Chapter Text
It had been two days already, and the human had not woken up.
The traces of the battle remained in the monastery, because not even the snow could cover what had happened there. A couple of monks that Taran zhu ordered to aid and prepare the villagers had come back the second day, but they were sent to new destinies with new tasks almost immediately. The war against the Thunder King and the Zandalari had just begun, and there was no time to lose.
Still, Chen, Yalia, Vol’jin and the other Shadopan that had survived recovered the corpses of their brothers from the battleground. The cold wouldn’t let the bodies rot, but it didn’t mean they deserved such treatment.
The Troll couldn’t do much more though; he had been back with Tyrathan soon, barely leaving his side since then. He was worried, really worried.
The Shadowhunter had managed to heal his terrible wound, and Bwomsamdi had allowed him to keep his soul…
“ For now ”.
Those two words, plus the fact that the human didn’t wake up, terrified him. The Loa, like any God, were very capricious. What if that for now ended before the human…? Vol’jin couldn’t stand the idea.
Now he was sitting on the floor, looking at Tyrathan’s calm expression with unease.
Reaching out his left arm, the Troll placed his large hand on the smaller chest, feeling how it rose and fell with each breath. The sensation was soothing, and he focused on it, closing his eyelids and mimicking the rhythm unconsciously.
He almost fell asleep, but the gentle touch of a paw in his shoulder startled him, his eyes wide open.
Chen was looking at him with concern. -You look tired.
-’S nothing.
Vol’jin rubbed his nose, noticing the soft smell of tea. The brew master placed the plate on the small table, but he didn’t look for a chair.
-How’s your arm?
The pandaren laughed and moved his extremity with ease – it wasn’t a big wound, so it’s recovered. Can’t punch anyone yet, thought. – He added with a wink. – I forgot to thank you.
Vol’jin smiled. - I am glad to know.
Chen sighed and finally grabbed a seat next to the Troll, offering him a mug with the warm drink. The Darkspear hesitated before accepting it with both hands.
-You should rest, old friend- patiently said the brew master, inhaling the steam of his own cup with a soft smile. - You know what Yalia said, you healed him well. He is going to be fine.
-I… know.
Chen raised an eyebrow, and Vol’jin cursed in his mind.
Taking a long sip of his drink, the pandaren thought in silence for a few moments.
-Why wouldn’t he?
The Shadowhunter bit his inner cheek before giving his answer. – In that moment he was ready to die, Chen. He…said he’d be dying happy, that it be fine to let him go. - “ For now ”, the memory of the spectral voice repeated in his head. – I fear he won’t be waking up.
The wanderer looked troubled, but he quickly shook his head.
-Don’t think that. You know he is strong; he recovered from the wound of his leg and from the blizzard. He will recover from this - he said, placing his hand on the other’s shoulder. – Now, you should rest too. You won’t be able to properly take care of him when he wakes up if you are as tired as him - he chuckled.
The Troll slowly nodded, slightly relieved because of those words, but too worried to follow the advice.
Chen finished his tea. – If it makes you feel better, I could ask Yalia to come and check him. She wouldn’t mind, and she is worried too.
-No, do not bother her– briefly glancing down to his cup, he took a deep breath – it will be fine, you be right.
The pandaren nodded. His golden eyes resting on Tyrathan before he spoke again. – What are your plans after he wakes up?
The Troll didn’t even think the answer – The Horde needs me.
Chen smiled – then, count me in for taking you back and helping with everything.
Vol’jin frowned. – Ya don’t need to – they had just survived a terrible battle, the least he wanted to do was drag his old friend into another fight.
Not only did the Brew master laugh, but he also patted that wide, blue back while standing – I’m afraid you can’t change my mind Vol’jin. Oh, and drink the tea before it gets cold - he added, leaving the kettle on the tiny table and going back to his tasks.
When he left, the Troll put his mug away. It smelt like a calming infusion, and he thanked Chen’s good intentions, but he was afraid of falling asleep. Once more, he placed his large hand on the pale chest, making sure it rose and fell, making sure that the heart inside kept beating.
* * *
Another day passed, and the hunter didn’t wake up.
In the end Yalia went to visit him too, and she scolded the Darkspear for his lack of sleep. He would have put up a fight, or said anything, if she hadn’t placed her paws on the human’s forehead. Then she moved them to his chest, and finally checked the bandages that covered the huge scar. The soft glow in her hands disappeared after a minute.
-You don’t have to worry, he is healing. He just needs time. - Vol’jin nodded, and she sighed while giving him a disapproving look – and you really should rest. – She added, pointing to the next bed, the one he had occupied at the very beginning.
-I prefer the ground – he protested, and the female sighed again.
-Alright, but sleep. A tired healer can’t work properly.
Then she left, leaving the Shadowhunter to his watching.
* * *
Vol’jin felt something touching his forehead, but he couldn’t see anything. He realized then that he had closed his eyes, so he forced himself to open them, thinking that it was Chen who was trying to wake him up. However, those fingers were too small for belonging to…
The Troll opened his eyelids completely, staring at the human thanks to the light of a candle. Tyrathan khort had managed to extend his right hand, and was weakly drawing the Darkspear’s factions with one of his digits; his cheekbones, his nose, his lips… all with slow and tender movements.
The look in the hunter’s face was peaceful and… full of affection.
For a second, Vol’jin feared that he was dreaming. That the man had not woken up and he was witnessing a cruel illusion. He grabbed the caring hand with his own, slightly squeezing it.
-Tyrathan?
The human blinked a few times, and then his eyes, that had been half shut, were wide open with realization. It looked like the Troll was not the only one that believed to be dreaming.
The hunter suddenly tried to stand up in surprise, but his limbs were too weak for allowing that. The sudden movement and the pain in his guts made him hiss.
-Stay still – said Vol’jin, placing his hands on the smaller shoulders – it be early for you to move.
The man blinked again, confused – Vol’jin? –he looked around, finally realizing where he was. Placing his palm on the bandages, he glanced towards the Troll again – I’m… I’m alive?
The Shadowhunter felt his stomach twist when listening to those words. He could only nod.
-But… how? I… the spear…
-I healed ya – his voice sounded strangled, and he forced himself to swallow.
-But…
-Ya be alive - said the Troll, softly squeezing his shoulders - ya be alive and that be everything that matters.
Vol’jin repressed his strong need to embrace the human, knowing that it could hurt him, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. Instead, he offered him some water, holding those shaky hands while the man slowly drank.
-… How… for how long have I…? – He asked, weakly licking his lips when his friend took the scoop away.
-... this would be the fourth day. – The Darkspear left the water on the table and helped him find a more comfortable position on the mattress. From the corner of his eye, he noticed how Tyrathan looked at the empty infirmary. – Chen and Yalia be fine, Taran Zhu too – he really tried to remember the name of the last monk, but failed. – And one more survived.
The man nodded and swallowed hard, his eyes almost closing again in a small wince of pain. The Troll kneeled and carefully placed his palm on the bandages.
-If it’s too painful, I can go ask Yalia…
-No. No, please, stay… - the man managed to reach the much larger hand with his own, trying to keep it there.
The gesture was so defenseless, so frail, that the only thing Vol’jin could do was sit on the floor and whisper -I’ll be staying then. – Placing his free arm on the mattress and then laying his head on it, he observed Tyrathan fall asleep with a peaceful expression. The Shadowhunter didn’t know who to thank, if the Loa, for allowing this, or the human, for not giving up.
His ears dropped, his eyes starting to close again while his thick fingers interlaced with smaller ones from the human’s hand. Relief invaded him together with tiredness, but this time he didn’t fight it.
* * *
Half a day later, Tyrathan woke up again. This time Chen was there too, and the brew master didn’t hesitate in giving the human a good warm hug – being extremely careful with his wound, of course – before going to find Yalia. The hunter weakly laughed when this happened, and Vol’jin felt his guts twist again when listening to him. He said nothing, just helping his friend drink some water until the two pandaren arrived.
