(Fragment from Malfurion's early reflections, preserved in study.)
The Festival of Blossoms is fleeting, but its lessons are not.
Before the races began, a child fell near the fountain. Panic spread faster than sense, as it often does. Then one of the healers stepped forward - quiet, assured. She laid her hands upon the child's brow, and light answered her as though it had been waiting. The crying stopped. Calm returned. In that instant, I understood that healing is not the absence of chaos, but the will to meet it gently.
Later, I watched those same women join the race with little hope of winning. Yet they finished it - laughing, unashamed. There was humility in it, and courage too. The world needs both.
The taller one laughed until their boat nearly capsized; the smaller one steadied them both. Each relied upon the other. It is an easy thing to mistake mirth for foolishness, but joy is not weakness. It is strength unarmored.
When the fireworks began, the taller one lifted her face to the light. There was peace there, unguarded and honest. I wonder if she knows what it is she carries…
not beauty, but grace that asks for nothing and gives freely all the same.
Illidan saw the one who defies the current.
I saw the one who blesses it as she passes.