A MIDNIGHT SNACK
Once the fire had taken to its kindling, Johnny settled himself upon a rotting stump that had been too stubborn to give way to the crushed cobblestone beside it. The ruins of Lordaeron, while haunting to some, became a place of comfort to the hunter. Most who inhabited the land resided underneath it, choosing to touch the surface only when they had to travel to Brill. It was a place of quiet requiem.
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He looked over to the pair in front of him, his chest filling with warmth. Bjorn nuzzled an unwilling Fangris, softly snuffling his putrid breath into her ear before leaving her side to sit next to the hunter. After rubbing her pointed ear roughly to rid herself of the humid itch that had now formed, the elf settled down upon the grass, resting her back against one of the crumbled walls of the courtyard.
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“That means he loves you when he does that, you know,” Johnny mused as he tied off his satchel and set it at his feet.
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“And why does he love me?” Inquired Fangris, smiling at the diseased bear as he shifted beside the stump in attempts to find a comfortable position.
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“Because he knows I love you,” the hunter hummed in great mirth as his lips tugged upward. Fangris felt her lips mirror his own, curving upward in a delighted smile as her thoughts trailed back to the night many moons ago when they had confessed their love for one another. Her hands dug into the earth beneath her, looping a single blade of grass around her finger.
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“Why do you leave him here?” Fangris asked, watching Johnny’s companion suddenly take great interest in nosing the flap of the satchel at his feet. The hunter absent mindedly rested his foot atop the bag, ensuring it remained closed—much to Bjorn’s chagrin—and sighed.
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“I doubt the Council would approve of a bear of this nature plodding around the streets of Dalaran now that the danger of the Burning Legion has subsided.” Johnny moved a hand to rest upon the head of his beloved companion, gently scratching his fur. The tip of his finger accidentally nicked one of the boils that had nestled between the creases of Bjorn’s ear, causing it to weep blood that had been tinctured with foul infection. “If there is a restraint upon the Death Knights and their ghouls, I would imagine this would hold no difference.”
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Fangris slowly nodded, her nose crinkling upwards in disgust at the sight of the oozing pore. She waited to see if Johnny would notice, but he continued to run his hand along the top of Bjorn’s fur in a carefree manner. She had borne witness to the love and protection Bjorn had for Johnny first hand; within the trials of Antorus, the bear had never left his side and even assisted others in warding off the demons that crept through the portals during combat.
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She cleared her throat, tucking a sandy lock behind her long and slender ear. “How exactly did you come about him? I mean, most hunters would not find interest in such a…” she trailed off, furrowing her brow as she continued to look at Bjorn in hopes to select the correct words. The bear yawned, opening his maw wide. The skin of his cheeks stretched to reveal the battered holes that granted sight into his array of teeth and the mess of spittle within. “Unique creature,” she decided.
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Amusement rose within Johnny’s throat as he felt his shoulders rise in a shrug. “It was during the time the Forsaken had laid claim to the denizens of Hillsbrad.” As quickly as it had come, the amusement was soon choked down by that of disgust. Johnny had remembered what his kind had done to those forests. The lush green trees that had brought the world solace seemed to wilt upon touch. The once ripe soil laden with crops had all but soured, and the rivers had thickened into the putrid sludge that defined their destruction.
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The hunter sat in silence for a moment, raising his eyes to meet the elf before him. “I didn’t want that destruction to happen.” Fangris nodded at his words, remaining silent as she continued to listen to him speak. She felt a pang of sympathy for him; she had known to begin with he was not one for violence of this level, yet he deemed it necessary to state it all the same. It was an automatic defense mechanism placed to ward off those who would immediately label him as a monster for the decomposition of his skin.
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“In those moments, I had seen my limitations. I had seen the remaining flicker of my own humanity, and my overpowering desire to maintain it. It is why I mourned when I found Bjorn beneath the tattered pines of Hillsbrad.” Johnny looked down at his companion, who had once again found interest in the contents of the hunter’s satchel.
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“Before me was a creature of twisted sinew, and bones within that displayed itself to the world as if it were armor.” Johnny paused, studying Bjorn as he continued his attempts to gently open the satchel. He noticed Johnny’s gaze upon him and quickly rose to meet it, his red eyes filled with a sense of love. “In that moment I could see the hatred within his eyes, and the liquid rage that gurgled between his teeth as he approached me.”
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“Why didn’t you kill him on sight?” Fangris blurted, curiosity getting the better of her. She felt the tips of her ears turn warm the moment the words left her tongue.
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The question didn’t seem to bother Johnny, his breath hitching in thought as he mulled over his answer. “I would have expected my fingers to withdraw my rifle in a heartbeat,” he began. “Yet I remained still. I simply watched intently as this entity of anger closed the distance between us as if he sought some form of answer as to why his body was riddled with decomposition.” The unspoken just as I had done lingered within the air between the two for a few breaths.
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“We ended up sitting in silence for what felt like moons, looking at one another as if we were studying our own reflections.” Johnny nudged away the snout of Bjorn from his pack once more with is boney foot, causing the bear to almost emit a sound that could be compared to a whining child. Fangris felt her lips curve upward in a soft smile.
