Bossia certainly heard Shakes's words, and she also noticed that Khalif had dropped a small piece of pie near her feet, but she chose not to react. Her sleep had been broken into fragmented intervals recently, waking up dozens of times each night. Sometimes, she even felt as if she were always awake. She couldn't recall any dreams, and the iron cage, reeking of blood, seemed more like a vivid dream itself. It was the most constant dream in the world, where she lived, leaning against one side of the cage, motionless; the dead orc woman lay on the other side, equally still.
In the beginning, she didn't like sitting in this spot, as the moment she opened her eyes, the corpse opposite her came into view. But over time, she grew accustomed to it, now only trying to stay as far away from the stench as possible. The orc woman had been a temporary companion, tasked with launching a surprise attack on the guards ahead of the water transport convoy. Bossia had only spent half a day with her, without any real conversation; thus, when the time came to kill her, Bossia hesitated little. After all, the orc woman was the one who rushed at her with an axe first, Bossia thought. She had chopped off that axe, but the orc woman pounced on her, using fists and feet and even trying to gouge out her eyes, as if the axe was just a fancy decoration and her body was the real weapon. Several bruises on Bausia's body had yet to fade even today.
She knew Shakes had walked away, so she slightly lifted her head, and the first thing she saw again was the corpse opposite her. She noticed something flapping near the corpse's arms and thought for a moment that she had dreamed it had come back to life. But soon, she realized that some scavenging birds were outside the cage, flapping their wings while stretching their beaks through the bars to peck at the body. Bossia frowned, parted her cracked lips, and a faint metallic taste spread from the inside of her lower lip to her tongue. This orc woman hadn't been able to form any emotional connection with Bossia in life, but she had done so in death.
Bossia knew that if she didn't do something, she would inevitably end up like the orc woman, so she gripped her sword, stood up, and left the cage where she had lived like a beast for a month.
Gadgetzan had no fresh air to speak of, but perhaps due to the psychological effect of returning to the wider world, she lifted her hood, raised her face to the moon in the deep blue sky, and took a deep breath. When she lowered her head again, a cold wind slipped in from the back of her neck, brushing against her spine.
Since she had come ashore in Theramore three years ago, she had kept her hair short, never allowing it to grow past her shoulders. She had also hastily adopted the masculine alias "Sharll." People's reactions to this obvious attempt at concealing her identity varied: when she gave the name to some of the residents of Theramore, they would hesitate for a second or two, but then immediately offer a look of understanding and a soft smile. In Gadgetzan, however, the alias often brought her nothing but contempt and distrust. She had long decided that unless absolutely necessary, she would never use it again.
Where should she go now? She had no idea, so she decided to just walk for a bit. She hoped her name hadn't spread because of the failed attack on the water convoy; otherwise, she would have no way to stay here and no money to fund her escape. Perhaps the best plan would be to find a caravan urgently in need of a bodyguard, but that would require luck.
Robbing the goblin water convoy in the Shimmering Flats had seemed like such an easy task at the time, and to be honest, there was the least moral burden when robbing goblins. If the robbers' demands were no higher than the cost of hiring bodyguards, the goblins often chose not to resist, handing over the cash with an eerie smile as if completing an extra business deal. What they feared most was provoking the robbers' destructive tendencies. After all, if they lost their profits just to fend off an attack, it would be the dumbest move a goblin could make.
Of course, the ideal scenario for the goblins was to wipe out the robbers and still protect the goods, which was exactly the situation Bossia and her temporary companions faced. Among them, Khalif, a fourteen-year-old boy, was tasked with keeping watch. But he did something else.
Bossia hadn't walked far before she stopped. Up ahead was the relatively bustling main street, but she had no business there right now. She turned her head to glance at a small path to the west, which led out of the city into the endless desert of Tanaris—a suicidal choice. In the end, she decided to keep moving forward. She knew a gnome doctor, and maybe she could help her a little.
Just then, a small figure suddenly darted out from beside the path, standing about ten paces away from Bossia.
It was Khalif. His lips were tightly pressed, staring directly at her, but his trembling pupils betrayed an unnatural avoidance.
"Sharll," he said, "they let you out."
Bossia didn't respond. Khalif continued, "I brought you something to eat earlier. But you were asleep. You didn't eat that pie, did you?"
The two stood in silence for a while, the air between them strangely still. The only thing that refused the silence was a small creature emerging from the sand; yet, in an instant, it burrowed back underground. The faint sound it made was like a tiny marble falling into Bausia's dazed mind, awakening something. She staggered two steps forward, and Khalif instinctively took two steps back.
"Stop," Bossia said. She could hardly believe it was her own voice—so weak, as if it came from some distant, invisible hill. Then, she drew her sword, and Khalif immediately turned and ran.
Bossia only chased him for about ten steps before realizing she couldn't catch him. He was too quick; otherwise, he wouldn't have so easily slipped away from the group to inform on them to Shakes's men. He knew Gadgetzan's streets like the back of his hand.
As Khalif disappeared from sight, Bossia suddenly felt her knees buckle and nearly fell. The physical toll from a month in a cage now erupted due to her sudden exertion. She leaned against the wall and slowly sat down, feeling as if countless grains of sand were whipping through her brain like a wild wind. She wanted to vomit but didn't, as there was nothing left in her stomach.
She felt terrible. Raising her head, she anticipated losing consciousness soon. She had fainted a few times over the past three years due to exhaustion and injuries, but at this moment, she suddenly realized she was closer to death than ever before: the decaying image of the orc woman swirled in her mind—scorpions. Flesh-eating scorpions. Blood splattering on the sand. Carrion birds. The wings of carrion birds. The wings of corpses. Old scars. New scars. Fatal wounds.
"Tomorrow, I…"
No one heard what she said, not even herself. Not far away, a passerby walked by the cage, covering their nose. A thick cloud obscured the moon, and the corpse's shadow grew faint. That cloud would bring rain tomorrow, soaking the yellow sands of Tanaris.