Herbalists' Cache the gunslinger watched as the world moved on

hatred burned inside of him like an endless fire, and it had just been doused in gasoline. he wanted to move forward and wrap his fangs around her throat and squeeze the life from it. he wanted her to cease her pitiful crying so that he could focus on the task at hand, but she did not. instead, she drew her head upward and regarded him with a sad expression that he could not have placed. illidan did what he could to grit himself against the wash of emotion that threatened to flood through his limbs.

'i... am sorry'

the words were soft, almost as though they fluttered on the backs of moths. the ghost furrowed his brow and snorted into the chilling winter air. a plume of his breath rose from his nostrils and disappeared into the dismal grey of the sky. it was too late for pleasantries, wasn't it? it was too late for her to say things like that when she had aided them in a war against his family and his home. all for what? for settling in the place that they belonged... she ought to have been sorry.

“you should be,” he growled in a gravely voice. his eyes were steely against her narrow features, but he did not budge just yet. instead, he stood like a savage reaper and waited to see what she had to say for herself beyond the pitiful murmuring of apologies.