The female was not as flamboyant as Chen, but she indeed was glad to see the man finally conscious. She checked his wound and decided that it was the best moment to change the bandages. However, instead of asking the two other males for help, Yalia sent them away. And there was no place for protest.
It helped Vol’jin stretch his legs outside the infirmary, and he decided to follow Chen and help with everything he could.
The snow crunched under his bare feet, but the cold didn’t bother him. There was much to do, and he needed to keep his mind away from the hunter.
For now.
After a few hours, the Darkspear was walking towards the infirmary again.
Even if the human was in good hands, he couldn’t help being worried.
However, when he arrived at the medical wing’s corridor, he stopped. Tyrathan was his friend; it was perfectly natural to be concerned about his well being. Still, he was not acting “natural”. He really, really needed to know the human was completely alright at each second, he needed to be the one making sure of it.
Licking the inside of one of his tusks, he decided to believe that it was his feeling of responsibility over the other’s life, and nothing more, that made him feel like this.
When he went into the infirmary, he found Yalia gently pulling the sheets over Tyrathan’s chest, whose eyes were shut again. She noticed his presence and made a reverence, going next to him then. Vol’jin answered with a respectful bow too, and the female used her chance to quietly whisper – There is no sight of infection and the flesh is closed, however, we’re going to keep him bandaged. And make sure he doesn’t move much.
The Troll nodded. He noticed there was something she wasn’t telling him, but both exchanged polite reverences and said nothing more while she left the place and he went next to the bed.
Crossing his legs, the Darkspear sat on the floor once more and carefully placed his hand on the human’s chest, feeling how it rose and fell.
Tyrathan Khort opened his eyes and looked at Vol’jin, who froze.
The man blinked, and the Shadowhunter slowly took back his arm – sorry, didn’t want to wake you.
-It’s alright – he said in a low voice – I wasn’t really asleep…
-… you should.
The human gave him a warm smile, and, for a reason he didn’t quite understand, the Darkspear avoided his gaze. – Yalia said you have been here with me the whole time. You must be tired.
-I be fine.
-Don’t be foolish, you should sleep too.
He let out an annoyed snort – What did I tell you about calling a troll fool?
The weak laugh felt like a blessing for those long and pointed ears, and he licked the inside of his left tusk while Tyrathan timidly extended his arm towards him. Vol’jin reached his hand, carefully wrapping the smaller one with his own. He had to hold back a smile when he felt small and calloused fingers drawing circles in his palm.
-What’s wrong? – The Troll asked, noticing a grimace in the other’s face.
-My whole body feels numb… I can barely feel you’re touching me… - he murmured, his eyelids starting to close.
-You’ll be standing’ and walking’ around in a few days, you’ll see.
The hunter managed to nod before definitely falling asleep.
While slowly caressing the other’s forehead, Vol’jin realized that he could not stay with the human long enough to see him fully recovered.
* * *
The Darkspear spent the next two days between the Sealed Chambers and the Infirmary, helping Chen in the search of “bodies”. They found the last monk in the tunnels under the monastery, surrounded by Zandalari corpses. There, Vol’jin noticed how many had the human killed, and probably there would be more outside, but he didn’t need to find them, for now.
Tyrathan recovered the sensibility of his upper half the first day, but his legs needed more time. It was quite frustrating, but the Troll didn’t leave him alone too much time, so they played Jihui or simply talked.
The second day he could move his toes a little, but it wasn’t until the third when he -partially- recovered the movement in his lower half. He was sitting on the mattress and trying to put a pair of slippers on when Vol’jin appeared.
* * *
Looking at the man that stood in front of him, a sudden realization hit Vol’jin. The Horde, like this hunter, was wounded, hurt, weak, unable to support itself much longer.
The red faction needed someone to mend its injuries, someone to help it stand and walk again until it was strong enough to do it on its own. And, unlike in the human’s situation, there was no one else willing to take care of it… except himself.