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“It felt as if we expressed our tribulation of undeath in that eye contact. I could almost see the indescribable horrors of how he befell such a fate, and the guilt that knowledge brought me…” Johnny paused, swallowing hard. Bjorn sensed Johnny’s discomfort and moved to rest his great head within the hunter’s lap, a sound of content rumbling deep within his throat. “It forced me to my knees. In that moment I realized my own self-pity would provide nothing for me. Nothing for those around me. In that moment I realized I needed to find a purpose for why I am still here. And this ball of mutilated fur,” Johnny nodded down to the large mass that had somehow managed to place half of his body upon the hunter, “He found it for me. He chose me. He placed his mangled head upon my lap as he does now, and he chose me.”
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Fangris continued to study the pair in front of her, catching a lump in her throat. She had been told by many hunters she had met in her time the wonders of taming creatures. They explained to her the thrill of the hunt, the imprint, and the comradery between man and beast. The tone of Johnny’s voice was coated in something that Fangris believed to be relief and utter shock. She watched the two playfully tousle before her, Johnny’s arms wrapping around what he could of the cursed bear as Bjorn growled in what she could only assume as gratitude.
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Eventually his attention turned to the satchel yet again; he removed himself from the hunter and proceeded to shove his nose into the bag with great vigor. “All right, all right…” Johnny hissed as he removed his foot from his bag, quickly sweeping it up into his arms. Bjorn followed its motion, continuing to shove his wet nose into the leather.
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“A moment, Bjorn!” Johnny chuckled as he shoved his arm into the bag, retrieving something that seemed rather awkward at first glance. Fangris narrowed her eyes in attempts to gain a better view of what the hunter held in his hand, but the consistent rise and fall of light from the fire proved the task to be difficult. Johnny extended his hand high into the air, hoping to preserve whatever contents he held for a little while longer. “I know it is rare when you are able to have—”
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“An arm…?” Fangris blinked, puzzlement framing her facial features in a rather comedic way.
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“A favorite of his,” Johnny hummed, pausing to look at his companion’s eagerness at the treat for a moment longer before tossing it a few feet from the campfire. The two watched Bjorn clumsily scramble after it, his large paws thudding against the cold earth as he lurched forward in search of where the extremity had landed. When a large crack pierced through the stillness of the ruins, Johnny smiled and returned his attention back to the elf.
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“It may seem a bit uncouth to some to consider another’s arm as a treat,” Johnny grinned, shaking his head. “As Forsaken, we do not mend on our own. We require replacements should we become inflicted with wounds that skin grafting and stitches cannot mend.” He opened his palm skyward, inwardly envisioning his skinless fingers beneath the protection of his gloves.
“Due to this, our apothecary holds supplies for such replacements. Should an arm or a leg be deemed unfit to act as a substitute for what one has lost, it is either destroyed or repurposed.”
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Bjorn had now returned to the side of the fire, holding in his mouth what was left of his food. Upon closer inspection of what portion of the arm remained within his teeth, Fangris could pick out the pale hues of undeath that had altered the skin. Another crunch came from the bear as he breathed out, pushing the sickeningly sweet scent of decay into her nose.
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It took her a moment to recompose herself, heavily suppressing the urge to gag.
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“And you obtain these…how?” She inquired.
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The hunter shrugged, and Fangris could have sworn she saw amusement pool within what was left of Johnny’s hallowed orbs. “When there are much more pressing issues within Azeroth, finding someone who is willing to give you limbs they no longer hold interest in suddenly becomes all the easier,” Johnny chuckled.
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Fangris felt her eyes roll skyward, grim amusement playing about her lips as she stood. She quietly made her way over to Johnny’s side, looking down at him with her emerald gaze. “Move,” she murmured softly.
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Johnny smiled, sliding himself off the tree stump and settling himself directly in front of it, his lower back pressed against the gnarled roots. Fangris placed herself where Johnny once was, positioning her legs in a way that allowed Johnny to comfortably lean back into her.
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As he did so, the hunter drank in the sight of Fangris and allowed a content sigh to sound within the air. She leaned over Johnny, lowering her lips to softly place a kiss upon his brow.
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Unlike most Forsaken, Johnny had taken precautions to help alleviate the fetor that often came with undeath. Specifically placed at various sections of his body were droplets of sage oil, cutting into the bite of his musty scent. The sage danced about her nose, rising high into the air from the small breath of the chuckle that escaped her lips.
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Upon finishing his meal, Bjorn lumbered closer to the hunter, laying down beside him as he rested his large head in Johnny’s lap. Johnny smiled to himself, gazing skyward as he reveled in the comfort his two companions brought him. It was moments like these that drove him to find a purpose. When he was first risen he believed to be unworthy of love, perhaps even incapable of reciprocating the emotion in his bitter state. But in this moment, as he sat beside the warm glow of the fire as he gently toyed with the tresses of hair that had escaped Fangris’s binding as she continued to trail kisses upon his forehead, he felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude wash over him.
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"I love you," Fangris whispered against his skin.
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Of all the years he had spent searching for sanctuary from his own thoughts, Johnny had always figured his answers would be found somewhere within the ruins of his past. As he had come to realize, however, his saving grace had been nestled within the emerald eyes of the elf he had come to love, and within the protection of his beloved, if not clumsy, bear. He slipped his eyes closed, an unfamiliar warmth spreading across his chest. This was his family; his home.
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"I love you, too."