((Apologies ahead of time to any that read and realize my butchering of Real World language to stuff it in as substitution for Pandaren. I do however, refuse to apologize for the presence of a Pandaren and Pandaria in Astarin's history. Too much fun and effort went into coming up with the circumstances. <3 ))
Tsun. Here. My hands are steady while I write this, yet I feel they should be trembling, to convey even a small portion of what I feel in this moment.
I could hardly believe the letter when I pulled it from the pile in the mailbox months ago to read. I must admit that a part of me was... not of right mind, and it soon became lost with the rest of my paperwork when I fled to the northlands. His intentions within the letter were also misplaced in my mind until nearly too late. Small excuse, poor excuse. Does it matter now, when he is here, and some part of me feels at ease for the first time in several decades? I do not know.
I could hardly believe the letter when I pulled it from the pile in the mailbox months ago to read. I must admit that a part of me was... not of right mind, and it soon became lost with the rest of my paperwork when I fled to the northlands. His intentions within the letter were also misplaced in my mind until nearly too late. Small excuse, poor excuse. Does it matter now, when he is here, and some part of me feels at ease for the first time in several decades? I do not know.
At least temporarily, all misgivings melted away the moment the boat pulled into the harbor and I spotted his distinctive broad-rimmed hat as he stepped onto the dock.
He was the first person to share with me what compassion means, what patience yields, when I awoke after being pulled from the tide. He is the one who took me in when I was so lost and alone. I was alien to him and his people in all senses of the word and yet he treated me as his son. I can never repay the kindnesses he wrapped me up in as surely as he had wrapped my naked, malnourished body in blankets after they had dragged me onto the sand and resuscitated me.
By nature there was no welcoming embrace between us, just simple bows and then clasped forearms as he tilted his chin to look down and meet my eyes. His small, brown eyes squinted against the glare of the winter sun that had just begun to pierce the fog of early morning, and I remember thinking that there were less inches now to separate our gazes than when we last had shared the same morning.
My Pandaren is so terribly rusty, and must have sounded atrocious to his small ears, but the old bear said nothing when I gave the appropriate greeting, and as he absently brushed up the edge of my sleeve, the velvet of his fingerpads on my wrist were warm and rough and familiar.
It took me many minutes to realize he was checking the progress of my scars, and I felt momentary shame well up. None of the injuries that I came to him with in my arrival have faded or truly healed despite the long years that have passed; the cuffs around my wrists are still as vivid and as angry a blue as when they were first tended to, as is the mass of twisted flesh from my collarbone to my cheek on my left side.
I was as polite as I could be in pulling my arm free and adjusting my sleeve to hide my wrist once more, and Tsun made the rumbling whuff through his short muzzle that meant unspoken disapproval.
"You hide," he noted, and then tucked his broad hands within his sleeves.
"Dàshī Tsun, it is... I..." I hesitated, touched my gloved fingers to the fabric stretched across my face, before once more allowing my hand to fall to my side. "--I offend."
The whuff noise again, and his heavy, bushy eyebrows rose minutely as his nose wrinkled. "Offend, wo er? A noxious odor offends, an impudent child offends. Your face does not. It is just a part of you."
"Shì, Dàshī." I replied dutifully. "It is as you say. However, this is... not home. Here, there are... many things that are... different. Here, I am... the sum of my... appearance, instead of my appearance... being a part of the whole."
He gently patted my shoulder for this, careful to keep the thick nails from catching in the fabric of my tunic. "Pity," he murmured, and then chin-cocked the great set of stairs far behind us past the dock. "It is cold, and there was a distinct lack of spirits on-board to change this."
This signaled the end of the topic, but I knew he would revisit it sometime soon.
I attempted a tour of Stormwind later in the evening, and during our walk we met an elder druid--Lady Windila perhaps has a point, when all it seems that I run into are druids and elves lately--who expressed interest in joining us. Something about recently awakening after a long time in a dream. They are a rather secretive, close-mouthed lot, so I remain both unclear on druidic culture and the nature of the kal'dorei's explanations.
Master Rynivor was very polite, at least, albeit distracted and quiet.
Strangely, their silence--and my own inadequacy with conversation--made me miss Master Merosiel all the more.
I deeply wish the Lady Windila had spoken to me first, instead of to him. What if he never returns, or I fail in finding him as I failed in finding Iatrios during his own crisis? That memory still pains me I find that I am particularly lonely for Merosiel's laugh tonight.
He was the first person to share with me what compassion means, what patience yields, when I awoke after being pulled from the tide. He is the one who took me in when I was so lost and alone. I was alien to him and his people in all senses of the word and yet he treated me as his son. I can never repay the kindnesses he wrapped me up in as surely as he had wrapped my naked, malnourished body in blankets after they had dragged me onto the sand and resuscitated me.
By nature there was no welcoming embrace between us, just simple bows and then clasped forearms as he tilted his chin to look down and meet my eyes. His small, brown eyes squinted against the glare of the winter sun that had just begun to pierce the fog of early morning, and I remember thinking that there were less inches now to separate our gazes than when we last had shared the same morning.
My Pandaren is so terribly rusty, and must have sounded atrocious to his small ears, but the old bear said nothing when I gave the appropriate greeting, and as he absently brushed up the edge of my sleeve, the velvet of his fingerpads on my wrist were warm and rough and familiar.
It took me many minutes to realize he was checking the progress of my scars, and I felt momentary shame well up. None of the injuries that I came to him with in my arrival have faded or truly healed despite the long years that have passed; the cuffs around my wrists are still as vivid and as angry a blue as when they were first tended to, as is the mass of twisted flesh from my collarbone to my cheek on my left side.
I was as polite as I could be in pulling my arm free and adjusting my sleeve to hide my wrist once more, and Tsun made the rumbling whuff through his short muzzle that meant unspoken disapproval.
"You hide," he noted, and then tucked his broad hands within his sleeves.
"Dàshī Tsun, it is... I..." I hesitated, touched my gloved fingers to the fabric stretched across my face, before once more allowing my hand to fall to my side. "--I offend."
The whuff noise again, and his heavy, bushy eyebrows rose minutely as his nose wrinkled. "Offend, wo er? A noxious odor offends, an impudent child offends. Your face does not. It is just a part of you."
"Shì, Dàshī." I replied dutifully. "It is as you say. However, this is... not home. Here, there are... many things that are... different. Here, I am... the sum of my... appearance, instead of my appearance... being a part of the whole."
He gently patted my shoulder for this, careful to keep the thick nails from catching in the fabric of my tunic. "Pity," he murmured, and then chin-cocked the great set of stairs far behind us past the dock. "It is cold, and there was a distinct lack of spirits on-board to change this."
This signaled the end of the topic, but I knew he would revisit it sometime soon.
I attempted a tour of Stormwind later in the evening, and during our walk we met an elder druid--Lady Windila perhaps has a point, when all it seems that I run into are druids and elves lately--who expressed interest in joining us. Something about recently awakening after a long time in a dream. They are a rather secretive, close-mouthed lot, so I remain both unclear on druidic culture and the nature of the kal'dorei's explanations.
Master Rynivor was very polite, at least, albeit distracted and quiet.
Strangely, their silence--and my own inadequacy with conversation--made me miss Master Merosiel all the more.
I deeply wish the Lady Windila had spoken to me first, instead of to him. What if he never returns, or I fail in finding him as I failed in finding Iatrios during his own crisis? That memory still pains me I find that I am particularly lonely for Merosiel's laugh tonight.
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