|Keelath didn’t let his feelings show on his face, though Mirium winced slightly as he gripped her hand tightly. The only emotion shown, a couple minutes later, was him bowing his head, as if in silent reverence for the dead.|
“And so, even when you awoke, you were different?” he eventually asks, still as calmly as if they were discussing the weather.
Mirium, on the other hand, looks agonized, but lets her husband take the lead in the conversation. She bows her head and strokes Keelath’s hand. The change is subtle, a slight loosening of the shoulders and a smoothing of the lines around his eyes, but Keelath relaxes into it. He looks at her.
“One day I’ll tell you what it was like,” he said softly, “even though it’s something I hoped you’d never have to hear.”
Mirium swallowed. “I told you before, dalah’surfal. I fought the Scourge when you were–when they invaded. I saw plenty of the horrors.”
“Different, on the other end,” is all that Keelath says in reply, though he closes both hands around hers gratefully. “Forgive me,” he says to Malcotin. “Continue.”
|The meal was in front of them and Malcotin felt obliged to let Mirium eat. “I will continue, if you will let your wife eat…” he grinned. “She ordered one of the fanciest things on the menu. Do let her enjoy it, even if you cannot. Though I will tell you, food to me is as it always has been.”|
He set to work on his steak, cutting into the juicy beef with little regard to the fact it was on the rare side. “I must say, I do believe it is partly because of my unique physiology. As a Worgen, it is my innate nature to hunt and kill for food. I do believe that part of the reason I am closer to being alive is the fact I was raised very nearly within an hour of my death. My bodily functions were only interrupted for a short time.” He paused to look over at Mirium. “Forgive me, but I must tell it as it was, for you and Keelath to understand. I can wait until you are finished with dinner if you like?”
|“I suppose that would make sense,” says Keelath slowly. “I was in the grave for nearly a decade. Most of this flesh is reconstructive.” He watches the two of them, jealousy thinly veiled as he watches Malcotin tear into his meat with obvious pleasure.|
|“Don’t worry on my account,” says Mirium, though she does slow what was a battlefield-learned shoveling-of-rations into her mouth into a more ladylike pace.|