For the… was it sixth? seventh? morning in a row, Aely woke up just before dawn. The Rose was quiet, as it should be at 5:30am, with only faint muffled sounds coming from the kitchen downstairs. Not even a hangover could break years of military training. And at least she wasn’t still drunk this morning, best she could tell.
She stared into the little mirror. Her hair was a disaster – she couldn’t quite remember when the last time was that she’d taken the braid down, brushed it out, and washed it. But that could wait. She rinsed her mouth out with water a few times, and splashed her face. There was no coffee yet, and she didn’t have any way to make any for herself. Coffee, she decided, could wait too.
Next to her, Roger whined. The wolfhound/worg mix dog had grown in years, grey creeping into his muzzle. She worked hard to keep him healthy, and was thankful that his worg parentage was keeping him alive longer than a standard hound of his size. He nudged her towards the door.
“Hold oan a tic, y’ big oaf. Lemme get dressed.” Roger wagged his tail in a big slow arc, looking eagerly at the door.
She pulled on a soft shirt and pants, leaving the braid tucked down her back.
And for the first morning in nearly three weeks, she and Roger headed out to hit the streets of Stormwind in the soft light of pre-dawn. It was strange to run alone again, but the very act of running made the strangeness fade after the first mile.
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