Dreams of the Past



I seem to be drifting.

Strange, I don’t remember being on water but I hear the sound of it.

I’m strangely cold and wet. My hands are not mine, I don’t recognize them.

I hear noises: the sound of metal clinking and wood creaking. Muffled voices speak in Thalassian, a language I can normally understand. Wood seems to impede my hearing. The one thing I can hear is clear as the sky.


We’re heading for Pandaria.

I try to spread my wings to stretch but strangely they’re not there.

Oh, right, I’m disguised as one of them.

A sudden sway and a heavy crate moves, based on the noise it’s full of Sin’dorei gear. I don’t need armor, I’m not going to fight alongside them. Not in their stupid conflicts.

I finally find clothes that fit and I wear them, hoping to send away that moist cold from every one of my morphed bones. I lay down. I’m cold.

This swaying cradles me, the voices are nearer, I hear someone talk about me. They seem… angry.

I open my eyes and the foreign soil where my feet land makes me want to bless the stability of it. I wasn’t made for boats after all.

“A sword and armor?  Please stop, I don’t want to fight. Treason? I’m not even one of you.”

The conflict is bad, I have to fight anyway.

“I want to run away. I have to get out of here.”

They hit me pretty bad, I fall on the sand. Blood.

“Mother. Father. I miss you. I wish I could be strong like you.”

The pain makes me numb. I can’t feel anything, hear anything, I’m dead.


The light returns. A funny-looking bear is standing next to me, all clothed, smoking a pipe? A bear that smokes?

Oh, it’s one of those Pandarens I heard about.

At first, as he speaks, I can’t understand him, but then I recognize the Common tongue.

He speaks of the future, of teachings I can’t yet understand, of his own demise.

The dark coils up around me again. I’m pulled down by something. I see no more.

I hurt all over. Anger, sadness, emptiness, I’m alone. All alone.

“Mother, father, I can’t do it.”

A voice anwers me, it seems familiar: “Tes, you fatty, wake up and cook something.”

Spikes come out of my body. They tear my skin. It hurts. I don’t want to. I can’t stand it. It burns. The green light burns..

“I can’t give in. No more. Enough. I won’t talk.”

Another voice I can’t recognize speaks in my head. “Grass Pal!”

The whirlpool of pain clods my judgement and my sanity almost peels off of me.

“Am I gone for good? Mother, father? Am I finally able to see you again?”

The vortex suddenly lifts. The funny-looking bear is in front of me, floating. He seems slightly… pissed off.

He approaches and I’m slapped on the head. A single word comes to my mind: Master.

“Wake up, you big lazy lizard.”

I open my eyes. An empty stomach welcomes me back, growling like a little saber cub.

The grass cuddles my scales, bugs sway to the winds. I roll on my back.

Air fill my lungs and scares away all the stress from my body.

The big tree of the Red Sanctum watches over me, sturdier than ever, shading me from the sun.

I feel warm inside, not a single word but a big smile comes on to my mouth.

This is not then, this is now. Mythres. Heartwing.


Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *