We’ve all taken up study of the blade. It seems so strange to me, learning to hold it to take a life rather than for the simpler tasks which I am used to. I am glad you are not here, sister. I do not think I would like seeing the look of war upon your face.

The word is strange. War. Combat for survival against another race. Ever we have tried to live peacefully with the other races we met along our great journey. Even the orcs. I remember that day three summers ago when we heard that fever swept through the village of orcs not far from here. You, Aloor and two others took potions and supplies to aid the weakened tribe. You were so gentle in your assessment of them. You described their gratitude as “gruff”. I do not think even you could find such kindness in your heart now.

I do not know how much you have heard in the Temple. Perhaps a great deal considering that is where Prophet Velen resides. But there is no kindness towards the orcs now. They defile our dead, they sack and slaughter our people mindlessly. They murder children and babes in the womb. They desecrate our holy places. And still we know not why.

All of the children and injured of Anlenor have been sent to the safety of Shattrath. How long they will remain safe there is uncertain. It seems lately there are more injured than healthy. We fear we will have to abandon our home soon.

I do not know if I will be able to write again. Things have changed so much. I miss the gentle summer evenings listening to the song of the river and the night birds. No more do they sing. The sounds of the night now are terrifying or mournful. I care not to listen any longer.

Please stay safe in Karabor.

Your loving sister,
Yaaniesa

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