a prison, as holidays, is great to start brand new ideas:

Elinara woke up with the rising sun warming her face, her purple skin. He blinked twice, adjusting her eyes to the bright morning light. She was a Night Elf, after all; and even though her people’s way of life has much changed since the last war against the Burning Legion and the sacrifice of the World Tree – that ultimately was responsible for the end of the Night Elf’s cherished immortality –, she, as most of her kind, still didn’t feel as comfortable in day as they did under the moonlight.
She stared at her wounded hand and arm. The bandages were still soaked in blood, but it was not fresh, as if the haemorrhage was gone. It still hurt, though, when she tried to reach the water pouch Malian had giver her.
“Here, let me help you”, he suddenly said, coming from behind her. “Just take it easy. Your wound barely stopped bleeding”. He grabbed the water pouch, opened it and gave it to the priestess. She drank a little then stopped to watch her rescuer’s moves.
Malian was returning from some kind of early morning hunt, for he carried his crossbow, arrow quiver and, hanging on his leather belt, two thin rabbits. He put his weapons aside and, resuming the camp fire he had done in the previous night, he prepared to cook the rabbits. Yet as he approached the fire, he noted some unease in Elinara’s face.
“Is there something wrong?”, he asked with concern. “Do your wounds hurt?”
“No… it’s not that”, she replied. “That.” She pointed to the rabbits. “We night elves do not have meat for food much often…”
“Well, I just hope these are not plagued as this forest seems to be”, he said. “I have some herbs, but nothing special. Plus, you are still weak, and you need proper nourishment if we are to resume our travel. We can’t stay in Tirisfal Glades much longer.”
(...)

(down the scarlet path, by myself. forgive some mispellings.)