It would rain again soon… She could smell it in the air. It was always raining in some form or another in these forests. Not a minute went by without some sort of drizzle or heavy, soaking mist. The smell of damp vegetation and moist dirt was as perpetual in this mountainous land as the ancient towering trees. The scent she caught now was different though, the sharp, clear scent of an approaching storm. The crying of birds and strange beasts could still be heard, but they sounded cautious, timid—As if the world around her was one step away from holding its breath.

The monsoon would wipe away her trail; make it harder for her pursuers to track her, she had learned long ago to use such rains to her advantage when going unnoticed while tracking targets… but this time was different. This time the rain was just another obstacle standing in her way. This time—she wanted to be found.

The lithe elf wrapped herself deeper in her cloak, the feather-shaped, metal scales shifting as she adjusted it, the line of razor-sharp, curved blades along the bottom hem of the garment tinkled like a make-shift wind chime. She crouched on a low, densely leaved branch of a great tree; though just a sapling to the ancient, two and three hundred foot tall giants that towered around it, the young plant put an average oak to shame. Her faintly glowing silver-blue eyes narrowed, staring down at a hunting trail nearly thirty feet below her branch. She froze, tensing as she gripped the circular Umbra Crescent blade in her right hand tightly.

Below there was a rustle of foliage, and a crouched figure stepped deftly unto the hunting trail, pausing to listen and scan her surroundings like a stalking predator. This figure too, wore the same scaled, bladed cloak that her prey wore, hidden above—but she also wore gleaming mail and plate armor beneath it, her entire body hidden by well-forged curves of steel, her face veiled beneath a plumed helm.

Up above, the fugitive seethed. Everything about the figure below was wrong, her movements too rough and disjointed, her crouch unbalanced, her frame too bulky and muscled. A gawky child, robed in the armor of a warrior. The hidden elf’s eyes narrowed in cold fury. Was this what her brother had done to her precious order in her absence? This was no Watcher; this fool was barely even fit to be called a warrior… Some half-wit recruit from the Sentinel’s general infantry, no doubt… To don such an untrained, unskilled girl in the armor and cloak of a Warden—unthinkable!

Unforgivable. The former-warden thought, still crouched motionless on her tree bough. What does my brother hope to gain by sending such weaklings before me?

Every time the young elf below moved, the bladed hem of her cloak tinkled.

Another jolt of anger hit the fugitive. The child doesn’t even know how to use the cloak. A pity. She stood with an expert grace, her own feather-scaled garment unfurling around her without a sound. She stepped off the branch and into the air, falling downwards as she brought her circular weapon down towards her target, the prey becoming the predator.

To her credit, unskilled though she was, the young warden below sensed the danger at the last second, and stepped back, bringing her own Umbra Crescent up to block the ambushing attack. Bright sparks showered the forest floor as the two gleaming bladed weapons clashed. And the attacker stepped backwards as well, with a practiced poise.

The two wardens watched each other for a moment, weapons held ready. One in bright metal armor, face hidden by her helm-- and the other in dark leather armor, face obscured by the shadows of her hood, save for her brightly glowing silver eyes. In the distance the thunder rumbled darkly.

The former-warden looked the younger elf over from beneath her hood. The girl was shaking very slightly; her hawk-like eyes could see the slightest tremble of the weapon held in her enemy’s hand. She’s scared. Her anger welled up again, not against this untrained youth before her, but against her brother for desecrating her order and enlisting those who had no place… against the High Priestess Tyrande Whisperwind, the fool who welcomed back those responsible for the shattering of the entire world, with open arms. Against the prey who had for so long distracted her from what had been occurring in her homeland.

She really did pity the younger warden. With the right training, with time and practice, with a proper order to things and a skilled hand to guide her, she might one day have truly earned the armor she wore.

The older elf stepped forward, lowering her weapon and gripping the inside of her cloak.

The younger elf steeled her heart and charged forward her weapon held high.

There was a second bright flash of sparks as the young elf’s Umbra Crescent slid across the armored feathers of the cloak, and then a sharp, wet sound as the bladed hem of her target’s cloak slid between her armor plates.

The young warden fell backwards, in awe… it had been so simple, so quick; a single movement that seemed, to her untrained eyes, like her enemy had just been turning to walk away… She hit the ground heavily, dark blood already staining the grey cloak and silver armor she wore—seeping into the ground. Above her stood the woman who had struck her down, she looked up at the hooded, ancient warrior as she lay dying.

“We will never stop hunting you, Maiev.”

The fugitive warden stared down at the dying girl with sad eyes.

The young elf coughed, her world darkening, “We… are the hand… of justice…” her eyes closed.

“Traitor.”

Maiev Shadowsong stood above the body of her hunter as thunder shook the trees and rain began to pour, an onslaught of water that started to wash away the blood almost immediately. She gazed down at the fallen girl… at the armor she had once worn with pride. She thought of her sisters, the true watchers she had fought alongside. Of ten thousand years of service, and all she had given for the sake of her people.
The rain streamed down the scales of her cloak in the forest’s gloom.

“Traitor?” she said asked quietly, her voice inaudible in the downfall and rolling thunder. A dark glint burned within her eyes, and a bitter smile spread across her face. She looked up, her cloak chiming and ringing in the wind as the raging winds picked up and tore at it.

“…It is I who was betrayed.”