Dragoncrest Cliffs The Freedom From Possession

it seemed as though his rank within rusalka was of some interest to the slate-cloaked male. there was something that shifted in the stranger’s gaze – something that spoke of understanding on an instinctual level, and interest beyond that. then, the male asked what the pack was called. illidan’s eyes trailed the cliffs before roaming back down to his home. a breathless sigh passed through his lips in that moment. “rusalka,” he answered evenly. it was just another name in a long list. before rusalka, there had been grimnismal, and before that… well, it was called many things. the name meant very little, only that it represented a home.
 
when the beast inquired about their longevity within the area, illidan’s brow furrowed into a thoughtful expression. there was a crease between his eyes, a somber frown. it felt like they had been there since the beginning of time, but that was no accurate measurement. how much was he intended to share with this fellow? if he asked for history, it could be provided, but the ghost was not interested in talking through the daylight hours.
 
“we have been settled there for just under a year. we had lived in the pack that had been there before, as well, before a bear had displaced us,” the wildling responded. he recalled back to the time when the bear had sought their shores and instilled terror in the members of the pack before rusalka. “what of you? where do you claim your home?” illidan then returned to the brute of a man. he was curious about him. something in his frame seemed to speak of a lifetime of travel – a vagabond – and it reminded illidan far too much of his father to ignore it.