The Young Hunter's Tale - Shadowglen.

[This is a series of tales inspired by events while playing World of Warcraft.]



The young Hunter's last day in Shadowglen dawned brightly; scattered sunbeams penetrated the canopy of leaves high above, illuminating the little village nestled against the hills near Aldrassil.

He stood, his face burning red as the people of the village turned out to wish him well on his journeys. Unused to the attention, he was a quiet lad, more used to his own company than that of others. He smiled awkwardly, his golden eyes upon the ground in front of him; he was a tall Night Elf, clean-shaven, gripping his ashwood bow in one hand, his other hand resting on the back of his Nightsaber cat, his constant hunting companion.

He was given small gifts as he walked through the people whom he had known from infancy, the village that had raised him as an orphan after his father, a Hunter of some renown, went off to the continent of Kalimdor and was lost there; his mother had died of grief a year later; he had been very young, and only had vague memories and dreams of the faces of his parents.

He placed the offerings of food and the copper coins into his satchel. He walked to the road that led away from home and to the rest of the world.

Beside the road was Elthania, the old woman who had taken him into his care after his parents were gone. She leaned upon her walking stick, the heaviness of age bending her back, but her smile was bright and happy for him; he went to her and took her frail body in his arms, holding her close.

She broke their embrace and stepped back a pace.

"Elune has blessed me this day, to see you as a fine man off to see the wide world."

He smiled. "Elune blessed me years ago, Elthania, with a fine mother when I had lost my flesh and blood."

Her smile widened; he felt warm inside, yet sad, knowing that he may very well never see her again.

She bent down slowly, picking a bundle up off the ground at her feet.

"This is for you, my son. I have kept it all these years for this day. It was your father's, long ago, when he was young."

Curious, his heart beating, he unwrapped the rags in his hands, to reveal a large fighting knife, angled forward, heavy yet balanced in his hand as he hefted it. Sunlight glinted off the burnished steel; the blade had an edge like a hatchet. The wooden handle was worn smooth from use. 'Father held this', he marveled.

"Elthania..." he started to say.

"Go now. Any more words would make me want to keep you here. You are too old now to be nursed, you know."

The young Hunter stuck the War Knife of Stamina in his belt, and embraced his foster mother once more, his eyes closed, heart aching.

"Elune be with you, my son." Elthania turned and shuffled back up the street towards her cottage, turning away just in time to hide the trickle of tears that coursed down her face as she left the young man who she had raised as her own.

He called a blessing out to her, then turned away, his throat tight with emotion. He looked up at the road's path, winding gradually upward towards the pass leading to Dolanaar, and hence on to Darnassus, the capital of Teldrassil, and the heart of the Night Elf nation.

"Come, Furtig!", he said, and his large cat fell in beside him as he strode briskly up the familiar road, leaving behind Shadowglen, his world, never to come back this way again.