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Lomnus rested in his bed, staring at the ceiling of the small Gilnean cottage that had been his home now since during the Fourth War. It gave him no moral quandry that he had refurbished and squatted in what was once someone else’s home for several years, now; he and his family had done a lot for the land of his old home and the few buildings the made a living in, and he was happy. Not that he was pushing to make sure they could resettle as a kingdom… that’d create potential conflict, and wasn’t his goal; no, he just wished to make sure the Blackwald and Taldoren, and the local wildlife, could flourish again. Gilneas City itself was beyond his work, nor his purpose, and bad memories from his youth yet drove him to avoid the streets.

He rolled over to look at one of his few partners lying with him, an amused chuckle as he patted Therandros’s brow a little as the big worgen snored, then rolled the other way and heaved his mass up to get out of bed and start dressing. He moved over to a table in the house, after, and sat down with a journal he’d been keeping the past three years, mulling over the contents within, quietly.

He reminisced what he wrote down, mulling over his records as the peace settled in, where he’d put his paws first back on the Gilnean soil he called home again, and devoted much of his time to family and the land. Mandrakes flourishing in the swamps, moonleaf in the Blackwald. Stags populations, black-tipped gryphons, highland wolves and foxes, wild stallions, all starting to return in the absence of the Forsaken front, and his own people as well, even if slowly over many years. It had made him happy to see the wild nature begin to return to the land, though he knew, some day, it was still possible his countrymen would reclaim the nation, and this small moment of Gilneas, full of untouched nature and ruins, would be undone. He accepted the potential, though, they deserved their home back… some day. For now, he sort of reveled in his duty of maintaining what was, at the moment, wildlands.


He was drawn back from reminiscing the notes on the well-being of each plant and animal that meant so much to his homeland and his work the past few years by the patting on his leg by the young furbolg roughly half his height now, growing up fast. He looked to his son, and smiled a little. “‘Ey, Kenneth. Wot’s brought you over to your ol’ dad?”

“You’re not ‘old dad’, he is!” *The child offers, pointing at the sleeping worgen Lomnus had left wrapped up in the blankets on his large bed.

The older furbolg snorts lightly. “I suppose he is…” He looks to the child again though, raising a brow.

“Talbot tol’ me to bring you this.” The nearly three-year-old cub responds after perking up, awkwardly staring back for a moment first, and sets a box on the desk near Lomnus, offering the semblance of an awkward, proud smile, and then turns to waddle off out to the tavern next door again. The druid opened the box, and chuckled as he took the small pastry within out to munch on.

“Happy birthday to me.” He snickered before munching on it. Everyone was busy, one of them was asleep… he didn’t mind. The muggy yet cool summer rain in Gilneas pattered louder outside as he returned to his notes.

However, that duty alone kind of left him wanting. With no way to progress, just upkeep, his drive for proactive work in the world and want to protect led him back to Alterac. He didn’t expect much to change for himself and he wasn’t trying to push his way into anything, but it made sense to… dip his toes in more. Not that he made a lot of progress, but he did finally visit Blackveil Isle using his right as a Private and a used of magic to look around. He’d visit a few times over the couple years, mostly just getting acquainted. He’d offer his knowledge, later, likely. Get more involved. As much the same, he’d check in on the infirmary when in Talongrab, see if people need help, help stock, the like. Small things to say ‘I’m still here’ on both parts. After his uncertainty before, and the fact he’d been welcomed back and subsequently further instated, he figured it best to put his heart into it.

He sat back again from the study of the many pages of recollection he’d made over the peacetime, sighing. Three years, nearly, now. He was getting to be an old man, and he honestly had a life he could… settle into. He could put his days as a fighter for Azeroth and whatever causes he chose to focus on to do so behind him, right?

He’d recorded notes, as well, as he traveled the world again as often as he could. Hyjal, Val’sharah, the Hinterlands, the Twilight Grove, Feralas, Ashenvale, Grizzly Hills… he walked back and forth through the many lands connected by the Ways he’d learned to walk back when the Nightmare struck and Ysera fell. Reminding himself of his real purpose, and everything he loved and fought for, in the end. He’d heard after the fact of the conflict the Citrine Eagle had with the Nightmare and their assistance of the Green Flight, and it spurred him to honor his past, and the oath he still carried into the future.

He looked over all those notes again, statements to himself, catalogs of his thoughts, feelings, actions on the pages before him, anywhere from more logical organized data to string-of-consciousness or near poetic retellings. He smiled to himself, a bit. He was getting old. Most men his age were well into their decline from their prime, but his nature, his practice… he felt as lively as ever, and he added one last entry, before closing the book, getting up, walking out into the rain, and shifting forms into his massive Gilnean raven shape to fly off over the bay:

A note to myself,

Remember that you will always be able to return to the things you love, as long as they are there to return to. You are not alone in protecting them, but you also cannot forget that you are there to do so, as much as to live with them, and love them. And not even them, but all of the world, still needs someone like you. The Citrine Eagle, the Cenarion Circle, the Alliance and the Horde… friends, family, even your greatest enemies. All of them, Azeroth herself, they all mean something to you, and you, to them. And that’s what it really means, Guardian. Protector of the Wilds. Father. Brother. Healer. Both bulwark and binder.

Look ahead to the bright future you have. Live your life to the best you can. There’s always something to fight for.

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