Remembering why he had gone there in the first place, the Darkspear swallowed and helped the human sit again. Then, he looked for the upper part of a novice’s uniform, dressing his friend with it.
-What are you doing?
-We are taking a walk - he answered, fixing the belt around the human’s waist carefully. Tyrathan raised an eyebrow, but before he could ask again, Vol’jin added. - I’ll carry you.
-What? Wait, Vol’jin - -
The Troll simply put his arms under those smaller knees and shoulders, lifting him with ease. When he glanced down to see if he was hurting the man, the Shadowhunter found that he was glaring at him.
A snort escaped from his nostrils; the hunter appeared to be smaller like that.
-Oh, I see you find this funny.
-Just your face – he answered, walking outside the infirmary with relaxed steps, feeling how Tyrathan shifted a bit between his arms, more than once. Vol’jin didn’t look at him again, understanding that he was feeling uncomfortable, but he didn’t know any other way of taking him to that place.
The smell of pine and sea filled their noses when they arrived.
The stance with the white statues was empty, and the Troll briefly wondered if he had taken too much time bringing his friend there while slowly putting him on the ground. Tyrathan kept his hand on the blue arm to support himself, and both faced the familiar figures of their deceased comrades in silence. A few seconds later, they bowed.
Vol’jin thanked all of them for their sacrifice, for their victory. Without them he would be dead now, and not only because of the battle against the Zandalari.
They took care of him when he was weak and nearly dead, they taught him, they lived with him, fought with him, and he would have gladly died with them. But he had survived, and he had so much to do…
Vol’jin closed his eyes and thanked them again, knowing that he could never put in words the gratitude he felt. They were his brothers and sisters from the other side of the world, he had felt part of them, and he didn’t know what the Pandaren believed to exist after the mortal life, but he hoped for the peace of their souls.
At last he looked at Cuo’s figure, thinking about the glaive he had forged for him, an excellent weapon. He would keep it like the treasure it was, and would never forget them.
He then felt the smaller hand going down his arm, finally gripping one of his thick fingers. Softly squeezing it, Vol’jin raised his gaze and straightened his body, like the man from his side. Tyrathan thought he was only capable of destroying, a cold and effective assassin, but the Troll knew it was not the complete truth. Maybe, if there had been more time, the monks would have helped him find balance, and he could have had the chance to learn that he could create too.
Looking at him briefly, Vol’jin saw, instead of sadness or pain, a strong determination shining in his emerald eyes. The Troll felt something warm in his chest, a sentiment he tried to hide when he lifted that fragile body again, walking back towards the Infirmary in complete silence.
* * *
After speaking with Taran Zhu, the Darkspear decided to stay in the monastery just a few more days. Of course, he was eager to go back to Durotar and stand up against Hellscream, but the least he could do was help here until some more monks came back. Also, because they had tried to empty the pantry the night before the battle, they kind of didn’t have enough resources to leave Kun-lai. Chen didn’t miss the irony in this, and Vol’jin couldn’t blame him, although he didn’t laugh as hard as the Brew master.
In two days, they finished taking away the troll corpses from inside the Temple, and Tyrathan managed to make his first steps; at the beginning with both the aid of the Darkspear and the pandarens, then, with crutches. In his own words, it was as if he had to learn to walk again.
Some members of the Shadopan, including the sister Quan-li, arrived the third morning. If they were horrified by the state of their home or not, they didn’t say a word; instead, they quickly joined the reparation –and cleaning- tasks.
Taran Zhu spoke with Vol’jin about the Thunder Isle that same afternoon. The old monk told him about both the Alliance and the Horde preparing their movements in the enemy’s territory. The Troll explained to him some good strategies against the Zandalari, and how to provoke a better cooperation with the red faction.
When they finished, the sky was of a warm orange, and, before the Darkspear left, the Shadopan leader let him know that some Cloud serpents were back. It meant resources and more helping hands.
-You’ll be able to depart tomorrow morning, if you wish.
Vol’jin just nodded, and both exchanged deep reverences as farewell.
