The Temple gardens were busiest in the early hours, when the Sisters' voices rose in song and students bent their heads over prayer or practice. By late afternoon, the tide of devotion had ebbed, leaving only scattered clusters of girls and acolytes finishing their lessons.
Tyrande lingered in the shade, lips moving softly as she recited a prayer she was meant to memorize. A smile tugged at her mouth between verses - she added flourishes of her own, as if Elune might be amused.
Lytavis was drained. Her sleeves were rolled, her hands faintly green from grinding herbs. The healer's wing of the Temple had been hers all day: bandaging scrapes, easing headaches, coaxing fever from a restless child. Her work left her weary, but steady - the quiet kind of satisfaction that didn't need applause.
When they were finally dismissed, Tyrande looped her arm through Lytavis's and declared, "We're going for scones. No arguments."
The little café sat just beyond the Temple square, its patio shaded by curling ivy and strings of tiny bells. They took a table outside, ordered scones and tea, and leaned back into the warmth of the afternoon. Skye arrived soon after, alighting neatly on the rail before sidling to Lytavis's shoulder as though she'd been invited.
They had barely begun their tea when two young men slid into seats nearby - apprentices, judging by their ink-stained fingers and fresh tunics. Handsome enough, broad-shouldered and eager-eyed. Tyrande noticed immediately.
She tilted her chin, flashing a smile. "Lovely day, isn't it?"
They grinned back, quick to answer. "Better now," one said.
Lytavis rolled her eyes and broke her scone neatly in half. "Honestly."
The banter went on - Tyrande tossing compliments like petals, the boys catching them with laughter. At last she leaned forward, voice lilting. "Why don't you join us?"
They rose half a step - only to freeze when Skye gave a sharp cry, a sound like cracking ice through still water. She spread her wings wide, feathers bristling, and fixed both men with a glare fierce enough to strip their smiles to silence.
The apprentices faltered, muttered excuses, and retreated to another table entirely.
Tyrande groaned, sinking back in her chair. "You are impossible."
Lytavis only smiled, offering Skye a piece of scone. The raven took it daintily, then fluffed her feathers, satisfied, and resumed her perch.
"Good girl," Lytavis murmured. "You know better."
Skye croaked once, triumphant.
Tyrande threw up her hands. "You'll never let me have any fun."
"Fun is one thing," Lytavis replied, calm as her tea. "Idiots are another."
A little way down the street, unseen, two pairs of eyes had followed the whole scene.
Illidan leaned against a column in shadow, his mouth curved in the faintest smirk. "That raven has more sense than half this city."
Malfurion said nothing, though his gaze lingered not on the raven, but on the girls themselves - on laughter and steadiness, on how easily they fit together. Something about the sight rooted itself deep, though he could not yet name why.
Neither girl saw them, yet the moment lingered like an echo in the air - one twin dismissing it, the other quietly carrying it forward.