Mina kicked off her boots and wiggled her feet into the fel-abused soil. “Watch my back, will you?”
“Of course.” Unaara saluted with her mace. Both women were the worse for wear–armor in need of repair, faces smudged with blood and grime, injuries only three-quarters tended at best. But that’s just how things stood at the moment.
There wasn’t much time for rest.
“This is probably silly,” Mina muttered, closing her eyes and casting her druidic senses out. The land here was so damaged it hurt, but she’d learned to bear that without flinching.
“Yes and no,” the shaman said, mildly. “Yes, it will probably get damaged again. No, because we know Jander will keep coming back and checking on it, and it will be good for him to see it…well, not as badly off as it could be.” Unaara shifted restlessly, hooves digging furrows in the soil. Normally the serene member of the bunch, the Legion’s return had stirred rather unexpected bloodlust in her. She half hoped a demon WOULD come across the fields at them. Light, but she wanted to smash them all in the face so badly.
Mina sighed deeply and poured energy into the earth. Come on, you can fight this. Shrug it off. Cast off the taint. Be well. What wheat remained in the field waved in a breeze, perking up.
Eventually Unaara shouldered into her gently, breaking the druid’s concentration. “Hey, that’s enough. I don’t want to have to carry you home.”
“Bleeeegh.” Mina opened her eyes and tried not to retch. “I always feel so gross after doing that. Fel-taint is nasty.” She continued to make sounds not too far off a cat trying to hork up a hairball until Unaara passed her a flask. Then she just spluttered. “Gaaah! What’s in there, Ambrosine’s moonshine?”
“Of course.”
“I’m not sure that burning my tongue off is the answer.” Mina side-eyed the flask and handed it back before reviewing her handiwork. The farm was still battered, but there was some green to the grass now. It was only maybe a quarter dead instead of three quarters. “Okay. So falling face first into a bed sounds great. Shall we?”
“Which bed? Do you want to go to Stormwind? Back to the treehouse? Westguard?”
Mina just whined. Whiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiined. Making a decision was too hard right then.
So Unaara made the choice for her. “Right, so. Stormwind.” She whistled for Mina’s protodrake, who answered as happily to her summons as he would anyone’s. He was not a bright creature, but fared better in the chaos than Unaara’s own hippogriff. Sure, Mina could shape shift, but that took energy she couldn’t spare right now. She barely remembered to grab her boots.
“Up we go.”
Mina whined some more as she clambered up the drake’s side. But Westfall was, for the moment, quiet. And while the buildings were in shambles and sickly fired glowed in the difference, at least one little corner of it was a bit more lively.
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