The Troll went straight to see Chen and talk to him about this. He knew that being apart from Yalia would be difficult for the Brew master, but his old friend didn’t show any hesitation. Then, when he was walking towards the Infirmary, he found sister Quan-li. She expressed both her gratitude to him for fighting for that place and Pandaria, and her wish to thank Tyrathan as well, so they went to see him together. The human was glad to see the female monk too, and they exchanged polite reverences. The Shadopan also informed him about Morelan Vanyst. It seemed he had gone back home.
While listening to this, Vol’jin felt an uncomfortable feeling climbing up his throat.
“I may not be able to fix things, but to let a lie suggest things are not broken isn’t good. Not for them. Not for me.” Those had been Tyrathan words, and the troll knew that he wanted to go back to his family, understood why he needed to go back to his family. And respected him for choosing so.
But that didn’t mean he could stop wanting for the man to come with him instead.
After Quan-Li left, the hunter went closer to his friend, but, before he could even open his mouth, the Darkspear spoke.
-I will be leaving tomorrow. - Vol’jin had not expected to sound so harsh, and he regretted it as soon as the words were out. Tyrathan looked at him with a hint of pain in his eyes, but he quickly hid it while straightening his body with the help of the crutches – I see. Too much work waiting in Kalimdor, hm?
The Troll simply nodded.
The human walked back to his bed with relative ease, sitting in the border and placing the crutches next to him. – Then I wish you the best of luck.
Vol’jin swallowed and nodded again, forcing his tone to be genuine. – I hope you’ll be fully recovered soon and can go back home too, Tyrathan Khort.
They stared at each other for seconds that were like hours, until the Darkspear took a deep breath and left, unsaid words stinging in his throat.
That night, Vol’jin walked through the temple’s grounds in silence, thinking. He had underestimated the strength of his affection towards the human, and he regretted how the exchange had ended.
Each time he had been with the human, each time they had touched, each time he had listened to his laugh, each time they had shared the same space, the same thoughts, the same moments in those last days before the battle… he should have known. That his fondness for the man wasn’t just that. That the feeling had taken root in his heart. That it was growing stronger everyday, no matter how much he wanted to resist it. He had nearly convinced himself that it was just friendship… until he had seen his friend nailed to the wall by a Mogu spear. And now that they had spent time together without holding hatred or resentment against each other, without having to focus on a battle and with the chance of a future, he had finally accepted it.
Which only made it worse in this situation.
Vol’jin growled and pinched the bridge of his nose. It was stupid! Ridiculous, unreasonable… The human was not his, and would never be. Not in the way he wished. The hunter was going back to his home, to try to fix the problems with his family, and he was going to be back at Durotar, with his people, who needed him.
He rationally understood this. He really did. As much as it pained him.
The Darkspear stopped walking, and looked up, and the night sky. Once he had called those constellations foreign and unknown. Now, he knew them as well as the ones that could be seen from the Echo Isles. This place had become his home, and this truth he had shared with his friends before the battle. What he had not realised at the moment, and was slowly accepting now, was that the same that had happened here, could not happen elsewhere.
Vol’jin swallowed hard. Outside the Monastery they were enemies. He didn’t feel like this, but he could not change that fact.
The peace between the Alliance and the Horde was such a distant thought, especially after the events of Theramore
Probably, even if they had made that promise, they would never see each other again. It didn’t really matter if he managed to provoke a rebellion and survived it or not, it didn’t matter if Garrosh was put down or if the man managed to fix all his family problems. Outside Pandaria, he was Vol’jin of the Darkspears, and Tyrathan Khort was a soldier of the Alliance, and a hunter of Trolls. How could… in which circumstances would they meet each other again? If they ever did?
A heavy weight sunk in that blue chest.
“Never seeing him again…”
-Maybe it be for the best. - Said the Troll, pressing his forehead against one of the Temple’s stone pillars.
