'Lustiluv Kravenmoore' - 6

        The weather on this side of Dun Algaz was much warmer than in the wintry peaks of Dun Morogh, and thus the ram-back companions had shed their outermost layers of clothing, hanging them instead from the curled horns of their rented mounts.  Hours prior, the wizened elf had been thanking Elune for the generosity and quick fingers of the dwarven seamstress in Ironforge, who had crafted him a suitable wendigo coat in a matter of minutes.  Now, however, even though the new coat was accompanied by a pair of bulky spaulders, a leather breastplate, and the tabard of the Shan Tel’dorei dangling from the ram’s great horns, Berufeng’s brow was awash with sweat.
        Thelsammar was a rather quiet hamlet off the coast of the great Loch Modan, whose dwarven inhabitants seemed to prefer less bustle than the drunken mining colonies Berufeng was used to.  Only a half a dozen townsfolk were even visible as the travelers strode in, and they all looked up from their meandering to stare nonchalantly in the direction of their new arrivals.
        As the gentle “clop, clop” of their mounts’ hooves thickened into the click of steel shoe upon stone, little Andi Baubletrinket woke from her slumber in the saddle, rubbing her eyes and gazing upon the little village groggily.  Her eyes focused first upon a stout and harsh looking fellow who rested in the shade of an awning, rocking in his chair and sucking on an ivory pipe.  Fire-red hair was bursting from the man’s scalp and from the rim of his scowling brow in a fit of anger, bits of it entangled in the threadbare suspenders that kept his trousers up.  In stark contrast to his furious and haggard appearance, however, when he tossed down his pipe and hobbled over to assist Berufeng in tethering the rams, it was a gentle voice that rolled from his dwarven tongue.
        “What brings yeh two tae th’ land o’ th’ Loch?” he asked in a smooth accent that lacked the grit the elf normally associated with these waist-height mountainfolk.  He offered the tiny gnome a calloused and burly hand, lifting her from the saddle and lowering her feet to meet the cobblestones.  She grinned toothily up at him in thanks.
        “I’ve actually come in search of a young woman—kal’dorei as it were—who goes by the surname of Kravenmoore,” Berufeng replied, offering two fingers and a thumb of his hand to meet the small fellow’s grasp in greeting.
        The dwarf’s natural scowl curled into a juxtaposing grin that seemed painful to produce.  “Aye, I coulda guessed!” he chuckled—or rather, coughed in such a way as to perhaps designate laughter.  “The elfin lass be who yer lookin’ fer, righ’?  Shouln’ae be too hard’a find here in Thelsamaar, elf.  Jus’ keep yer gaze at yer eye level, an’ ye’ll see ‘er!”  Again, he coughed heavily, as if choking on a bone.  Wheezing thickly and bending over to slap some humor into his knee, the fire-haired man pointed toward the inn.  “Saw ‘er head in there few minutes ago, folks.”
        Perhaps for fear that lingering would send the poor fellow into cardiac arrest, Berufeng offered a polite and somewhat confused smile and nod, and gestured for Andi to hurry and follow him toward the inn.  “Th-thank you, kind sir,” he hollered over the sounds of the dwarf’s choking.
        Andi had occupied herself with something mechanical she found in her pockets, while the grown-ups talked on the little couch across the room.  They started using big words and talking so quietly, and she knew that when adults did that, it usually meant they wanted to be left alone.  She was a good girl, though, and so she sat quietly on the floor, legs folded, engulfed in her tinkering.
Content that he had relayed the details of his dream to the druidess to the best of his ability, Berufeng swallowed the last of his Kal’dorei thistle tea and placed the cup back on the table, folding his hands in his lap.

        The young woman seemed perplexed, feeling a little uneasy at the fact that she had been clearly mentioned in this man’s dreams.  “Maybe it was… just a dream, you know?” she offered, though she didn’t quite believe that.  The dream he had described was so metaphorical, so detailed, so… perfect.  Before he could disagree, however, she relented and asked a different question.  “So why the alias?  If you’re Berufeng, why did you lead me to believe you were Alko?”  Her eyes were gentle and unassuming, but nevertheless, some quality within them pierced Berufeng, causing his palms to sweat.

