Author: Mahdaan
“We call it
wanderlust,” uncle Gao said. “It is in our blood. Ever since Liu
Lang gathered any who would rather travel than stay within the safety
of home, we have all shared that bond. There comes a time in every
wandering Pandaren’s life when they feel the call to
explore.”
Chin Su pulled a sceptical face and looked from the temple of Five Dawns to her uncle. “Even my father?” she asked in unbelief, about the man who was so dedicated to his comfortable chair, his noodles and his evening pipe.
Uncle Gao let out a hearty laugh that shook his whole body, so he held on to his large furry belly. “Yes, even your father. I remember well how he explored a tropical peninsula with some friends and came back with a sort of fruit we had never seen before. How else did you think he got your mother to like him back? He was quite the daredevil too, back then.” Uncle Gao’s story faded in mumbles about the excellent brew they had made with the precious fruit.
Chin Su had this special bond with her uncle, perhaps exactly because she always felt that her father was much different from her. It had been uncle Gao who told her when she was just a cub, that the Wandering Isle was in fact a massive turtle on whose back they once climbed thousands of years ago. It was uncle Gao’s iron shield had inspired Chin Su to make her own, out of string and an old bamboo basket. Both times, she had looked like this, in wonder and curiosity.
“Why doesn’t the turtle visit the continents anymore then?” she asked, although that wasn’t the most burning question Chin Su had. She really wanted to know why her father had shown so little support when it came to her need to explore and find adventures, but she was about to get both answers from her uncle anyway.
“In our time, it used to be safer. The people across the world now don’t have the same welcome for travellers they showed us back then. They now wage war, for land and riches and to conquer all that is strange to them. The masters agreed to avoid the shores of Azeroth for the time being.”
Chin Su’s curiosity made way for indignation, and she challenged uncle Gao with her eyes, to which he responded with a warm smile and a cryptic explanation: “Can you blame the parents to worry for the cubs? Can you blame the crane for running from the tiger?”
“I’ll be a tiger myself!” Chin Su exclaimed, and straightened her back, then struck a blow in the air, clumsily, but passionately all the same.
Uncle Gao chuckled again, then pushed himself up by his staff. He took the time to scratch his face and then greeted a passing lamplighter with a half bow before turning to Chin Su again. “I don’t doubt it, little one,” he said as he glanced at the rising sun the great turtle was swimming towards. “We better get going, or you’ll be late for your first day at the Academy.”
Chin Su pulled a sceptical face and looked from the temple of Five Dawns to her uncle. “Even my father?” she asked in unbelief, about the man who was so dedicated to his comfortable chair, his noodles and his evening pipe.
Uncle Gao let out a hearty laugh that shook his whole body, so he held on to his large furry belly. “Yes, even your father. I remember well how he explored a tropical peninsula with some friends and came back with a sort of fruit we had never seen before. How else did you think he got your mother to like him back? He was quite the daredevil too, back then.” Uncle Gao’s story faded in mumbles about the excellent brew they had made with the precious fruit.
Chin Su had this special bond with her uncle, perhaps exactly because she always felt that her father was much different from her. It had been uncle Gao who told her when she was just a cub, that the Wandering Isle was in fact a massive turtle on whose back they once climbed thousands of years ago. It was uncle Gao’s iron shield had inspired Chin Su to make her own, out of string and an old bamboo basket. Both times, she had looked like this, in wonder and curiosity.
“Why doesn’t the turtle visit the continents anymore then?” she asked, although that wasn’t the most burning question Chin Su had. She really wanted to know why her father had shown so little support when it came to her need to explore and find adventures, but she was about to get both answers from her uncle anyway.
“In our time, it used to be safer. The people across the world now don’t have the same welcome for travellers they showed us back then. They now wage war, for land and riches and to conquer all that is strange to them. The masters agreed to avoid the shores of Azeroth for the time being.”
Chin Su’s curiosity made way for indignation, and she challenged uncle Gao with her eyes, to which he responded with a warm smile and a cryptic explanation: “Can you blame the parents to worry for the cubs? Can you blame the crane for running from the tiger?”
“I’ll be a tiger myself!” Chin Su exclaimed, and straightened her back, then struck a blow in the air, clumsily, but passionately all the same.
Uncle Gao chuckled again, then pushed himself up by his staff. He took the time to scratch his face and then greeted a passing lamplighter with a half bow before turning to Chin Su again. “I don’t doubt it, little one,” he said as he glanced at the rising sun the great turtle was swimming towards. “We better get going, or you’ll be late for your first day at the Academy.”
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