’ seems ta be a totally different skill.” That was actually an interesting thought.

“Y’might say, but the Horde’s got their wolves, n’ raptors. Same principles’ll apply. N’wotever those tauren ride on…wot’s it….”

“I suspect it works both ways like tha’,” Oranna considered. “Ye migh’ be able ta ride a horse, lad, but I wouldna think tha’ makes ye fit ta go tame a…well.” She glanced around for inspiration and Keane gave her a small look. “A wolf like Keane, fer instance.”

“Aye,” Dane said with a single, emphatic nod. “I’d not mind having one of those terrors fight by my side, but I know m’not fit to run out and try’n convince one to do it.”

“I jus’…well. Maybe I’m no’ meant fer horses. Or gryphons.” She frowned and looked a the ground, considering. “Maybe it’s no’ th’ animal. Maybe it’s me. I mi’ no’ be a good rider.” That might explain how no matter how good she was with an animal, that it had not conveyed any particular skill with learning how to ride one. Perhaps she had written off horses too quickly, assuming that a botched ride had meant that the animal was, as a whole, incompatible with her. She would need to learn to be a better rider, first, before she could make that call in truth. How hard could it be to learn, after all?

“Are ye a good rider, Dane?”

“M’well ‘nuff,” he said with a small grunt. Well, then. Maybe he’d be willing to walk her through the basics, possibly on the ground or a barrel or something, not an actual horse. “Never was cavalry, never was a knight, but I tended the stables for a good many years.” Oranna gave him a smile meant for those who had shared the duties of mucking out a pen.

“Gryphons,” Dane continued, stressing the word. “Are proper terrors. Rival even dragons for the sky.”

“Oh, aye, tha’s a good comparison,” Bargrimm said with a grin, but there was an oddly discordant, bitter note in his tone, and in his smile. Something clenched in Oranna’s chest at the sight of it.

“Aye…I’m…no’ th’ best wi’ them, myself. I mi’ actually be better wi’ a dragon, honestly.”

“Ye ever see a flight o’ riders comin’ over th’ peaks, there’s a sight t’ raise yer heart righ’ enough.”

Oh, Oranna thought.

“Damned right,” Dane said, his eyes widening and pointing at Bargrimm. “I’ve seen it rouse hundreds of tired n’ hungry men.”

And it was something that Bargimm still might think, even now, was better than anything he could do, and the thought made the tight feeling in her chest grow into something closer to pain, afraid of what was going on behind those goggled eyes.

She smiled at Bargrimm, and reached out to touch his arm lightly, speaking as much as she could from her heart. “Honestly, I’d prefer fireworks ta’ tha’.” At the touch, Bargrimm smiled back at Oranna, and she hoped he was reading her as easily as he usually could. Almost, she could feel like something was passing back and forth between them.

“If you’ve issues with gryphons, lass, this is the dwarf to talk to,” Dane said, shattering the moment.

“I migh’ no’ be fit t’ fly one, but I can’t deny it’s a glorious sight.”

A small current of something close to rage zipped through Oranna’s veins at the words, and what it cost Bargrimm to say over and over that he couldn’t ride the beast that everyone would assume he had mastered, and she turned to look over at Dane, her eyes harder than usual. “No’ e’ery Wildhammer rides gryphons, lad. Jus’ like no’ e’ery Bronzebeard forges.”

“S’wot they’re known for, ‘t least,” Dane said, raising his brows as he glanced back and forth between the two dwarves. “’Sides from the hammers.”

“Aye, lad,” Oranna said, her voice still with that edge to it. “But we’re more than jus’ wha’ our clans are known fer. We’re jus’ people, like ye, lad. An’ some of us ha’ other talents.” Her eyes bored into Dane’s own, trying to will him into understanding her meaning.

“Aye,” Dane agreed. “Like the beasts.” He nodded at Keane. Oranna felt the feelings subside, glad for the human man’s perceptiveness.

“An’ fireworks.” She didn’t look over at Bargrimm, but she felt him watching as she lit another firework, hoping he would read in her face the very real joy they sparked in her heart every single time she saw it.

She glanced over at him, and saw him nodding slowly, grinning at where the flare had burst into color a moment before.

“S’bright,” Dane remarked, his face scrunched up, looking at the sky. Oranna laughed at that, the spark of happiness still blooming in her heart, making it easier to laugh, a wide grin still on her face.

Bargrimm glanced down at Keane, who huffed and pricked his ears toward the marshes. Oranna watched, noticing the fine movements in the wolf’s body language.

“Lad’s getting’ hungry, I think,” Bargrimm said, and Oranna agreed. “Migh’ have t’ leave ye to handle tha’ side o’ things for a bit.” Dane grunted and shook his head.

“Why don’t you two go’n a hunt. I’m thirsting for a pint.”

“It’s all righ’,” Oranna said, although she would have liked to go with Bargrimm and Keane into the Wetlands, but she wasn’t dressed for it, and she had left Befound back at the inn. “I should go back an’ see ta Befound. If Keane is hungry, I’m sure she is as well.”

“Aye, fair even. Good t’meet ye, Dane. Lookin’ forward t’seein’ yer talents one o’ these days.” Bargrimm had already begun turning, moving to leave, and Oranna felt the unexpected urge to reach out to stop him, to say one more time, what it had meant to her that he had come to give her fireworks.

“Aye, you’swell. I’ve only heard good things,” Dane said with a stern nod.

“Bargrimm?” At her voice, Bargrimm held for a moment, his brows raised just a little. Dane cleared his throat and looked away.

Quick, before she could change her mind or talk herself out of it, Oranna darted in, giving Bargrimm a very brief hug. He managed a gentle, quick pat on her back, before she pulled away. She could feel her face turning red, and she tried to fight it off.

“Thank ye. Again. Fer the fireworks.” She looked at him and Keane. “Stay safe out there.”

“Aye, an’ I’ll whip up some more soon!”

They said their goodbyes, and Oranna turned away before she was tempted to watch both Bargrimm and Keane until they were out of sight. It seemed odd to worry about the older dwarf, who likely had far more experience than her in keeping out of trouble, but she couldn’t help it. She wasn’t sure how soon he’d be back, but if he were staying in Menethil Harbor while the Company was, perhaps it would be soon. She would feel a little silly writing him a letter, while he might be just a down a hallway, but she would have the bank forward some of the things she’d kept in storage that might be useful in making more fireworks. She smiled down at the ones she still held in her hand like a bouquet of dangerous flowers. She would need to write it down in her journal later.

Bargrimm’s fireworks sparked joy.