Cryssam stared at the druid with cold eyes. She had seen this coming, of course. Everyone had. But hearing the words come out of her mouth made all final.
Momentarily, she wondered how the team would go on. Littlebark had been the one everyone talked to, someone you could find refuge under and led the team when morale sunk. We will go on, she thought with resolve, Others will pop up to fill her spot.
They had suffered bitterly when Littlebark told them that the Cenarion Expedition had asked her to join her Night Elf brothers and sisters, fighting a more intel team at the Citadel. For months, they faced the same enemy but on different sides.
Months passed before ‘Bark made her way back, trying to fit in but feeling lost. When they weren’t pressing their forces on the Citadel, she was out by herself farming herbs for her potions or fishing or helping the tribes in Scholar Basin. She kept to herself, Cryssam noted, and in doing so lost touch with everyone she loved.
“You want me to re-assign you… to where?”
She shrugged, the fur on her body rippling slightly, “I don’t know, Cryss. All I know is that I haven’t been around.”
“And when you do go to the front lines, your feral sides shines when all we need are healers.”
Littlebark felt the jab but merely sighed, “Which is why I’m asking you- if you have any work for me elsewhere, please assign me to it.”
“We’re at war, ‘Bark. I don’t go around picking up fluff work when I have a damn Lich King looming over us,” Cryssam rubbed her temples, not really feeling pain but merely doing it unintentionally. Old habits die hard, she thought morbidly.
“How about work in Azeroth? Training young recruits or tending to the injured?”
“The injured here need you.”
Stubbornly, her nose went up, “I won’t stay in Northrend, Cryss. Not after everything that’s happened. If you don’t have anything, I’ll put in my request to be removed from my post and find something on my own terms.”
A threat veiled in sincerity and determination. Cryssam’s eyes narrowed, making the slits glow an eerie, cold blue. “I picked this up a couple weeks ago. They might still need help.”
Littlebark grabbed the paper from her hand, eyes flying over the paper, “Draenor?”
“The Sporeggar need help,” said the Death Knight simply, “and like you said, there’s no use in you being dead weight here.”
A growl escaped Littlebark. “I’ll head down there as soon as I say my goodbyes.”
The Tauren stopped in her tracks, obviously resisting the urge to continue walking.
“You may have been dead weight… but you are one hell of a soldier.”
Littlebark’s eyebrows rose, surprise in her eyes. “You are a good leader, Cryss.”
“Just not the right one for you.”
“I’m not right to follow command right now,” she admitted, “and you’re doing a good job despite his absence.”
“I’m… trying my best,” Cryssam whispered hoarsely but Littlebark had already left. Suddenly overwhelmed, she shivered and grasped her head in her hands. One of the few veterans left had walked out of her camp.
It was happening too often for her liking.