I finally hit what should have felt like victory. Full 246 gear, (minus one stubborn 239 piece that still mocks me from the corner of my bags). Ok so mostly fully gear. The set glows nicely under Silvermoon’s lanterns, runes humming with quiet promise. And yet here I am, wide awake when the rest of the city has gone still, the kind of tired that has nothing to do with mana pools and everything to do with a mind that won’t stop spinning.
I wandered down to the pond’s edge with my pole and a stack of priesting tomes, the water lapping softly like it might soothe the restlessness. Cast after cast, I read by the gentle glow of floating orbs, chasing better ways to keep Atonement dancing and bubbles from popping too soon. The fish came easy tonight, at least. Small mercies.
Then came the Warsong Gulch queue that refused to end. I burned through every drop I had, desperately out of mana halfway through, scrambling for anything that might keep the team breathing. After the match I scoured every vendor and recipe I could think of for better waters, only to find the strongest ones still trickled back too slowly for the chaos we throw ourselves into. Frustrating.
I bundled up every fish I’d caught and mailed them straight to Abeke. Let her level her cooking and brew me some proper teas. It’s the least my chaotic little sister can do after all the potions I’ve made her sell.
Now I’m back at my house plot, staring at half-decorated walls that still need doors, and my thoughts keep drifting where they shouldn’t. The gear is done. The body is exhausted. But the mind? Racing like it’s still in the middle of a flag run.
Why hasn’t he reached out?
He knows where I live. He’s been here. A simple letter, a quiet knock, anything. What does he do with his days when he’s not charging across the fields? Who keeps him company if not me? Does he ever think of a certain Blood Elf priest the way I catch myself thinking of him, in these quiet hours between battles?
I should be dreaming of Sunwell glow and peaceful herb gardens. Instead I’m tangled in questions about a human warrior whose name I still hesitate to write in full. This is ridiculous. I’m ridiculous.
…Probably.
~Sahsha
(Weary Discipline Priest Finally in Mostly 246 Gear, Midnight Fisher of Silvermoon Ponds, Reluctant Overthinker of Human Warriors, and Someone Who Really Needs That Strong Tea)