Suddenly, his ears rose. It was almost midnight, and there was nothing but silence in the monastery. Yet, he heard something… the sound… of wood against stone. He had been so lost in his thoughts that he had not noticed how close it was, until it stopped. And then started again. With some concern Vol’jin walked inside and followed the echo through familiar corridors, until he came across the human.
-Tyrathan? – The hunter looked tired, and his bad leg was shaking. No, he wouldn’t have walked alone from the Infirmary to…
The Darkspear went next to him in two long strides – you insane? – he asked, full of worry, supporting the smaller body to ease the weight on his limbs – you are not rec- -
-I’m fine – he almost hissed, visibly relieved for the help. Vol’jin managed to hold him and make him look at his face.
-What are you doing here? – The Troll was experiencing a mixture of surprise and worry at that moment.
-I wanted… - Tyrathan tried to even his breathing, and swallowed – I needed to speak with you.
-Couldn’t it wait ‘til tom- -
-No, it couldn’t. – Was the quick answer – tomorrow you’d be gone, and I need to tell you this now – he had to inhale deep again because of his need for air.
Vol’jin closed his mouth and helped the human sit on the ground, while he kneeled at his side.
-... well?
The man looked into his eyes, glancing down almost instantly and biting his lip. -I… I decided not to lie to myself anymore, yet, I’ve kept hesitating. There are many things I’ve wanted to say, but I didn’t… and now… I… I can’t let you leave without… I have to make things clear.
He looked as if, after all the travel, he hadn’t really thought what he was going to say. The phrase “Shoot first, question later” briefly crossed the Troll’s mind.
Swallowing again, the human closed his eyes and finally said – I… I am a man of actions, not words. – That confused the Darkspear even more, who leaned closer as the other politely requested. Then he felt every single hair from his nape stand on end when Tyrathan placed his hands on his neck, small thumbs reaching the lower part of two long and pointed ears.
Vol’jin found himself not surprised by the fact that the human’s head perfectly fit between his tusks, or that their noses were pressed against each other. All he could focus on was the growing heat in his stomach, and the electricity that ran across his body when he realized what the hunter was doing.
It started as something small, a soft press of lips against Vol’jin’s closed mouth. As if giving him the chance to draw back. He didn’t, and Tyrathan did not hesitate in pushing further after that. Somehow, he managed to open those blue lips, tangling his fingers in the red hair and deepening the kiss, visibly not worried by the sharp fangs and long tusks of his companion.
The Shadowhunter tried to keep up with the hunter. He distantly recognized what this was, because he had caught glimpses of other races doing it (races without tusks ). However, from witnessing it, to knowing what he was supposed to do, there was quite a jump. Still, he gave his best, mimicking the human’s actions, tilting his head just a bit to see if it changed something. The human used that to deepen the kiss, giving small bites to the Troll’s lower lip too.
Love bites. That was more familiar territory. It made him feel a bit more confident. Driven by this, the Darkspear grabbed the man and lifted his body, making him sit on his lap. It was more comfortable for his neck like this, and the hunter could reach his mouth much better. Vol’jin tentatively moved his hands across the smaller body. Thorough, but careful, he drew the lines of muscle and the bandages with his cold fingertips. It made the human shiver a few times, but he didn’t break the kiss until both of them ran out of air, a short while later.
The hunter kept his head at eye level with the troll, barely moving, barely breathing, and with his hands still tangled in red locks of hair. The Darkspear stared right back at him, mind racing.
He blinked a couple times before managing to get a word out. -… Tyrathan – he called, not earning any response. For a moment, he wondered if the man was regretting his actions just now. He was also distantly aware that his face was feeling very warm. - Tyrathan... - Vol’jin repeated - … what the hell.
The hunter blinked again, as if his mind was slowly coming back on track. First his lips trembled, curving upwards, and then he had the audacity of breaking into laughter. Vol’jin wanted to be upset at him, but that laugh was so sincere that he couldn’t help joining him.
They should have cared if someone listened to them, but they were honestly, freely and happily laughing, because this was a weird scenario, to say the least.
The Troll and the Human pressed their foreheads together, amber reflecting in emerald, and vice versa. - I hope my actions… were clear enough? - Tyrahan asked in a small voice, nearing a whisper.
