Elora woke up once again beneath the canopy of Ashenvale, the forest whispering with the sound dead leaves .
Her sight wasn't her very own - her eyes glowed faintly reflecting the shimmer of something older than her, something beyond her imagination.
Around her the forest was felt alive, the air tasted as silver but deep filled with sorrow.
Death bled in her eyes. A river of ghost surrounding her waking world. Struggling in the voice of accusations.
"You were supposed to save us", the voices whispered every night.
"Not tonight", she always said clutching the talisman at her throat - a shard of obsidian etched with runes only the dead can read.
"You dreamt about them again, voice soft like smoke. Don't be lingered in their memories. " The spirit that shared her body stirred.
"I can't forget them. And if I do, then who will remember who they are? "
From the end of the Grove, steps were heard, steel in bark and cracks of a branch, she froze. A few dared to enter Ashenvale and those that did seldom returned.
Instantly Elora saw a figure, tall and curly haired, eyes burning faintly in gold and cloaked in an amour. His presence cut through the mist like a wound.