Nestled in between the hills, the home of Erik Longmaster looked the same as the day Drew had left Azeroth. Strangely, it felt like he was coming home.

The chimney puffed out grey plumes of smoke which swirled and dispersed in the light breeze that whistled in from the mountains just north of its location.  The fields below were starting to burst with brightly coloured flowers and herbs. It had the appearance of a vast rippling, rainbow infused carpet. Air currents danced up across the meadow imbuing the path to the cottage with the sweet and exotic scents of nature's perfumiers.

A little distance from the cottage, a couple of fawns grazed in the company of a passel of hogs with their litters. The odd squeal from the younger pigs had the adults milling around them on the lookout for danger. All was safe and tranquil though. The bears and wolves would be further into the forest at this time of year, if Drew's estimation was correct. He remembered it had been late summer when he'd left. Going by the foliage and the slightly cool air he surmised it was spring in Azeroth now.He had missed this little cottage and the surrounding Elwynn Forest, even though it had been less than a week in his time. 

The scene was somewhat marred however, as he was still bristling from the exchange with Mick, Mel and Bernie. Especially Bernie. He'd been stupid enough to think they had a connection. What its root was he had no idea, but he'd sensed something – something elusive yet trying to surface from the pit of his mist-covered memory.

He'd felt a particularly strong paroxysm in the gardens in Princes Street when they were observing the cat stalking its prey. There had been a glimmer, a ripple of some buried link with that moment and...  He shook his head, frustrated not only at not understanding it, but also that he was bothering to deliberate about it at all. Bernie had been right about one thing anyway. He was gullible.

As he approached the front door of the cottage, two butterflies crossed in front of his face. Their sudden appearance startled him from his reverie and he lifted a hand to swat them away. As he did so he was rooted to the spot. His inner eye hurtled to another place and, he surmised, another time. 

He saw a man's hands holding a jar. They were his hands. No. They couldn't be. He did not recognise the moment nor the clothing, of which, granted, there was only a small amount on show, but most definitely not his attire. So it could not be him. All he could see were dark blue sleeves, of a jacket, most likely. It seemed to be finely tailored by what he could make out.

His attention focused on the jar again. It had a linen cloth top tied with a vine that was moulded into a handle for carrying. 

The hands passed the jar to someone else. A female going by the slender, elegant fingers. They hovered over a black dress which shimmered from tiny gems sewn into it. It looked expensive. There was something familiar, but what exactly? The setting? The jar? The woman? He desperately wanted to see the face those hands belonged to. Maybe then... 

The female lifted the jar. His breath caught in his chest, the anticipation of seeing who had been given this bizarre object... But, the vision honed in on the linen-topped glass once more. Inside were three brightly coloured butterflies. One of the female's hands reached out to the male's. Fingers entwined ...

He staggered as his vision retracted with an almost audible whoosh and once more he was back in the present. He stared at his hand, still raised to swat the butterflies, which had long since fluttered over the path and down towards the meadow.

He was gasping. What he had just envisioned was no whimsical daydream. It felt so much more meaningful than that. It was like... like a memory. But whose? It was not one of his. His thoughts returned to the incident in the train station. Had he somehow become host to someone's spirit? Was he possessed? An unnerving consideration indeed, but one which he attempted to cool by thinking that something as innocent as butterflies would not be associated with any objectionable entity, surely. He hoped not anyhow. 

Again he shook his head. What a ridiculous way of thinking, he chastised. Ghosts hitching a lift! Even in this fantastical dimension, such a thing was far-fetched. 

He straightened, flexed his neck and rounded his shoulders before continuing towards the door of the cottage. A sturdy wooden table with two benches tucked underneath sat to the left of the door. Upon the table was a quiver, half full of arrows and a splintered bow beside it. To the right and nearer the slope of the path, was the carcass of a boar, slung up in the centre of a sturdy tripod. Its throat was slit, a bucket below to catch the blood. He couldn't help but peer over at the family of hogs in the meadow. Hope this wasn't Uncle Hamish, he thought.

However, he knew Erik only hunted bigger game if there was a celebration occurring.  Suddenly aware of the battered carrier bag in his hand, he couldn't help but wonder if that celebration was a birth.

The sound of pots rattling came from within the cottage.  Drew moved to the door and was just about to grab the handle when the door shot open. He jumped back at the suddenness of it, dropping his bag of baby clothes and the teddy.

  There in front of him holding a large frying pan was a fierce looking black-haired female dwarf. "Dinnae even think it!" she growled. Going by the glare in her eyes she had every intention of using that pan as a weapon.  

Drew held his hands up in surrender. While she was a good two feet shorter than him, his experience of the race told him not to underestimate the strength and ferocity of the dwarves. That was a particular consideration now as he was faced with this very angry looking woman armed with a sturdy cooking implement.

"Honey, ah'm home!" A shout from around the north side of the cottage announced the welcome arrival of Erik Longmaster, Supreme Hunter and, thankfully, the good friend of Drew Stewart.

Drew glanced back at the woman in the doorway. She hadn't moved an inch, her stance informing him she still intended to clobber him if he so much as sneezed.

His eyes quickly turned back to the side of the house. He could hear footsteps crunching across the gravel. It nonetheless seemed to take an age for the stocky figure of Erik Longmaster to appear from round the edge of the cottage. When he did, however, his abundant swatch of red whiskers rose on his face suggesting a broad smile.

"Drew! Laddie! Yer back!" he shouted as he dumped the three dead rabbits he had been carrying near the corner of the cottage. He ran forward, holding out a hand in greeting. He slowed as he realised Drew was standing in a manner that was akin to someone facing a fierce beast. Turning his head, he caught sight of the woman lurking in the doorway, frying pan still at the ready.

