They woke early, sunlight brushing the windows in soft bands of gold, turning the room the color of warmed honey. Lytavis stretched, Tyrande blinked sleep from her eyes, and for a brief, perfect moment, it felt like childhood again—two girls waking in the same bed, whispering about everything and nothing at all.
Downstairs, Elise had laid out moonberry muffins and a steaming pot of breakfast tea. The muffins were still warm; the tea comforting and sweet.
"Eat," Elise said, passing by with a basket of linens on her hip. "I've packed a lunch. Don't come back sunburned."
Lucien and Zoya drifted in moments later, the villa brightening simply by having them in it.
"So," Zoya said, eyeing them over her cup as though she already knew the answer, "what are the plans today?"
"Hunting," Lytavis replied. "I thought Tyrande might enjoy it."
Lucien nodded approvingly. "Good. The woods are a pleasant place for the soul to unwind. They remember peace, even when we do not."
After breakfast, Elise handed them a light satchel—dried meat, sliced fruit, and a flask of tea that still steamed through the cork. "For when you inevitably forget to come home on time," she said, shooing them out.
The woods behind the villa welcomed them with a hush of green light. Sunlight filtered through ancient boughs, dappling the moss in shifting gold. The air smelled of pine and running water. Skye circled overhead, her shadow a swift, familiar shape on the forest floor.
Lytavis paused in a clearing and gestured toward Tyrande's bow.
"Show me your stance."
Tyrande exhaled, settled her feet… and, after a heartbeat of hesitation, loosed an arrow. It veered sharply left, lodging itself in a startled patch of ferns.
Lytavis smiled. "All right. Again. But breathe."
She stepped behind Tyrande, palms gentle on her hips. Adjusting. Correcting. Softening all the places tension had taken root.
"No, love," she whispered. "Not like you're preparing for a recitation. Like you're preparing to let the forest answer you back."
Tyrande breathed. The next arrow flew straighter.
"Better," Lytavis said. Her smile was bright enough to make the woods feel warmer.
They walked for hours—slow, unhurried hours that smelled of the musky scent of wet earth, pine needles, and hints of wildflowers. Their conversation came and went like wind through branches.
Tyrande told her about Malfurion—how steady he'd become, how he wrote her long letters full of forest-lore and hopes for the future.
"He's studying with Cenarius in Val'Sharah now," Tyrande murmured. "He's… changing. In good ways, I think."
Lytavis nodded, kicking a pinecone aside with her boot. "Illidan is learning. Brilliant, a little dramatic, occasionally awkward … but he make an effort." Her voice softened. "And he tries so hard, even when Darkgrove makes it miserable for him."
Tyrande's brow creased. "Miserable how?"
"He teaches by throwing things," Lytavis said dryly. "Books. Ink. A silver goblet yesterday. Whatever's in reach if Illidan answers wrong—or too slowly—or too correctly."
Tyrande winced. "Elune's mercy."
"He endures it," Lytavis murmured. "But he shouldn't have to."
By midday, they had a small catch—Tyrande with her pheasant, Lytavis with three rabbits. They dressed them respectfully beside a shaded stream, hands sure, the water singing over stones as they blessed the offering.
Afterward, they sat on a fallen log to share the lunch Elise had packed. Tyrande bit into a slice of pear, exhaling with real contentment.
"I can't remember the last time I felt like this," she admitted. "Peaceful. Not rushed. Not worried about recitations or temple chores."
Lytavis watched her with soft pride. Tyrande's shoulders had lowered. Her breath had eased. The strain had melted from around her eyes.
"You need more days like this," Lytavis said quietly.
Tyrande laughed a little, breathless. "I do."
Lytavis tucked the moment away like a treasure—and made a mental note to write to Athelan as soon as they returned. Tyrande needed a few lessons outside the Temple. Needed time. Needed space.
Athelan would understand. He always did.