The Locket

 The druidess looked down at the small wooden locket that hung from her neck, going to hold it in her hand, rubbing against the wood grain. The small coffin shaped object had virtually become part of her at this point, the leather maintained and kept while the wood was kept oiled and pristine. It was one of the few objects that Alnarra was careful to clean every morning, and the one object she never let herself lose. 
Opening it and staring down at the picture behind the bit of glass, her mind drifted fondly back to that day. 

It was a chilly spring morning, she could still remember her youngest complaining that a trip to Hyjal was silly because they had some school related event they wanted to attend, but Alnarra had been insistent. Trips to the capital of their people weren’t unheard of, but it wasn’t often that the entire family had time to take a trip together somewhere. Rumblings in the south of collapsed Quilboar tunnels and angered silithid dens were already starting to make their way around the cities and towns of the Kaldorei. 

She knew her two oldest had already gotten requests from the sentinels and circle alike to be prepared to move out in the next few months, and she could not be sure of the next time she would have all of them together in one place. So, she had decided to commission an artist in Hyjal to paint the whole family together, a family photo that she could keep on the mantle like any proud parent might. 

Kissing at her mate’s cheek, the five night elves would use some of the sabers that they raised there on their farm and make their way through Northern Ashenvale, what today is called Felwood, but at the time was a bright and life filled segment of forest. The flowers were just starting to come into bloom and the animals had all come from their dens as the winter months were ending. 

It was not a trip unfamiliar to any of them, traveling to Hyjal in fact was far from anything new or grand. If anything, they often had to travel there to buy or sell goods at a market, or to ensure some piece of paperwork was seen to and taken care of. Alnarra had been up there just last week to pick up a bundle of herbs to help soothe the stomach of a few ill sabers. But this was a different time, there was no talk of trade or ill sabers instead just a family of night elves catching up with each other. 

Talgrath, her oldest son, was explaining how excited he was to begin learning some new healing magics from his Shan’do. He, like his mother before him, had gone before the circle to learn about druidism, and more then that studied to become a doctor, having set up his own little clinic in the hills of Azshara. Myrodin, her middle child, had been spending some time with Kaldorei sentinels to help learn how best to document scouting notes and relay that information back to command. Alannah, her youngest, was soon to graduate from the academy in Ashenvale to pursue her own interest. Alnarra had hoped she might choose a little rebellion against the status quo and look into druidism as she had, though their father Veraldan had encouraged she put her skills as a huntress to use with the sentinels. 

For every inch of frustration that might come with raising a child, there were boundless moments of joy, like this, where she could see all three of her children and her mate trek through the quiet hill side to the shores of the lake that nestled itself by the great world tree Nordrassil. 

The druidess could still remember the scent on the air as the artist had asked the five of them to all take a seat on a small bench, how she had spent at least fifteen minutes trying to help her middle child get his hair into the ponytail he wanted. Pulling out a small napkin to wipe away some pollen from her mate’s cheeks and trying to make the whole thing look as professional as possible. 

After all, getting such pictures was not an easy affair. These artists often had months if not years of commissions lined up and getting a spot in the queue was frankly a tedious effort on the best of days. Still Anarra had been patient, and ever thankful that they had managed to get their spot in queue before her children ended up getting called away to whatever may be brewing. 

They sat there for what seemed like hours, holding their pose as the artist worked diligently to capture every feature, every nuanced detail. But when the family gathered around to look at the work put on display, it was apparent the wait had been well worth it. It was almost realistic in its details, and perhaps a bit of arcane magic had been used to help liven the poses, though that would be everyone’s little secret. 

The picture was something the druidess treasured even in that moment, having a few smaller copies made so that she could place them in picture frames. Little did she know of course in that moment, there beneath the boughs of Nordrassil, it would be the last time all five elves would be together. 

In the coming months, what to the Kaldorei, would become known as the War of the Shifting Sands would start. Alnarra’s children would all do their duty to protect the Kaldorei people, marching off to war. She and her husband would remain behind to provide the sentinels and circle with sabers for the war effort, only to receive word that the lives of all three of her children had been claimed at the attack on the night elven base of operations at Southwind village. 

During the cataclysm, she could only watch in horror and sadness as Alliance troops dragged her away to safety while her mate fought one desperate battle to make sure they all escaped a cultist encampment in the Twilight highlands. 

Now, this image, encased in a coffin-shaped locket, was all she had left of that life, a reminder of a different time. She had, over the years, slowly come to terms with a reality without her children, without her mate, but some days were harder than others. It was not possible for the Kaldorei to escape the past that intertwined itself with her life, not possible to push down and bury what had happened. But this little locket did help her for a moment, try to regain a sense of calm and composure. 

It was this locket that reminded her of all the wonderful moments, of all the happiness and sorrows that come with raising a family. It helped keep her grounded and reminded her of what it was she was fighting for in times that she forgot. During the third legion invasion, when she was helping with section 28’s operations, she would often turn to the locket asking the family that she had lost what she should do, what was right, what it was she might have forgotten. 

Her finger gently caressed the glass frame that kept the picture behind safe from the elements and ravages of time, a single tear running down her cheek even as a smile danced across her face. Taking a deep breath, she closed the little locket once more, stepping back into the role she played now, so different than before, but not so far from where she had been. So long as she kept that little reminder of her past close, she was never far from those that she loved, and they were never far from her.