A Happy Memory

*This entry is written in Common, instead of the usual Draenei.*

Even bad events can bring good consequences, just as short-term pain can lead to long-term pleasure. With that in mind, I ask your patience, as my happy memory requires a bit of a less-than-happy story leading up to it.

When I was a young girl, my father and I lived in a small home in a bit of an enclave formed between a forest on one side and a short cliff overlooking a river on the other. There were three other houses in this reasonably large clearing, so I at least had some neighbors, but the nearest town of any significance was about a forty-five minute walk down a path through the woods.

Although our small community was willing to help each other as necessary, there was definitely a measure of self-sufficiency required to live there, and my father certainly didn't fail to instill that in me. As a result, even at an age where I wasn't quite old enough to wander very far alone, I was sharing a lot of the household roles. I'd been taught to safely use kitchen knives, handle fires, and to treat the simple injuries that could occur from mistakes with either, for example. For the most part, I was happy to help out where I could — my father's compliments meant a lot to me.

Now, on one particular day, I woke up just as the sky was beginning to glow from the impending sunrise, and found myself unable to sleep again. I peeked into my father's room, and as I expected, he was still sleeping; for whatever reason, he seemed to enjoy sleeping for most of the morning, and I didn't want to wake him without a good reason. But I was bored, so I decided to surprise him when he woke up by preparing breakfast for us.

Looking back at it now, I am sure I was not the most excellent cook in the world at that age, but I could make a few simple dishes that my father and I would both willingly eat. One of my favorite things to cook for myself was fried eggs; with windrocs plentiful in the area, eggs could be bought in the nearby town. However, since my father and I hadn't made the trip through the woods in a few days, we lacked the most necessary ingredient for fried eggs, and my goal of cooking us breakfast was no longer feasible. Certainly, I could have prepared something else, but in the stubborn manner that children of my former age tended to exhibit, I had decided that I wanted eggs, and nothing else would do. I would just have to wait for my father to wake up, and then try to convince him to take me into town and buy some.

With nothing better to do, I wandered back to my bed, but sleep still did not come to me. Instead, dangerous thoughts began to creep into my head. I had made the journey to town plenty of times before with my father, and I knew the way. I was not supposed to go into the woods by myself, but if I could buy the eggs, return, and cook them before he woke up, dad would probably be quite proud of my resourcefulness and realize I was responsible enough to travel to town alone.

Of course, I now realize the fallacy in that line of thinking, but at the time, it made perfect sense to me. As far as I was concerned, I was perfectly capable of what I was planning.

It may have been a bad idea, but at least I did plan ahead. I knew that one of the reasons my father did not want me in the woods alone was that it was reasonably wild, and there were animals there which were willing to attack travelers. Although such attacks were reasonably uncommon, I had still seen them more than a few times traveling with my father. If something hostile came at us, I'd dutifully get behind my father, he would seemingly effortlessly dispatch it with a crossbow or sword as appropriate, and we would bring home as much meat and skin as we could carry between us. It was a bit startling the first time it happened, but I quickly became acclimated to it, and my heart rate would barely quicken anymore when my father had to fight off an animal. Of course, he would not be with me this time, so I would have to handle it myself.

I had no idea how to use a crossbow, but a sword seemed simple enough. I already knew how to use kitchen knives, and a sword was just a big knife, right?

I went and found his smallest sword, delicately picking it up. He used it with a single hand; it took me both hands to wield it, and it was heavier than I had expected, but I could hold it, and that was the important thing. I was also much too short to consider hanging it from my waist — it would drag on the ground — so I would simply have to carry it the whole way. That was fine; I could do that. I set the sword down and picked up a small basket and a few coins: the latter to buy the eggs, and the former to bring them home. I set the coins in the basket and hung the basket over my forearm, leaving both hands free to carry the sword. With that preparation, I stole out the front door, and down the path leading into the woods.

It was presently autumn, and although it was still reasonably warm that morning, the floor of the forest was carpeted with leaves nearly identical in color to the rising sun, making it difficult to see the worn path underneath them. It was okay, though; the path followed the widest gaps between trees, and it was obvious to me where I was supposed to do. I trudged through the woods, alternating the brunt of the weight of the sword between my arms to prevent either of them from getting too tired, and realizing that maybe I should have waited for my father. It was weird to be so far away from any other person; only the chatter of birds was there to keep me company. I refused to let myself worry, though. I am a brave girl, I told myself. I can do this, and dad will be really proud of me when I get back and make him some breakfast, all by myself.

