It was shortly after her departure, however, that all runners stopped. No news came from the front lines. For the military, it was generally assumed that sending a runner was simply dangerous, and that things would be taken care of. Ranger-General Windrunner knew what she was doing, knew how to handle the front lines, and that things were going smoothly. The gates still stood, and the city was safe.
Purah, on the other hand, stood on edge. This wasn't normal, or right, and he knew it. The best runners were those who could move with speed and do so silently, unseen. Someone, somewhere, should have been able to send word. Even if that word was "All clear." His nervousness got him into trouble. After another day of pacing in front of his desk with no runners in sight, Runner-Commander Bur'ir sent him home. "You're making the others nervous. Hell, you're making me nervous. Go home, Purah. It's slow now anyway. I'll send a messenger for you if your services are needed again." A dismissal, pure and simple. He had left without argument.
But he didn't go home. He found Silea near the school, reading on a bench. She was fully engrossed in her book and didn't look up as he collapsed onto the bench beside her. In fact, he sat staring at her for some time without her noticing him. He was glad of the silence, for the time he had to look at her. He loved her, he realized. The way she remained optimistic, her steadfastness, her friendship... she was perfect.
"I think I love you," he whispered.
Startled, she looked up from her book. "Purah? When did you get here? Did you say something? I didn't hear." She immediately put her book aside, worried again. About him, he realized.
"Silea, I shouldn't tell you this. I could lose my job, even be put in jail..." he paused, the gravity of what he was going to do stopping him for a moment. "Something terrible is going to occur. I don't have proof, except what I know, and what isn't happening. I want you to leave. To get out of the city."
Once he said it, he realized how foolish it sounded, how crazy. He realized how he must look, in day or two-old clothing, his hair mussed, his hands and clothes and face smudged with ink. He hadn't slept in his own bed in days, and he hadn't slept well in far longer than that. He knew the next words out of her mouth would be for him to stop worrying, that things are fine, that the city is safe behind the gates. He was surprised, then, by her reaction.
"Okay." He started to protest, to try to convince her to go, when he realized she had already agreed. "What?"
She almost laughed at him. He must have looked ten times more absurd than usual. "I said 'okay.' I believe you. I know you wouldn't lie to me, or to yourself. I trust your judgement. So, when do we leave?"
He almost breathed a sigh of relief. Almost. It was that last bit, that last little sentence that stopped him. "We?" he turned to her. "'We' go nowhere. You, on the other hand, you have to go. Take basic supplies and get out of the city. I have to stay, to work."
"No. Absolutely not." She stood then, and put her hands on her hips. Purah would have laughed if he didn't feel so afraid of what might be going on outside these walls, with no word getting through. "Purah Lightsword, if you think for even a moment I'd leave this city without you, you're as crazy as you look. You do look terrible, by the way. Have you eaten today? Hell, have you eaten this week? Month? You look half-crazed, skinny, and pale. In fact..." she stopped down and grabbed his arm. "You're coming with me. Obviously you're done with work for the day."
She scooped up her book and marched away, Purah in tow. He didn't realize until a few minutes later that she was taking him home. She opened his apartment with a key she pulled from her pocket (When did I give her a spare key? he was thinking rapidly, then remembered that he had asked her to check in on his apartment occasionally) and sat him roughly down on his couch. She then scurried about, fixing him a light lunch and pouring him a glass of wine.
She made sure he ate, then sent him off to bathe. Bewildered, and far too exhausted at this point to argue, he did as he was told. By the time he was done, she had laid out clean clothes and turned down his bed. "Sleep," she commanded. As he collapsed into the bed, he reached out and grabbed her hand.
"Thank you," he whispered. "Please... don't go. I'd like to talk, later, if you can." She smiled, then.
"You're welcome, 'Rah. And I'll be here. Knowing you, you'd probably just wait 'till I left then jump back out of bed to go work. Now, rest mister!"
She walked out and closed the curtain behind her. Purah, for the first time in days, finally slept soundly and dreamless.
.: * :.
He awoke to someone shaking him. For a brief moment, he completely forgot where he was. He had expected to see the desks and scribes from the runner's station, not his bedroom at home, and nearly bolted from his bed. Slowly, the day before came back to him, and looked up to see a frightened Silea attached to the hand that had woken him. "Silea? Silea, what's the matter, what's wrong?"
She gulped and gestured to the window. He stood and pulled the sheer curtains aside... only to see a terrible green glow in the forest surrounding the city. Fires. Not campfires, but simply the destructive, magical fire of the approaching Scourge army. It was muted a bit by a strange, hazy cloud of dust or smoke that hung over the horizon. His eyes widened in shock and dismay. Reaching behind him, he found Silea's hand and held it tight.
No runners came to Silvermoon, because none got through. Things had not gone smoothly. Things did not turn out okay, and the city wasn't safe. The gates had fallen.
Arthas was on his way, and all the walking dead of Lordaeron were at Silvermoon's front door.
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