The Cart and the Mind

Well served, Acrona’s associates had thanked her upon the closure of the Grand Alliance Games. They said it fancier, but that was the main idea.

Make-believe, Acrona mused, watching the white-walled hold fall into the distance from the back of a cabbage cart.

However, she preferred the others to perceive her role in the night elves’ share of the faire as dutifulness rather than her paranoia, which was as pervasive as the flood of the Wetlands. Farther than the eye could follow, stagnant pools, misty lakes, and shallow rivers bordered the road.

The request to help coordinate the Kaldorei Day had come from an organization called the Amber Foundation, dedicated to aiding struggling Stormwind citizens to make ends meet, built on years of street kitchens feeding the poor, and public lectures teaching the unschooled.

A splendid initiative.

But, at its helm — a void elf.

The wheels groaned against the uneven cobblestones, wobbling the mountain of cabbages behind the cloaked mage. The alarm that had crossed Acrona’s mind upon the invitation outweighed the suspense of the pile toppling over her.

What if it were a trap?

Years had passed since Acrona’s friends freed her from the Void’s influence, but no moment had gone by she didn’t feel the shadows ever close. In her warped past, the whispers lived on, thriving within her tainted memories.

Was it any wonder then that she struggled to give the benefit of the doubt to anyone willingly exercising the powers of the Void?

“It’s going to be a long road to the South Gate with just me and you, lass,” the old dwarf spoke from the other side of his green gold, guiding the stocky ram Blackie with a gentle rein. “Can’t say I’ve spoken with that many elves before. Just curious, why aren’t you going back with your people on the ship?”

“I’m not fond of traveling by sea,” Acrona responded without being able to see the farmer.

Mafus was still out there.

“Seasick, eh? Well then, we’re carved from the same stone! So, how did you enjoy the games?” The dwarf was starved for conversation.

“It was insightful seeing different cultures under the Alliance banner,” Acrona replied placidly, securing one of the large-leafed greens from her lap back to where it had fallen. The cabbage thriving in the wet region was unique both in appearance and aroma, and unfortunately, putrid meat was not a pleasant smell.

With the arrangements finished, Acrona had spent much of her time in the hold observing rather than partaking in sports or other amusements. Her focus elsewhere than on those cultures. Should the Grand Alliance Games unravel as a bait for an ambush to corrupt innocent people to the Void’s service, she swore to be ready to act.

Such a plot never surfaced.

“Know any catchy songs?” the farmer probed next.

A flash of a child’s tear-streaked face, screeching and wailing loudly, filled Acrona’s vision. She blinked it gone. “I’m afraid I don’t sing." Not anymore.

The dwarf snorted, “Mind if I do?” In his defense, he stared at miles upon miles of empty road.

“Not at all.”

His voice was rough but warm, like freshly tilled soil in the sun.

It asked for a summer that wouldn’t scorch, neither rot the fields. It thanked the mountains, their fertile valleys and comfortable tunnels when the day was done. It hailed the crops and hops for lending themselves to haggis and ale. It was a wish for an abundant harvest banquet, after a year of sweat and aching muscles.

While night elves largely eschewed agriculture for its impact on the wilderness, dwarves and humans employed it out of necessity for sustenance, and Acrona couldn’t condemn them for it.

The mage’s eyes drifted to the kite next to her, scarcely fitting on the back of the cart with its broad wooden frame and hippogryph feathers fluttering on its edges.

The reminder to live a little was an unexpected gift from Jai’are Everdream and Oliver Welsh, made with their own hands. Apparently, Acrona had a part in the Warden and Gilnean delving into the mysteries of romance for hosting the Alor’el Spring Festival the previous year.

Neither was something she had planned to set up. She’d forward the thanks to Kaitalos who insisted it would do Acrona good to keep up some old habits, that it would help uncloud her memories.

The cart hit a nasty rock, jolting Acrona hard enough that she almost tumbled over the edge, and a shower of skunky vegetables rained down on her. It took the elf one or two full minutes to overcome her attackers and sit atop them.

Acrona wondered if this was a sign of things to come, since she and her kite were on their way to the snowy slopes of Dun Morogh before taking care of long overdue business in Ironforge.

If an avalanche buried her, at least it wouldn’t stink.