-I think I understand - the Darkspear said softly, moving back, enough that the hunter’s face was no longer framed by his tusks. The man had shown him his affection in the ways he was used to, and Vol’jin wanted to answer in kind. He moved closer to his face again, from the side this time. Then, the troll rubbed his tusks against Tyrathan’s neck and shoulders, moving upwards to his ear, his temple, brushing against his hair, slowly, softly. He did this a couple of times, all the while, hoping that his human would understand. The man pressed the side of his face against Vol’jin’s when he stopped, and the Darkspear let out a sigh, relaxing into the touch.
Everything he had thought before about them being enemies outside Pandaria was still true, but how could it matter now?
-I better take you back to the Infirmary. – Finally interrupted the Darkspear. His companion nodded. Tyrathan clung on the blue neck, and the troll picked up the crutches with a hand, carefully lifting the smaller body with the other. While they walked back to the medical wing, Vol’jin noticed the man relaxed, tucked into his hold, and he couldn’t repress a wave of fondness invading his chest.
Tyrathan’s eyes were closed when the Shadowhunter carefully left him in the bed. However, he wasn’t asleep at all, and he grabbed the other’s sleeve when the Darkspear was about to draw back. It drew a smile out of him.
Vol’jin sighed and sat on the mattress, listening to its creaks without worry. He knew it could support his weight too.
The hunter, however, didn’t seem content with this, and he managed to move his weakened body to suggestively leave more space in the bed. The Troll chuckled, easing himself under the sheets, surrounding the smaller body with his arms. Tyrathan extended one hand and reached Vol’jin’s beard, touching it with his index and his thumb, starting a braid with a small part of it.
Sadly, his eyelids became too heavy for finishing it, and his hand stilled.
The Troll smiled and rubbed his tusks against the hoary hair once more. - Sleep.
The human nodded, and finally closed his eyes while two amber irises watched him smile.
Vol'jin remained awake, conscious of the every hour remaining before dawn. Before he had to leave, and they went their separate ways.
He didn’t remember ever dreading the morning like this, but he also didn’t doubt his choice. It was the right thing. It was the necessary thing. For everyone, even if it tore at his heart.
The troll caressed the hair away from Tyrathan’s forehead, who was completely asleep, and sighed. Morning would come, and he would have to say goodbye to his human. Probably forever.
Even if he didn’t want to.
* * *
Chen Stormstout looked into Yalia’s eyes one more time, and gave her a little smile. She smiled back, and only then did the brew master pick up his cane and luggage, heading to the temple’s entrance. Such a simple way of saying goodbye was enough for the pandaren; it didn’t matter what kind of trials he would have to face in order to help Vol’jin, just thinking in that little gesture, and he was utterly sure about his return.
The Shadopan leader and the Troll were already at the front door, looking like they had spoken about everything they had to, and they were just waiting for Chen, who noticed that the last one was looking somehow… distracted. Without his face-painting and into those pandaren robes, the Darkspear could be mistaken with any other member of his tribe but himself; after all, that was the idea. It would be too risky if anyone recognized him before they were back at The Eco Isles.
However, while finally arriving next to them, Chen noticed that Vol’jin had been directing his gaze towards the building, but quickly glancing back to him, as if trying to hide this action. Before he could ask or realize what was that his old friend was trying to see, a low and polite sound of someone clearing his throat grabbed their attention. Taran Zhu looked at them with inscrutable eyes for a long minute, the three of them in silence, and then, he made a deep and respectful bow. The two outsiders quickly corresponded the gesture, and they stood like that for a good amount of time. When raising his head, the Shadopan’s expression remained neutral, even when he wished them to have a safe trip, but the Troll and the Brew master felt honored by the gratitude the old monk had shown them.
After that, Vol’jin glanced back to the temple only once more, and then turned to the mountain’s path. Accompanied by the clear sun of the morning and the cold air of the peaks, the two travelers began their journey back to Kalimdor.