Bruises (Part 3 of 5)

Spot was a determined mechanical squirrel. Perhaps it was in his nature to be determined. After all, his creator had not built him with an understanding of what it meant to give up. Then again it could be that gnomish inventors themselves did not understand what it meant to give up. One cannot, after all, program one's inventions with the understanding of a concept one could not oneself comprehend.

Or maybe Spot had learned determination. Unlike mechanical squirrels created by other gnomish inventors, Spot's mechanical cranium had been outfitted with the ability to process outside data and use it to modify its own responses based on that data, even to the point of formulating completely new responses not included with its orginal behavioral templates. In short, Spot could learn.

If Spot had spent any time observing his gnomish creator or his gnomish creator's significant other (whom the mechanical squirrel's gnomish creator had placed in the care of Spot), learning the traits of gnomish determination and gnomish stubborness would not have required much of a processing capacity.

In any case, Spot was a determined mechanical squirrel. His gnomish creator's significant other had had her functionality impared, and perhaps her mechanicals damaged. She required repair. But Spot was clever enough to understand that gnomish mechanicals were not like his own. She required the attentions not of a certified repair technician, but of a healer.

Spot knew only of a few healers. One of them was the white-clad tall human female. She resided in Stormwind. Spot recalled that his creator's significant other had refered to this human as "the lady tall one Emissary former White Coven Wisdom miss Aurelie ma'am."

Spot determined that this individual would be able to repair his gnome. Off Spot went. Determined.
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At the door, the Emissary Aurelie heard a scratching. Patiently, determinedly, a small mechanical squirrel scratched at the door, waiting for someone to open it, waiting to lead whoever opened it to a small room in the back of the inn near the Armory in Ironforge’s Military Ward. To the room where its tired and bruised mistress lay sleeping, waiting to be healed of her painful (but non-life-threatening) bruises, bumps, lumps, scratches, and scrapes.