The Temple of Elune was hushed with afternoon light. Tyrande sat cross-legged on the marble floor, murmuring prayers as she copied verses from a scroll onto a wax tablet. Her silver eyes glowed with quiet determination, though the ink on her fingertips betrayed how often she'd paused to frown and think.
In the adjoining hall, Lytavis moved among the novices and the wounded alike. A child scraped from a fall, an acolyte coughing from temple dust—each left her care calmer, a salve smoothed here, a whispered word of comfort there. Her silvery hair caught the sunbeams through the high windows, her hands deft as any elder healer's.
By the time the afternoon bells rang, both girls were ready for escape. And as if summoned, the Stormrage twins appeared at the temple steps.
"Studying again?" Illidan teased, his grin flashing as Tyrande emerged, clutching her tablet.
"Some of us prefer discipline to secrets," she returned, but the curve of her mouth betrayed her amusement.
Lytavis swept up behind her, tying her hair back with a strip of leather. "We're going hunting."
Malfurion blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Hunting?"
"Small game," Lytavis said with the easy confidence of one long accustomed to bow and field. "Foxes raid the orchards if we don't keep the balance. Rabbits, too many of them. And pheasants if we're lucky."
Illidan's eyes lit with interest. "Then lead on."
The Ariakan villa's orchards faded into wild hills, the ley hum softening into birdsong. Ginger trotted at their heels, while Skye wheeled overhead, her sharp cries scattering sparrows.
Lytavis moved like she belonged to the forest, bow steady, steps light on moss and root. Tyrande followed with careful precision, her form less fluid but her aim surprisingly true.
Illidan, for all his bravado, loosed arrows too quickly, missing more than he hit. Malfurion's form was steadier, but his shots landed wide, his eyes too often drawn upward to the canopy as though listening for some deeper truth in the leaves.
When Tyrande brought down a rabbit cleanly, Illidan muttered, "Lucky shot."
She raised her chin, silver eyes bright. "Luck doesn't steady your hands."
Even Malfurion allowed himself a small smile at that, nodding toward her with quiet respect.
Lytavis returned not long after with two rabbits and a pheasant hanging from her belt, her hair wind-tossed, cheeks flushed with the thrill of the chase. She tossed a rabbit to Illidan with a grin. "Perhaps next time, you'll manage it yourself."
He caught it, scowling for form's sake, but his grin returned quickly enough when she laughed.
By dusk, their small catch was gathered—a dozen rabbits and two pheasants—enough for the villa's kitchen and to share with the Temple. They walked back together, bows slung across their shoulders, Ginger trotting smugly at the front, Skye carrying a ribbon stolen from Tyrande's braid.
The orchard lanterns glowed ahead, the villa waiting with warmth and food and Zoya's sharp, knowing smile. But for now, in the fading light, the four of them walked as though the world belonged to no one else.
Zoya was waiting in the courtyard, Whisper at her heels. She eyed the catches approvingly. "Good. We'll eat well tonight—but first, you'll learn to prepare what you've taken."
Illidan's brows shot up. "Prepare?"
"Dress it," Lucien clarified, appearing with knives already sharpened. He handed one to Tyrande, who accepted it with a steady nod. "If you hunt, you honor the life by seeing it through. Not all glory is in the chase."
Lytavis was already kneeling by the basin, her movements deft and practiced. With calm efficiency she plucked feathers from her pheasant, setting them aside in a neat bundle. "They'll make good fletching," she explained. Skye croaked from her perch as if in agreement.
Tyrande mirrored her, more tentative, but her hands sure once she set her jaw. Malfurion crouched beside her, watching closely, steady but slow. Illidan lingered longest before joining in, his expression caught somewhere between distaste and determination.
"You're quick to spill blood," Zoya noted dryly when his first cut went jagged. "But reverence takes practice."
Lytavis's laugh broke the tension. "Don't worry, min'da—he'll learn."
Illidan only inclined his head, letting the rebuke stand.
When the work was done, they gathered in the kitchen. Elise roasted the pheasants with herbs from the garden, while Zoya stewed rabbit with onions and root vegetables. The air filled with the rich scent of cooking meat, woodsmoke, rosemary, and thyme.
They ate at the long table, bowls steaming, bread still warm from the oven. Tyrande sampled the stew, her lips curving into a soft smile. "It tastes better," she admitted, "knowing we earned it."
"Better still with honey," Lytavis teased, offering her a thick slice of bread drizzled golden.
Illidan accepted his share in silence at first, then said with rare candor, "I've never tasted anything like this."
Zoya tilted her head. "Because you've never sat long enough to earn it?"
Illidan's mouth twitched, but he did not argue. Instead, he leaned back slightly, watching Lytavis laugh, Ginger curl beneath her chair, and Skye steal a morsel of bread from the table's edge.
Malfurion, quieter, turned his attention to Tyrande. "You were right," he said softly. "Your hands are steady."
Her cheeks warmed, but her smile was steady too.
As lanterns flickered low, the four of them lingered over the meal, sated and weary, their laughter winding softer, steadier. It was no grand banquet—only pheasant, rabbit, bread, and wine—but it was theirs.