She stumbled over the stones, feeling little pangs in the still tender flesh of her paws. Her feet were still sore… but she had to keep going, the dawn light would be soon and her masters would expect the flat bread to be ready, the breakfast stew to be hot .
Wei sniffled and rubbed the back of her paw against her face, shuffling down…down stairs, and into the kitchen of the Westgarde base. She moved dreamily, still lost in the nightmare and out of long habit and new knowledge, grabbing at the large, generally omnipresent bag of flour that lay near the ovens. Flat bread. Scoop after scoop into a big bowl…water…salt… The cook, hearing the clatter, soon scurried up the steps from the larder and immediately began to scold her.
“Miss Wei! What are you doing here at this hour? I’ve told you before, you don’t need to come help us, dearie, we’re quite well on our own, you should rest…” She blinked, noting the odd way Wallaroo seemed to move, and the start the pandaren gave when addressed. “Are you all right, dearie?”
“I…I…what? What happened?” Wei trembled as she slowly awoke, looking around her in a daze. The kitchens. Westgarde. Home. She shook her head, confused, and then tears again as she looked down at the half full bowl of flour. “I am so sorry. I am very sorry. I forgot. I don’t know how I got here…”
“Shhh, there there, dearie. Don’t you fuss about it. I can use that to get the daily bread going, no worries at all.” The dwarven lady patted one paw, taking it and guiding Wei to the door. “Let’s get one of the lads to take you back upstairs and you get some much needed sleep, I think. You can come down whenever you’re ready then and make some of that wonderful tea, all right?”
“Yes, yes…I’m sorry.” Wei nodded, trying to hold back the tears till she was back in her room. Again this had happened. Dreams, nightmares so strong she either awoke with a scream and panting her fear, or so lost in the reality she thought herself firmly back on Draenor. She scrambled back upstairs, alone, and curled up on her bed, fighting the urge to bind her wrists to the bed frame.
She was so tired. So very tired. Would she never get any better, and leave these cursed memories behind?
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