"Pit that away, Gwen! It's jist Drew."

The woman bristled but was still reluctant to down tools. Her eyes darted between Erik and the tall young man in the black leather jacket. "Jist Drew he says! Well, he could huv bin onybody!" she grumbled. "Comin' tae ma door, armed wi'...wi'..." Her eyes fell to the ground at Drew's feet.

Erik also looked at the carrier bag and the teddy on the ground. He tutted. "Wi' a bairn's stuffed toy?" he said incredulously. " Ye daft bissim, Gwenmora." Erik rolled his eyes and shook his head in disbelief.

The woman lowered the frying pan, but her glare turned on Erik. "Dinnae ye be usin' ma Blessed name Erik Longmaster or cawin' me a bissim in front o' folk, or ah'll huv yer beard for garters."

Erik's beard twitched and he shifted back against Drew. "Now lass, ye ken fine ma beard is off limits so dinnae be comin' oot wi' empty threats..."

"Empty!" She stepped out from the doorway, hands on hips, her brow knitted, eyes blazing and that frying pan still held firmly in her right hand.

Erik moved back again. As did Drew. This woman put him in mind of a snapping turtle and he felt the need to put some more distance between them.  "Erm, will I come back another time?" he asked hesitantly, trying to gather the carrier bag and teddy by using his foot to bring them nearer him. 

He glanced at the cuddly bear with it little tartan waistcoat. It had had a few collisions with the ground since his arrival in Azeroth and its fur was starting to show the effects. He picked it up and blew on it, trying to rid it of the dry soil and grass blades it had accumulated. "Can't really give this to Sarah now," he said a tad dejected.

Gwenmora's hands fell to her sides. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "Yer that Drew."

Drew looked up, not quite sure what to make of her statement.

     "Of course he's that Drew!" Erik said. "Whit other Drew div ye ken, onyway?"

Gwenmora ignored Erik and marched over to the human holding the teddy bear. "Gie's it here lad, ah'll mak' it as gid as new fur ye." She held out a squat hand. Gingerly, Drew surrendered the teddy bear. Gwenmora looked at it, and a soft smile crossed her lips. "Ocel will love this," she said.

     "Ocel?" Drew asked. His eyes were wide and the trace of a winsome smile played on his lips.

Gwenmora looked up at him. "Aye. The bairn. Sarah and Khadgar huv a bouncin' baby boy."

Drew's mouth formed a silent Oh.  

The female dwarf shook her head. "Did ye no ken? Where on Azeroth huv ye been, lad. She hud the bairn four days ago."

     "Actually, I've just arr..." but before he could finish, Gwenmora had spun round and disappeared back into the cottage with the teddy bear.

After he made sure she was out of range, Erik grabbed Drew's hand and shook it warmly. "Ah, it's gid tae huv ye back lad," he beamed, his little eyes glinting from under the wayward bushy brows. 

Drew smiled. "It's good to be back," he said. The fact three others had come through with him however, made him wonder if he would continue to feel that way. He glanced at the cottage door. "Have you got something to tell me?"

Suddenly, Erik became all coy. He stared at the ground, swaying slightly from side to side, hands clasped behind his back. Drew smirked. It was uncanny how like the game models these Azerothians could be at times. "Come on now," Drew coaxed. "Tell me who she is."

     "Her name's Gwenmora."

     "That much I gathered. Come on Erik, tell me more."

     "She's the daughter o' Fargo Flintlocke, the warrior engineer."

     "Okay. And?"

     "And whit?" 

     "How did you meet?"

Erik took a very deep breath before looking back up at him. "I won her," he simply said.

   "You what?" Drew gasped. He was suddenly overcome with the need to laugh. 

Erik got all flustered and pressing a chubby finger against his bearded lips, while flapping with his other hand at Drew, shushed the human from making any further noisy outbursts.

Drew was having a hard time keeping his face straight as Erik proceeded to tell him the tale.

     "It wis Sarah's idea. She said they dae this kinda thing back where ye's come frae and it's a' hermless fun.  It wis a charity doo tae raise monies fur those that were less fortunate efter the Legion attacks. They decided tae huv an auction...o' wimen."

Again Drew had to stifle his laughter. Erik was still embarrassed and fidgeting, a foot aimlessly pushing a pebble round where they stood. 

     "So, obviously you won."

      "Aye, laddie." His voice dropped lower. "An' ahm no' tellin' ye fur how much, neither. But it was only meant tae be fur a night. Yin night!! Y'know, jist a nice evening wi' a meal and some music, that wis a' tho'."

     "Uh huh," Drew stood, arms crossed, with one hand trying to hide the fact he was still laughing.  "And erm...how long ago was this charity auction?"

It took the dwarf a considerable time to reply. "It wis held at the stert o' the year." Erik hung his head again.

Drew made a rather strange sound from behind his hand. 

Erik scowled at him. "Ye git yaist tae hur."

     "So it would seem. Honey, ah'm home?" Drew mimicked.

Erik scoffed, turning away for a moment. What flesh was visible under his beard and whiskers was almost as red as his hair. When he looked back up at Drew, however, his eyes were sparkling. "Well, ah kinda like huvin' hur aboot, now. She mak's a mean rabbit stew and...she keeps ma taes warm in the cauld weather." His bushy whiskers twitched and he winked at Drew. 

It was the most comical meeting Drew had heard of, but he was very happy that it seemed to be working out for his friend. 

Erik grinned and gestured the way forward.

     "Come awa' in lad. She disnae bite – much."