She had grown to love mornings – in just a few days. She and her sister had shared that – a love of sleeping in, staying up late, and greeting the stars. Now?
Well, now she had lots of good reasons to get up early.
Not that she was completely used to it; healing was going slow (“What do you expect when you stand in a blast of Fel?” asked the healer when she griped about it last – ) and being sore was never a good start to the day. She was largely out of tea. But… well.
Petal still made her way out of the now-fairly-permanently shared tent, and ducked into her old canvas, now converted into a full laboratory in the midst of the Templar encampment in the broken lands of the Wastes. There, she snagged her fans and a ribbon for her hair, and then, working her way up among the rocks, drew herself up on the hidden rise near the edge of camp alongside Cael.
The worgen was waiting, patiently – watching Azeroth above… and though Nightpetal knew she simply didn’t have enough stealth to have scrabbled up the rocks unnoticed (plus.. .she desperately needed a bath, and was unashamed to say so), she still stopped and just… stared, with a smile.
/Her/ knight was there – silhouetted against the blue skies of home, wearing her battered armor and …
… yup. It took her breath away for a minute. Luckily she had the climb to blame if anyone asked. Though no one did.
“Ready?” She asked, and the worgen nodded, smiled – and stood, drawing herself up to her full height.
And there, on the ridge? They danced – the forms of the sword-dance, side-by-side under Azeroth’s watchful eye.