The river behind the Ariakan estate wound through the woods like a silver ribbon, clear enough to see stones glittering at the bottom, and minnows darting in quick, bright flashes. Sunlight broke through the canopy in patches, turning the water into molten gold wherever it touched.
Two splashes shattered the stillness.
Lytavis came up laughing, hair plastered to her cheeks, her hands scooping water at Tyrande with reckless abandon. Tyrande squealed, half indignant, half delighted, and tried to duck beneath the surface – but she came up sputtering, wet braids trailing like willow branches.
"You started it!" she cried, hurling a handful of river water back.
Lytavis only grinned, eyes glinting with mischief. "I'll finish it, too!"
Their laughter echoed through the trees, loud enough to startle a heron into flight. The girls waged their splash-battle until their arms ached, then floated, breathless, letting the current carry them for a time before finally clambering ashore.
The bank was soft with grass and dappled sunlight. They sprawled side by side, dripping and warm, the earth cool beneath them. Ginger, having thrown herself into the water with them, shook furiously and then collapsed in a damp heap at Lytavis's feet.
For a long while they said nothing, listening to the woods breathe around them. Tyrande rolled onto her side, propping her chin on her hand, eyes dreamy.
"When I grow up," she said, "I want to be a Priestess of Elune. They always seem so calm. Like nothing can touch them. And the Temple gardens…" She sighed, smiling. "They're my favorite place in all of Suramar. The way the moonlight falls on the marble, and the flowers – like the whole world is holding its breath."
Lytavis plucked a blade of grass and twisted it between her fingers. "I want to be a healer," she said. "Maybe even deliver babies. Did you know Theridan's mother just had one – a tiny girl called Talira." She grinned, wide and bright. "She's so small, Tyrande. Smaller than my arm. And so cute. She wrinkled her nose at me."
Tyrande giggled, rolling onto her back again. "You'll spend your whole life catching babies if you do that."
"And you'll spend yours telling people to be calm," Lytavis shot back, tossing the grass at her. "We'll see who gets bored first."
Their laughter faded into the slow rustle of leaves. The river kept running, steady and sure, but something deeper thrummed beneath it, faint as a heartbeat. Lytavis lay very still, eyes closed, as though the warmth of the sun carried some hidden song. Tyrande's brow furrowed slightly; she felt it too, though she could not name it.
Neither spoke. They were only children, after all. But they stayed longer on the riverbank than they meant to, as if some part of them knew the world had listened – and had quietly answered.