And yet, it was taking longer than I remembered to reach the other side of the woods. I tried to tell myself that carrying the heavy sword must be slowing me down, but that did not stop the uneasy feeling in my tummy.

I am a brave girl.

Then, I heard running water.

Something was definitely wrong — the trip to town did not normally come across the river. Had I gotten myself turned around and ended up back near home somehow?

A cursory glance did not reveal anything I recognized; the stream was almost at ground level here, a bit of a difference from the cliff over the stream on which my home sat. I did, however, see a small shack through the trees, not far from the river. Perhaps whoever lived there would be able to tell me the way to town?

I am a brave girl.

As I got closer, it became apparent that the shack was in a less than livable condition. It appeared to have been abandoned for quite some time, and although the walls were still standing, a good portion of the roof had caved in, leaving the interior of the shack quite exposed to the elements. Nobody could possibly be living there, but without any better options, I decided to peek into the wide-open door, just to be sure.

As expected, nobody was inside. The ceiling was effectively gone from most of the shack. The floor was coated with rubble and nearly as many leaves as the ground outside, and the walls had large patches of moss on them, particularly near the bottoms. Even with the open roof, though, the sun was still low enough in the sky that not much light managed to find its way inside; my eyes had to adjust slightly to the shade as I stood in the door frame, peering in.

The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Something was horribly wrong.

I am a brave gir–

The next few seconds were an absolute blur to me. I whirled around, sword in my hands, to see teeth. To this day, I could not tell you what it was that had managed to sneak up on me; all I remember was the teeth. I used my muscles to help the momentum of the already-spinning sword and swung it into the beast with as much power as I could muster; although I didn't see it connect, I heard a crack and a yelp as I felt the sword bury itself in something soft. I pulled the sword back and allowed myself to stumble backward into the room, letting go of the sword with one hand to slam the door shut. Amazingly, it latched. However, pushing on the door while trying to hold the too-heavy sword threw me off balance, and I began to fall backward, letting go of the sword as I did so. I saw the sword falling over as I did, and instinctively knocked it to the side with my bare hand before my back made contact with the leafy floor, the sword landing flat by my side.

Time returned to flowing at its normal pace, although my heart was still pounding, and I sat up to take stock of the situation. I could still hear shuffling around and growling outside; I had not succeeded in killing whatever it was, and now it was only angrier. The door was solidly shut, though, so though I was trapped here for now, the beast was not an immediate threat.

I gradually recognized that my hand was stinging; I held it up so I could see it, and realized that I'd given myself a deep cut at the bottom of my palm when I had pushed the sword out of the way. I needed to stop the bleeding... but the only thing I had that could remotely pass as a bandage was the clothes I was wearing.

Well, I didn't have much choice in the matter, so I used the edge of the sword to cut the fabric of one leg of my trousers at the knee, ripping it the rest of the way off. As I did so, I noticed that I had managed to make myself wet sometime during the blur of fear, but it was not important right now. The bleeding needed to stop. With the help of the sword, I managed to turn the trouser leg into two rectangles of fabric, one of which I wadded up in the bleeding palm of my hand, wrapping the other one around it to the back of my hand to hold it in place. It was remarkably difficult to tie the knot on the back of my hand using only my other hand — I ended up having to use my mouth as well, and with some struggling, finally managed to get it tied well enough to stay in place. The makeshift bandage worked and held back the flow of blood, although I'd still managed to get a few red stains on the parts of my pants that I was still wearing in the process of making the bandage. I needed a change of clothes, but I did not have anything else to put on, so there was nothing I could do.

The adrenaline slowly wore off, and my heart rate and breathing returned to normal, although I did not feel any better. My hand still stung, and I began to become very worried again.

I am a brave girl. I was not convinced.

I did not want to get breakfast any more. I just wanted to go home, even if I would probably get in trouble for going and being stupid and getting myself hurt. I was scared, tired, in pain, wet, sitting on a bed of leaves and who knows what else, and I could not even leave because whatever I had fought off was still out there. I was not a brave girl; I was a stupid girl.

"DADDY!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. If I yelled loud enough, no matter how far I was from him, surely he would hear me and come rescue me. "DADDY!"

After a few minutes of this, my throat was sore, and my daddy had not burst in to rescue me. I backed myself into a corner, pulling my knees up to my chest and wrapping my arms around the front of my legs, trying to make myself disappear. I could not bear yelling any more, but I began to sing lullabies to myself to keep myself from descending even further into despair.

