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The wind shifted, and with it, time crept along. It crept slowly, and softly, so that no one of a preoccupied mind should notice. But neither wind nor time is a subtle thing by nature, and thus the world took notice. One creature's attention, in particular, was caught by the moment - a druid, whose experience with time and wind taught him enough to be wary.

Oriion narrowed his eyes as a small flurry swept into the Stormwind Library, shuffling some papers and leaving them strewn across the floor, as if testing the patience of a certain elf. He grumbled, turning back to his work as he pressed the feather's tip firmly against the parchment, almost punching a hole through it in frustration. Time watched and laughed as wind had its fun.

He paused, laying the quill upon the desk, and cracked his knuckles. Time had given up on the work day. The kaldorei stood up, letting the chair sc ra pe up one of the papers; it was unimportant. He began to unbutton his robe, eager to escape the uncomfortable and unnecessary ritual of "looking proper." Humans were funny. It would be nice to be unconstrained to anything but his shirt... but the wind had other plans. Just as he turned to the door, it had brought him a visitor. A blonde one, in robes and smiles.

"Hello." She said. Or, perhaps, sang. Sometimes, Oriion found, it was hard to tell the difference. Especially in females.

He looked at her curiously... the library did not usually house visitors, sadly.

"Who are you? What do you need?" He asked tiredly; it was not his job to entertain the Keep's guests, but it was his job to be some semblance of curteous. It was, in fact, his job three times over: Once from the keep, once from Felena, and once as a productive member of society. The latter was the killer.

The woman waved in greeting instantaneously, as if she were going to answer even without his questioning.

"Seven!" She beamed.

Oriion looked behind him - there were a lot of books, and a lot of copies of books. There was even a significant number of copies of copies of books. He looked back to the woman with a small cough.

"Seven what?" His patience thinned as time plucked away his life, like a child pulling up grass. She giggled.

"I answered your first question." Her voice was entirely more playful than his. That is, if there were any quantity of "play" in him at all. He raised an eyebrow, but finally shrugged. Who was he to challenge names? Hers was probably given to her anyway, and thus she had already one-upped him. He folded his arms, as she continued, "I'd like to look something up on Kel'Thuzad."

The wind whistled a turning point, as it felt the kaldorei enter a state of interest. He looked her up and down; something had deceived him - could she be little more than a number?

He stepped aside and motioned to a shelf in the back. It was cluttered with musky tomes and histories; some of which smelt of old age, and some simply because they had been to Fel and back. It was a shame the day had drawn to a close... this could have made for a very refreshing day. But then again, refreshing nights can prove far more interesting. He cleared his throat,

"Why do you ask?" He cut himself off in realization that no question had been posed, "Er.. why do you need that?"

She turned to look at him with a soft chuckle, "Know thine enemy!"

"Heh."

So she was a fighter. She was not very unlike Felena, he thought. Perhaps there are more blonde crusaders of the Light than the city would like to admit. Rather, the Church certainly seemed empty more often than not.

But both wind and time knew that Oriion was not there often enough to confidently judge such a thing.

Seven wandered over to the appropriate section of books, trailing a finger over the various bindings, some with titles and some not. She finally stopped over a titleless, colorless book, taking it out to examine. She opened it up to a random page and began to read. Even as the horrific facts within met Seven's gaze, she smiled. She smiled because she was learning for the Light, and light, was she learning. Perhaps it was the rare occurrence of a visitor that peeked Oriion's question, or perhaps it was the fact that the woman seemed unfit for silence. Perhaps it was both.

"Planning on going head to head with Arthas' best man?" He grinned jokingly. War and death was no laughing matter, but there was hardly any war and death to be had in a joke. He enjoyed paradoxes.

She looked up at him, closing the book as a small bit of dust flurried out from the pages, before dissipating into wind's arms. She smiled in acceptance and understanding; of what, he was not yet certain.

"Yep!"

And that was that. How could a druid possibly respond to such an answer? She stood up, placing the book back onto its shelf, clearly having gotten out of it whatever she intended.

"Thanks Oriion."

And with that, she waved a hand to bless the druid, as he felt himself grow a bit less succeptible to the increasingly threatening world. It was fortitude he could not afford to waste. He bowed his head in thanks, but quickly raised it again to ask how she had known his name. Before he could open his mouth, however, she motioned to the book and its author.

He blushed slightly - something he reserved for feeling stupid, of course.

And with that, wind took its queue to usher the priest out of the room and out of the darkening keep. Time laughed with an insincere sympathy for the kaldorei it had briefly ensnaired, and proceeded to release him from its grasp. Oriion looked down at the papers, still ruffled and askew, and bent down to begin picking them up.

That was one more person to look for, he thought. One more to stand next to, perhaps, when little light could be found. We'll see, though. We'll see.

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