His golden-scaled body soared dramatically upward, free from the watery grave that sought to be his end, and he trumpeted in victory, a firey call of freedom flaming from his mouth as he rose, the image that of a gigantic golden phoenix....rising....rising to heaven.
He soared so high into the sky that the eye could no longer see him, even as the now midday sun reflected its glory off the flaming golden body.
But....legends being true....and goldens being honorable above all....back downward he allowed his flightpath to take him, as he sought out the one in whose debt his life now rested.
She was there. Standing in the small waters of the waves that came to kiss briefly the shore, before Elune bade them return forever to her, the WindWhisperer watched the magnificent dragon now fly to her, land and bow at her feet....his gift of submission to her shown now and for always. The golden dragon lowered his body to the sands, stretched out his arched neck, and gave Tyrande his alleigence. She ran her hand down the length of his sunstreaked golden neck as she moved to him and climbed upon his back. She was protected now by those who ruled both the nights and the days, Elune the Moon, and this rare and precious golden dragon who was the Sun. And the dragon rose into the sky with Tyrannde Whisperwind singing in his ear, riding him into the heavens.
But where there is yin, there must also be yang, where there is good, there must also be the opposite of good, where there is a triumph, there must also be a fall, or those things of good, triumph, hope would be meaningless. The struggle does go on. Tyrannde was still the last of the Kaldorei and as the nights went on, the dragon was to believe, upon evidence (or lack thereof) from their nightly rides, that he was the last of his kind, too.
Were they whispering into the wind together but vain in the hope of ever finding.....more?
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