A Pleasant Ending

All around, inside the walls of Everlook, pristine snow had been trodden into brown, mud-flecked mush. Blinding white from the endless expanses outside the little goblin town nevertheless bathed everyone in almost burning light, the days without downpour almost unbearable, the nights never truly dark.

It was on the third night, but an hour into it, that both Anaril and Belenar spotted their respective comrades. The huntress reclined against the outside wall of the inn, wrapped in a tacky fur blanket which she suspected was bear, now painted in white and black zhevra stripes, jingling with little bells and what seemed to be rocket-shaped souvenirs made from thin, tinny, stamped metal. Something very goblin-y, but then, she had picked it up inside the inn.

In her lap, legs pulled up so that she could rest her chin on her knees, sat Anaril. Covered almost entirely by the blanket, Belenar’s arms curled around her beneath it. Every now and then, the blood elf shifted, trying to change the way weight was distributed against her bruised ass. Wincing, and then, as the ache died down into pleasant warmth, letting go a breath that almost tilted over into laughter.

They watched first a procession of eight sentinels and a priestess, four sentinels, then the priestess, then the remaining four sentinels, pass through the gate. Though she moved slowly, hesitantly, Belenar leaned down, pressing a kiss to Anaril’s cheek. She sighed, then.

“I must go with the priestess. But I suspect we will pass back this way in a week. Or so.”

“Can’t wait,” Anaril quipped. “I didn’t really want to be able to walk, anyway.” She began shuffling sideways off of Belenar’s lap.

“It does not have to be your ass, every time,” Belenar said, though she could not, apparently, suppress a distinctly self-satisfied smile.

“You clearly think it should be,” Anaril said. For a moment, she leaned over, resting against the night elf’s arm. Even as she was getting up, picking up her belongings. Packed and ready.

“You, likewise,” Belenar said.

Anaril shrugged as if that was irrelevant. But then, after a few seconds, failed to suppress a grin. She looked away, spotting her smuggler companion passing through the gate, trailing the group of night elves at a respectful distance.

“Yeah. Me, too,” she said. “Make sure you come back.”

Belenar nodded, and set off.