At Saldean’s Farm was where I first met you rustling in the silverleaves,
in briarthorns, between the haystacks and broken-down harvest watchers.
Your low-poly green hair mismatched Westfall’s orange oversaturation,
and the ambient loops were far too calm, too quiet, for the way you ran
along the ash-brown stick fences, to the herbalism nodes and back again.
I yelled out to you (I meant to whisper) /yell lol hey what r u doin
And everyone knew. Swiftthistle you wanted them for alchemy.
/yell whats alchemy You /laugh I traded you bread and water.
You gave me back the water.
On the long stretch of Westfall’s coast was where we fished for treasure.
The wreckage spawns, spread thin beside the schools of oily blackmouths,
had linen, wool, and lockboxes. You could pick lockboxes. You could fend
off the packs of gurgling murlocs as I fumbled B for my 6-slot newbie bags,
looking for space. I had offered to help you when you stealthed and sneaked
up close to them for mageroyal and chests. (I could sheep) (I could nova)
(would dampen you) but you told me /p dw i got it /p roll on malachite
and /p run away if i die I didn’t. I died with you, chasing
your wisp form as a ghost, running to our lifeless bodies on the sand.
When it rained over Westfall, the grass fields rendered in a sombre lime hue.
I was gathering your swiftthistles while you queued for Warsong Gulch, and
up on the Dagger Hills, I could see the flicks of low-res raindrops falling down
on the water by the lighthouse. You loved the thrill of PvP: running to and from
between the desert and the forest, capturing red flags, defending your own
Alliance blue. In there you chugged through speed-pots faster than we could
make them. The gold we could have made on the AH, we’d have epic mounts
ready for 60. (You wouldn’t ever be 60) /w its fun playing with you
you whispered me as you flew back to Sentinel Hill on a griffon taxi.
At the Dead Acre was where I last saw you farming on the old tilled soil,
between the derelict mill and the wagon sunken in the ochre overgrowth.
You were killing off the harvest watchers, the strongest in the zone, but the
loot was glittering, and greyed-out names dotted my FOV. (I ran to see you)
(sprinted out from Duskwood) I /wave /wave /wave and you /yell stop
(you meant to whisper). You partied up with me and said /p im gonna quit
You traded me swiftthistles. You gave me back the bread. Then I watched you
in the Westfall night counting down from 20 to the exit. You whispered me
/w you were a good friend And I hearthed away when you logged off.