<115>

	For Drenan, it was as if time froze for a very, very long moment.  He was not fearful, per se, but he knew his next words had to be chosen very carefully.  “I suppose we have not spoken of marriage before, considering the unique origin of our relationship.”

	“Yeah, I think that’s why I never said anything,” Lyrah admitted.  “But I dunno… something about seeing Talla and Saratha just moved me in a way that I can’t explain.  They were so happy together, just like we are, and I just kept thinking that they should be wearing [i]some[/i] kind of matching jewelry.  I know some people are happy without some dumb ceremony, and that’s just fine, but… I want it with you, Daddy.”  Her gaze finally turned to her father, her azure eyes sparkling beautifully beneath the moonlight.

	The only thing Drenan could think to do was smile and squeeze her hand even tighter.  “It… may be a difficult road to achieve it, but I will move Azeroth itself to make it happen for us.”

	Lyrah scoffed.  “It’s not like we [i]have[/i] to tell some stuffy ol’ priest that we’re related.  I bet it wouldn’t be that hard.”

	“Maybe.  We still do not have a home yet, and we are not exactly wealthy beyond all reason.”

	Lyrah’s smile waned just a little.  “I don’t want anything huge, Dad.  Just something small with a couple friends to show that we’re in it for the long haul, y’know?”

	“I understand.  I just wish to be practical is all,” Drenan rumbled.  “And I want to be certain it is done right.”

	Lyrah let out an incredulous chuckle.  “Right?  Like, what [i]right[/i] way does a father marry his daughter?”

	Drenan shrugged weakly.  “Carefully I suppose, and-”

	The shaman’s smile vanished.  “Look, I understood your reservations about getting me pregnant, but we did it anyway and it’s going [i]great[/i].  Are you hesitant because you were already married once?”

	Drenan went wide-eyed.  “No!  No not at all-”

	“Don’t give me that ‘you can do better’ crap, ‘cause we’ve been through that, too.”

	“That’s not it, honestly, I-”

	“Or is it [i]embarrassing[/i] to be marrying a girl you already knocked up?!”

	“Enough!” Drenan barked and shot out of his seat.  “Let me speak!”

	“I don’t think we need to,” Lyrah returned calmly and stood as well.  “The fact that you hesitated at all told me everything I needed to know.”

	“Is practicality-”

	“I’m going to bed,” Lyrah said, deadpan, and climbed into the hammock.  “I’m sure the floor is cooler anyway.”

	Drenan grunted angrily.  “I need some fresh air,” he added before walking out the inn door, though he closed it as gently as could be.

	Lyrah did not immediately fall asleep, but her temper did cool as she was left alone to her thoughts.  Perhaps he hadn’t meant to hesitate, and perhaps her passion to wed him may have overruled any salient points he had.  Maybe her hormones were doing a number on her.  Regardless of the reason, the shaman felt tears begin to fall down her cheeks.

	Lyrah quietly sobbed herself to sleep that night.

* * * * *

	Outside the inn, Drenan leaned heavily against a nearby fence and stared out into the calm sea to the east.  There wasn’t a single doubt in his mind that he wanted to marry Lyrah, but at the same time he was determined to do it the right way, or at least the way he deemed proper.  With a soft trill, Kacheya landed on his shoulder, and the bull reached up to scritch the owl’s neck affectionately.  “Kacheya, I’m afraid I must ask you many favors in a short amount of time.”

	The bird of prey seemed entirely nonplussed, and nuzzled him in return.

	Drenan smiled.  “Thank you, my friend.  We have a lot of work to do.”

	The determined bull went straight over to the nearest merchant and purchased a dozen rolls of parchment with ink.  He sat just beyond the inn’s entrance and began to write, taking many pauses to consider the details of his messages.  Once written, Drenan tied all twelve rolls to Kacheya’s legs.  “You are certain you can handle this?”

	The owl trilled confidently and gave him a soft peck on his horn.

	Drenan smiled.  “Swift travels, Kacheya.  Be [i]careful[/i].”

	With a beat of its large wings, Kacheya was off into the night sky and out of sight.

	But Drenan couldn’t rest just yet.

	In the cover of night, Drenan stepped back into the general store and left with a miner’s pickaxe.  The wyvern master had him in Silithus in short order.  He couldn’t help but lament his daughter’s sickness and their current inability to use wyverns.  Part of him wondered if they shouldn’t have used them more often, rather than choosing to travel on hoof.  Such thoughts kept him occupied as he bravely skirted the buried sword, finding one of the few underground hives left of the scattered silithid.  The bull made quick and easy work of most any bug that crossed his path, stopping before every ooze-covered deposit to empty it of its thorium.  Fortunately, after a meager hour of searching, one node broke open before him, and its contents bathed him in blue light.  Drenan smiled in triumph, scooped up his treasures, and made for the wyvern master as quick as he could in the darkness.

	Once back in Ratchet, Drenan sold off all of his ore and treasures, keeping only the glowing prize he’d found.  Many goblins continued to mill about the town even in the wee hours of the morning, and Drenan took the chance to ask around about a proper tradesperson.  One goblin was [i]kind[/i] enough to give him a name in exchange for a handful of gold, and as quick as ever he was off on another flight, this time to Razor Hill.

	Once landed, Drenan checked his scribbles on another piece of parchment, and minutes later he stood before a still-lit house.  He knocked thrice on the door, which opened to reveal a rather grumpy-looking, green-skinned orc.  The hunter glanced at his note one last time.  “Greetings.  You are Blud Sharpstrike, yes?”

	”Who’s asking?” He returned brusquely.

	“One in need of a shaman for forging purposes.”