        Although he was eager to steer the conversation back toward his cryptic dream, he determined that he owed miss Kravenmoore an explanation for the lies he had told when they first met.  “At first, it was because I feared that my name was marked and I would be sought out by many enemies,” he sighed.  “I later found this to be untrue… I had been misled into believing such things, at a time when my mind was a vulnerable and malleable thing.”  A frown curled his lips downward.     
        She nodded, smiling at him over the rim of her teacup.  “At first?” she inquired.  “Well then what about later on?”
        He gestured at the dwarven woman behind the counter to bring him another cup of tea.  “Well when you and I met in Goldshire…” his words slowed, and seemed wary to finish the sentence.  She nodded again in such a way as to prod him into continuing.  “…I was working as a bounty hunter in Westfall—capturing and eliminating criminal threats in the Westfall and Elwynn areas.”  Frowning more still, he wished that his teacup was already filled, so that he’d have something to hide his face behind.
        There was a silence that may have been very brief, but felt to Berufeng as if it dragged on for half the day.  Finally, the druidess sat her cup down and replied.  Had he not been looking at the floor to avoid eye contact, he’d have seen her wink.
“You mean they actually hire folks to do that kind of stuff, and they pay them?”  His eyes darted to meet hers, which were glowing with humor.  “And to think that I’ve been doing it for free all this time!”  She had surprised him, as she had hoped she would.  “Look, Berufeng… I’m not mad at you for giving me your fake name.”  The soft smile upon her lips reinforced her words.  “Everyone’s got a reason for keeping a low profile, and besides, back then I was just another girl in an inn, right?  But now… now that you’re having dreams about me… I think things have changed a little.”  She turned, lifting a knee onto the couch between the two of them.
        Shifting in discomfort at her somewhat suggestive body language, he cleared his throat and scooted closer to the armrest of the couch, away from her lifted leg.  “Aye, well it was one dream, and it wasn’t quite about you,” he replied in his defense.  “It was about Remus, but you were mentioned as someone very important in my life.  In fact, I believe her exact words were, ‘You have found the key to your curse.’”  There came a pause, through which Berufeng was silent and his companion sipped on her tea watchfully.  “My curse,” he muttered.
        It was clear to her that he would benefit from discussing what was troubling him, and more than likely it would benefit her to hear it.  “Will you tell me of your curse, Berufeng?”  His name still felt funny on her lips… she preferred “Alko” better.
        “Memories…” he mumbled, gesturing for the innkeeper to bring about another round of tea.  “My memory was very shoddy until not long ago,” he went on to explain.  “In fact, I cannot recall a single event prior to about a year ago, all the way back to my childhood.  Back when the quel’dorei were not such a rare sight in Kalimdor, and before the Alliance of humans.”
        She looked at him curiously, as if there were something she desired to say, but decided against it.  Instead, she made a gesture at the approaching innkeeper to communicate that they were finished with their teacups.  Rising from the couch, she grabbed her small knapsack and slung it over her shoulder with a devious smile.  “Let’s go!” she grinned.
        “Go?” Berufeng was perplexed.
        “Don’t be silly,” she laughed.  “You came here to get me to come back to Darnassus with you, did you not?”  Unable to retort, he just stared back at her, mouth agape.  Apparently she accepted this as a response.  “Very well, then!  I will go with you.”  She was hasty, presumptuous, and uncouth, but also quite convincing.
        And before Berufeng knew what exactly had happened, the three of them were atop the two rams, Andi between Lustiluv’s legs, bound for the port at Menethil Harbor.
        Suddenly remembering the tiny dragon in the pouch that still hung from his ram’s left horn, Berufeng panicked, shoving the leftover portion of a crumpet into the bag.  Light bless it! he cursed silently, scolding himself for neglecting the poor creature.  I suppose I’ll have to tell her about Vandeen sooner or later.  He certainly wasn’t anxious for that conversation…