I cannot tell you how long I sat there like that; I quickly lost track of time as I sang the same songs to my self hundreds of times. Looking back, I realize that whatever had attacked me must have lost interest after a while, though I did not recognize that at the time — had I noticed, I might have tried to follow the river back home. But, at long last, I heard a very faint yell when I paused my singing for a moment. "Kriysia!"

I stood up out of the corner, wincing as my legs put pressure on my bandaged hands. "OVER HERE!" I yelled, as loud as I could. My throat still hurt, but I did not care at this point.

My call went unanswered for the longest thirty seconds of my life. But soon enough, I heard in a slightly louder (and now recognizable) voice, "Kriysia!"

"DADDY!"

We kept up this exchange for a few more minutes, my father's voice getting ever louder, until finally I saw the door handle turn. "Daddy!" I squealed, trying to look as brave as possible. He looked extremely relieved to see me, although I must have looked pathetic, all dirty and bloody and bandaged and missing half a leg of my trousers. "I wasn't scared!" I lied, even though my body language probably gave it away.

He just approached me, leaned down, and pulled me into a hug. I lost it, and broke into sobs, as he kept his embrace with me, gently patting me on the back until I calmed down. I eventually managed to regain control of myself, and he let go of me; I sniffled, and wiped my eyes with the back of my sleeve, subsequently wiping my nose on the same spot. All I could say was "Daddy."

His eyes were slightly watery too. "I found you," he gasped. "You... are bleeding. Are you hurt badly?"

I held out my bandaged hand to him, wincing as he peeled back the edge of my bandage. "I... cut it on your sword," I admitted, still sniffling.

"But you bandaged it up yourself?" he asked."

I nodded. "I was attacked by an animal, and cut myself escaping into here."

"Your hand should be fine, Kriysia, though we need to clean it up when we get home" he said, hugging me once more. "Are you ready to go back?"

"Please, Daddy," I sniffled.

He picked me up straight from the hug, leaning over once more to pick up what must have been the sword. "Let's go, then."

Despite the dull ache in my hand, I actually managed to fall asleep nestling up against my father. I did not wake up until I felt myself being set down in a chair. I looked around to see that I was indeed at home, and my father was now rustling around the house, eventually bringing back a pail of water and some proper bandages.

I fully expected to get a lecture; I had done wrong, and I knew it. There was nothing I could do about it now. I gritted my teeth as he removed the old bandage; at least my hand was no longer bleeding, but it still looked ugly. "Kriysia."

Here it comes, I thought.

"You scared me. You seriously scared me. But I think you scared yourself too."

At this point, as much as I wanted to pretend I was brave, I could not really deny that I had been terrified. I nodded.

"And I do not even find myself angry with you. I saw the cooking supplies out, and my money and sword gone. You were trying to get supplies by yourself, weren't you?"

He was not angry? I nodded again, clenching my teeth as he washed off my injured hand.

"The fact is, you prepared yourself as best you knew how in order to try to do something for me. You are getting to be a big girl, now, Kriysia, and I cannot really blame you for wanting to try things on your own. But..."

"But?" I asked, before sucking in a breath as he began to wrap a fresh bandage around my injury.

"But... well, I think it's about time that I taught you to do it properly. How to prepare yourself, how to defend yourself... how to use that sword. How not to get lost."

I blushed at this, but my heart was beginning to swell. Was he serious? I was going to get rewarded for my stunt?

"The sword you borrowed... is now yours. And as soon as you have recovered, I'm going to teach you to use it, if you will commit to learning. Are you willing?"

I gulped. It seemed my heart was caught in my throat, but eventually I managed to squeak, "Of course, Daddy."

He smiled. "I know I will not be able to stop you from wanting to exercise your bravery, Kriysia. I just want to teach you to be able to keep yourself safe."

By then, I had found my voice again. "But I was not brave! You said yourself that I scared myself!"

"Bravery and fear are not mutually exclusive," he noted. "They keep each other in check. You are brave, Kriysia. You remind me a lot of someone I used to know.

I took the bait. "Who?"

"Your mother," he said, finally releasing my now properly-bandaged hand. "And I'm sure if she were here, she would be just as proud of you as I am."

I was absolutely speechless; that was about the nicest thing he could possibly have said to me. I cannot remember ever feeling any more elated or proud of myself than I did at that moment.

My emotion must have been showing on my face; my father smiled back at me and said, "I'm glad you approve." He gave me a quick hug. "Now, how about you go and get yourself a bath and some clean clothes?"

I nodded, and scurried off, the pain in my hand all but forgotten.

From that point forward, we were equals. He was my father and I was his daughter, but I was effectively treated as an adult from then on. I was no longer just his little girl; I was now also his apprentice.