Destiny or Desire

Part 5: The Haunted Lodge

Zaryinor lost count of all the times he had tossed and turned.

His blue eyes glowed brightly through the darkness of the Ghostlands, but he was afraid even the faint light that his reflective orbs offered would be snuffed out by the prowling shadows. He huddled close against his lightly snoring father, focusing on the sound of Vastarien's breathing and his silhouette.

Zaryinor watched Vastarien's chest rise and fall in the stillness of the night, and slight comfort eased his mind of his troubling thoughts. He intertwined his fingers with his Ann'da's, squeezing Vastarien's hand for the warmth and safety he always felt emanating from the Ranger Lord. He was safe with his father.

Vastarien promised to protect him.

Yet he still continued to toss and turn, his eyes growing wider with every twig that snapped, every plagued mushroom that glowed, and every tree that groaned in misery. He knew everything in the Ghostlands was plagued and dying, and he felt sympathetic for the once beautiful forest.

Zaryinor still couldn't help but know his fear consumed any thoughts or memories of what the Ghostlands used to look like.

His ears perked when a sharp creaking seemed to shatter the silence, and Zaryinor froze with terror. His fingers curled around the blanket sprawled out beneath him as he held his breath, feeling the suspense of the ominous sound like a weight crushing his back. He remained as still as his trembling body would allow, until his mind decided to get rid of the horrific echo that enjoyed replaying itself in his head.

Zaryinor quickly turned without hesitation, rising to his knees. He took hold of his father's hand and shook it fearfully, whispering while glancing over his shoulder, "Ann'da! Ann'da, something is here, I know it!"

He whimpered quietly when Vastarien sleepily lifted his hand to his cheek and muttered in a slurred and drowsy voice, "Relax, Zaryinor. . . nothing to be afraid of. . ."

"Something is here!" he pleaded, shaking Vastarien's hand again. He fought back worried tears when his father's quiet snoring sounded again. He reluctantly lowered himself back onto the blanket and pulled his knees into his chest, keeping his back pressed against his father's arm.

Zaryinor did not like the Ghostlands one bit. He wasn't even sure if all these horrors were worth it in the end once they found this Quel'Lithien Lodge.

He closed his eyes, willing himself to keep them from snapping open to stare fearfully at the reaching shadows that concealed the trees surrounding them. He concentrated on the breathing of the sleeping Quel'dorei, allowing that to lull him to a soft nap. . .

The moaning creak sounded again, jolting Zaryinor out of the peaceful caress that pulled him toward rest. He pounced to his bare feet instinctively, as silent and lithe as a cat. He folded his arms across his shirt, suppressing a shudder from the cold that suddenly wafted around him without Vastarien's warmth beside him.

His cerulean eyes darted back and forth, bleeding a chilly blue light into the hungry darkness that seemed to be closing in around him and his Quel'dorei. His breath frosted before him, spiraling in the light of his reflective orbs.

Zaryinor was about to ease himself back beside his father before a loud snapping splintered into his ears. He whirled on instinct, feeling his arms thrum and his heart sing with the familiar rhythm of a hunter. He was barely aware of his finger's curling around Belore'ashal once he dropped to his knees beside his father's supplies, and hardly mindful of his fingers brushing past the silver-tipped feathers of Vastarien's arrows.

He turned toward the snapping commotion, drawing the arrow into the legendary bow with ease. His blue eyes widened toward the creature that lurched forward, and every muscle in his body tensed as the Undead screamed. He loosened the arrow upon impulsion, watching as the creature crumbled in on itself.