(written with steady, thoughtful strokes, as though he pauses often to breathe before continuing)
I have slept beneath great trees, in forest hollows, in glades where the air hums with the breath of the world.
But nothing has ever felt like waking this morning.
Tyrande was still asleep when I opened my eyes.
The light touched her first.
It caught in her hair, on her cheek, on the curve of her hand resting against my chest.
And something inside me went quiet.
Not empty—quiet.
Like the moment just before a seed breaks open.
We did not speak then.
There was no need.
Her breathing was steady, warm, close enough that I could feel it against my skin.
I would have stayed like that forever if time had been kinder.
When she woke, she looked at me without hesitation. No embarrassment. No regret.
Only a small smile that felt… honest.
I don't know if I deserve anything that gentle.
I kissed her.
It felt natural, like leaning toward sunlight.
She said she would write to me.
I didn't say it aloud, but I think I will measure the days by her letters now.
I have never looked forward to anything the way I look forward to that.
Cenarius will expect discipline and focus.
I will give him both.
But some part of me will be here, in this small room, remembering the way Tyrande's hand curled against mine as though it had always belonged there.
I don't want to rush this.
I don't want to name things too soon and frighten them away.
But…
if the world is growing something between us,
I will tend it carefully.
I think she will too.