8-Journey

Bossia leaned slightly out of the carriage to catch a glimpse of the moon. Tonight, the temperature was not particularly low almost refreshing. Giant animal bones protruding from the dunes appeared and vanished in her view, while Sharlp-voiced birds circled the ends of those ribs. Glancing at the ground, she noticed a desert lizard, which stared motionless as the carriage gradually receded.

The convoy was headed to Marshal's Camp in Un Goro Crater, led by a group of gnome researchers who had hired adventurers for protection. Yet, honestly, the peculiar gadgets the gnomes brought held no allure for desert bandits. Though they would need to be on guard against wild beasts upon reaching the crater, the guards here felt more like freeloaders.

Upon learning of the death sentence, Bossia had rushed to Shakes, demanding Khalif's release. In return, she would leave immediately without meeting the agents sent from Gadgetzan. She d lied a bit, claiming she already knew where the agents were staying. Although Shakes was skeptical, he eventually agreed. After all, Caliph s death wasn t particularly significant, and Shakes also suspected that the auctioneer might have once embezzled goods.

"When I see them," Bossia said, "I'll be sure to mention you. You wouldn t want them knowing you lied, would you?"

"Fine, fine, stop talking," Shakes said, quickly summoning a messenger.

Bossia leaned back into the carriage, ready to leave yet another place behind.

Three years ago, when she first arrived in Theramore, she d joined the militia, thinking she d stay a long time. People were generally friendly, never probing too deeply into her identity, and the work wasn t particularly strenuous. But gradually, she began to miss Stormwind. The environment and rhythm of life in Theramore were too similar to Stormwind s. She d spent three months struggling with herself, cementing the reasons she d left in her mind, yet she couldn t help but see Stormwind in every tidy brick of Theramore.

Her closest friends back then were the Highers family. The husband, James Higher, a chef, was saving to open an inn. He d whimsically decided to set up his inn at a crossroads frequented by the Horde, making the fundraising process slow. But he had one constant motivation their son was due to be born soon.

James and his wife were devout followers of the Light, even contributing to the local chapel s expansion. Perhaps this was why Bossia felt an initial connection, unable to fully shed a faith that had offered comfort and support for so long. The couple often invited her to sample dishes James was creating for the inn, and she d even tried to persuade others to invest in his endeavor. When their son was born, James said to her, "Tomorrow s the naming day, and we d like you to come, Sharl."

"Of course, I'll be there tomorrow," Bossia had replied without hesitation.

That night, however, she realized the significance of her promise. This family wanted her as part of their lives. Attending the child s naming meant she d want to watch him grow. She would hope for her own future in Theramore. She would become increasingly attached and stay until her identity was exposed or until she grew old and died.

The idea seemed harmless, yet the prospect filled her with a subtle unease. Eventually, she convinced herself with a form of sophistry: if she already felt conflicted now, staying would only make things harder until she became numb. So, in the middle of the night, she slipped away while on guard outside the town.

Sometimes, she wondered how the Highers remembered her. What role had she played in their lives? Maybe they were disappointed by her absence at the naming day, but surely that disappointment was swept away by their son s smile. Perhaps they worried about her after she disappeared, with James comforting his wife, saying, "She s still out there." But three years later, what then?

She d think of her first love, Neil Jessie. She recalled her disorientation around him and, after his prison murder, her own thoughts of following him in death. But now, she found her past self s obsession hard to understand. These past three years had brought more experiences than the entirety of her first two decades. In a world full of unpredictable dangers, Neil s image singing to rouse fellow inmates had begun to fade. She d once thought he possessed qualities unique to him alone, considering those who didn t understand him ignorant and narrow-minded. Among those she d misjudged was Jorgen. She remembered how disgusted she d been when he referred to Neil as a revolutionary, as if Neil could be classified like a worker, student, or farmer. Neil was unique! Her initial wariness toward Jorgen stemmed from this, and although their relationship had shifted over time, she still felt Jorgen had been unfair to Neil. Now, she understood that Jorgen had seen similar qualities in many others.

Whether her relationship with Jorgen had ever been love was no longer something she cared to ponder. She still occasionally indulged in the comforting fantasy that Jorgen had searched for her out of personal interest, but she held no expectations. Jorgen had shown her how to survive in the outside world. Perhaps someday, when he heard that she d learned to leave behind golden keys and evade the Seven, he d silently approve if they ever met again as friends.

Jorgen, perhaps I learned too quickly.

 Do you like the view along the road? 

A voice broke her reverie. Bossia turned to see a female night elf sitting across from her.

 Huh? It's alright Bossia was puzzled by the question.

 Because I just saw you smiling. 

 Oh. Bossia smiled again, this time at the unusually friendly night elf. It wasn t the view; I was thinking of something else. 

 I enjoy trips like this; they let me reminisce a lot. May I know your name? 

Bossia hesitated briefly before giving a name different from Sharl. 

The elf sensed the discrepancy, as elves were far more perceptive than humans. Bossia realized she might lose a potential companion due to her lack of foresight and quietly chastised herself.

 I see, the elf repeated Bossia s name. Hello. I am LaroSharll. 

People who detected Bossia s use of a false name responded either with understanding or hostility. The elf took the former approach, lifting Bossia s spirits. Hello, she replied.

 Is this your first time going to the crater? 

They began to converse.

For three years, Bossia had often felt she either had nothing or had everything the moonlight on the desert, the turning wheels, the slight jostling of her body; a road, a breeze, a sword, a companion to talk to, a new name that might accompany her for a while. At least in this moment, she needed nothing more.