Flight of Dragons

We made it to Dalaran. Words fail to describe the happenings of our journey, but his potential is indeed terrifying. I have not yet seen my fate altered in his hands. My attempts at refining may well be in vain, but I continue to work with him. I continue to teach and demonstrate what it means to be a Bronze, and also an elf. I continue to push him to let go of his anger, his hatred, and embrace this new life. I continue to impress upon him the importance of family and the nature of raising a child. I continue to remind him that Amina is not his enemy.

My love for my one and only son grows each day. I never thought it possible to embrace my own failure in this fashion, but this bond surpasses all I have experienced. I gladly give my life, so that my son may finally find himself in the heart of this mess. I give my life so he can see his mistakes, and grow into the role I abandoned to save him. All my hopes, all my dreams... lay in his hands.

*This page in the journal is speckled with drops of water, the words runny and splotched.*

He wanted to help me. We now make our way to Dalaran, and it is too cold to write. I mark this day in this journal for future generations alone... should anyone ever read these words, he is learning. I am optimistic. I hope it is enough.

By the Light I hope it is enough.

*The rest of the page is blank*

~*~

I wonder at my last entry... it feels as if an eternity has gone by since I penned those desperate words. Even though it has been naught but a few days, so much has changed, I can hardly begin to calculate. All the possible futures I have foreseen up until now have shifted in some unfathomable way, altered irrevocably by the choices myself and others have made this week. It is a disturbing prospect to think my hand in affairs may well affect the course of the future.

 The book he held was titled "An'ara Telora - Whispering Trees" - it was a translation of a collection of Night Elven short stories and poems. Practically immortal beings with such a long and facinating history. He had even had the opportunity to train with some of the Priestesses of Elune a few years back. Their culture and past was facinating to the priest who knew fully that even as an old man he would only be a child to the elves. Such a different outlook one could have just based on ones life expectancy.

She wiped away tears as her shaking fingers grasped the quill and dipped into the inkwell. Lillithe's hand trembled as she fought to scrawl out the carefully thought out words that were threatening to burst from her lips.

Yet again, she'd failed the one she loved most. And again she felt the pain of seperation. How could she ask for redemption? How could she even consider that forgivness was a possibility for her now?

The candle flickered as the erratic air elemental that she'd accidentally called twisted and twirled about the dimly lit room, attempting to find its way out. She should free it...but not now. She had to steel herself and just....just write...

My Dearest Altamira,

  Her imaculately tailored gown caressing every lush curve of her human body, the 'young' mage sauntered into the snug hollow that served as the Darkshire Inn. Her ruby lips turned upward in a smirk of delight as she sniffed ale, meatrolls, baked pies and another aroma that tickled her nose just a bit more than the rest. Her bright gaze swept the crowd, hungrily taking in the foray of bodies quietly bustling about the domicile.