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The Price of Gratitude	By : Mayamahal Category: +S through Z > World of Warcraft Views: 6057 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Blizzard or World of Warcraft. I make no profit or money for writing this.

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It was remarkable to Maia that she settled back into her life and routine so easily.

The day after Koda left, she was in her studio, working delligently on a custom bracelet for a fellow guildmember. By the third day, it was nearly finished. A creation of gold and mithril, a frivolous, filigreed thing, all she had left to do was soldering in the settings for the ametrines that would go into it. Cumbersome and lovely, the wide bracelet was completely without enchantments and would remain so; it was a gift intended for a beloved from an admirer.

As was customary when she worked, her mind wandered, her thoughts almost meditative as her hands and eyes did what they needed without conscious direction. Her torch was turned low so as not to melt delicate wires unintentionally, the work going slow but progressing nicely.

Koda was at the fore-front of her mind, and after dreaming about him the entire night before, she decided that it was best not to resist anymore. Mostly, her memories replayed themselves in her mind's eye, causing her to catch her sleeve on fire twice, and singe the last few inches of her hair more than that. Eventually, she had cut off the crispy ends and piled her hair into a messy bun at the top of her head.

He's not even here and he's bloody distracting, she lamented silently.

Still, it was hard to keep from smiling. Her lips still felt swollen from his kiss, and every little movement brought an echo of pain to the depths of her hips. Pleasantly sore, it made her laugh helplessly at herself every time she sat down.

While her clothing was suffering from her inability to focus, her work ethic was quite the opposite. She hadn't accomplished so much at once in quite a long time, and she couldn't help be feel a little smug. If that was the answer to her mental blocks, she'd gladly pay the price of a sore ... a sore part or two to have the clarity of mind it all seemed to give her.

She let the piece cool, turning off her torch and examining the results. The welding joints were small, neat and barely noticeable. Nodding to herself, she picked up the bracelet with a pair of copper tongues and dropped it in a large glass bowl nearby, submerging the hot metal in a bath of vinegar and water. The liquid hissed before settling, and she transfered the piece to another similar glass bowl filled with only clean water, rinsing it off. She set the bracelet at last on a tattered towel to air dry.

With a sigh, she leaned back and flexed her fingers, stretching her arms above her head as she eased tense muscles, staring thoughtfully at the array of finished work on the bench across the room. Late afternoon sunlight played across the polished, clean items, sparkling as a myriad of gems caught the light and spat it back. Some of these were like the mithril bracelet she'd almost finished, jewelry that had no more magic than a gnat, meant entirely gifted ornaments for friends, lovers, etc. The others that were something more, imbedded with enchantments and scribed with spells, had been placed a little further away, each on its own swatch of thick, magically insulating black velvet.

She frowned, pensive. Most of the magical items had homes to go to, orders made and paid for that still needed to be filled. While they were made for guildmembers, she didn't trust the mailing service enough to just ship them to where they needed to go. After a horrid incident where the post-men had coupled a package of fire-blessed mage rings and a box of goblin grenades, Maia concluded that delivering her wares herself was better than the crater the mishap had left behind.

She rubbed the aching knuckles of one hand, considering her calender and her options. It wasn't too cold, winter was a long ways off and the ride wouldn't be too unpleasant if she left soon...

Her mind made up, she stood slowly and stretched again, before carefully folding the velvet around each individual piece of jewelry. She bound them with a small, simple fibula, a brooch who's pin was a part of the design. Each pin was set with a disc of silver, the metal engraved with her personal crest: a curling tendril of diagonal line that resembled a lock of hair, a four pointed starburst in the foreground. After placing each carefully in her traveling case of thick, stiff kodo-hide, she returned to her bench and resumed her work on the mithril bracelet.

The sun had set as she finished the last of the stone-setting, the white metal glinting prettily in the bright latern light. The purple and yellow ametrines were a nice touch against the geometric, organic pattern of the filigree. Wide enough to be more bracer than bracelet, the finished result was a glittering mithril design that mimicked the flowing lines of an insect in repose on the wearer's arm. While it was so smooth and clean that it almost glowed, the metal looked too life-like for Maia's comfort; in fact, out of the corner of her eye, she'd have sworn the monstrous thing would twitch now and then.

She rubbed it down with polishing cloth, examing the surface and the settings for imperfections and pits. Finding none, she placed the bracelet in a pouch made of felt, and added it to the collection in her satchel.

She checked the gaslines and closed off all the nozzles, extinguished the lights after washing her hands. Her mind was already on what she needed to take care of for her journey on the morrow, and for the first time since he'd left, Maia wasn't thinking about the Troll.

Sun-Iron was agreeable to a ride, it seemed, as the next morning she was practically patient while Maia tightened the proto-drake's harness and attached satchels of leather and canvas to either side of her saddle. The mage kissed the dragon-kin's nose in gratitude, and her mount mantled in pleasure.

Her house and studio locked up and warded with spells and enchantments, Maia paused atop her beast to look back over everything. Shifting in her seat, her feet tucked up into the stirrups, her hands fiddling with her reins, the thought to leave a note of some kind crossed her mind.

For who? she thought, exasperated with herself. He won't come back so soon, if he comes back at all. That last bit she knew was the height of her irrationality; while she wasn't sure when he returned, her few moments with Koda left little doubt that he was anything but a fickle-minded liar who made promises he couldn't keep.

Heat stung her cheeks as she felt the truth in this stray thought, and she dismissed the idea of leaving behind a message ... just in case.

I am free to do what I like. I belong to no one, and if he wants me, he can seek me out as he pleases.

Satisfied, she clicked her tongue and shook out the leather lines, signaling her drake. Sun-Iron mantled again, calling out a roar to the sky, and leapt into the air, clawing upward with strong downward strokes of her large wings. The mage tugged at the reins until they were pointed north-east, a free hand pulling at the fur-lined cloak about her shoulders as they glided up above the clouds. Her drake had an amazing amount of stamina, but it was still going to be a long, cold trek to the floating city of Dalaran, even at the height of summer.
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The Price of Gratitude