Unlike the trip he had taken to return to the East, the way West kept Shia snuggly in Alliance territory, and there was only the matter of suffering through the boat ride from Menethil Harbor to Darkshore. At Darkshore Shia felt himself too sick to make the run south into Ashenvale, so he used the last of his wages to buy a flight on a Griffon for the rest of the trip. He put the various trinkets and snacks he had bought for his friends into a bag at the creature's side and was off.
The flight to Astranaar was ten times more relaxing than the boat that Shia had spent his last three days on. For one, the griffon was a well trained beast, and its gliding caused minimal fuss from the Druid's stomach. The scenery up high above the treetops was exquisite. The deciduous trees had all lost their leaves, but the conifers remained lush and green, and from the great height at which Shia was flying, the subtle effects of pollution on the Western side of the valley were unnoticeable.
But as Shia approached the town the smoke from the lumber camps began to pop up on the horizon as thick black pillars. One area especially seemed to be burning with an extra hot intensity. A great black cloud was billowing into the sky and spreading about with the wind, and as Shia grew closer he could hear the clangs of metal and shouts of the grunts. Only, there was something off. The metal was not meeting wood, it was meeting metal, and the shouting was not the usual workday abuse that Orc taskmasters threw against their peons, but battle cries.
The griffon began to make its decent, and Shia realized that he was headed directly into the smoke cloud. Directly into where Astranaar should be, but wasn't.
A heavy lump lodged itself into the Druid's throat as his legs grew numb. The horde was attacking Astranaar. No, it was ransacking Astranaar. Where were the Sentinels? Where were the townsfolk? Where was little Relara? Where was Whitemoon? Were they safe? Dead? Dying? In hiding? Would he ever see them again? Would he ever make it out of this alive?
Shia tried to tug at the griffon's reins and convince it to land somewhere outside of the middle of battle, but it was steadfast on its path and began to land in the middle of the island. By this time the considerable horde force that was pushing into the town from the Eastern bridge had noticed him, and Shia had to hug the Griffon's back to avoid being burnt to a crisp by the fireballs lobbed at him.
The griffon landed and Shia stumbled onto the ground, steeling himself for his inevitable death, but he soon realized he had been dropped into the middle of a ring of Alliance defenders beating back at least twice their number of Horde forces. A number of faces he couldn't recognize, but in the crowd stood Sentinel Thenysil, waving her swords about like a whirlwind.
But where was little Relara? Where was Whitemoon? As the battle raged on all about him, Shia stood immobile and dumbstruck. If they were dead, what would he do? How could he live with himself after he promised that he would protect them? Amidst the death cries all about him, Shia could only hear the hammering of his own heart.
An archer's arrow whizzed past Shia's head and found its mark in Sentinel Thenysil's side. She fell to one knee. A dozen Orcs and Undead took the opportunity to fall upon her all at once, and although she grimaced through the pain and held them off, a vital point in the alliance defenses had disappeared. It seemed as if the battle was on the verge of being lost.
Shia's hands moved of his own accord. Without realizing he was doing it, he had pulled forth all his energy and sent it into Thenysil, mending her wounds and returning her strength at the expense of his own. The Horde that had thought to take advantage of a fallen warrior found themselves pitted against a fully rejuvenated killing machine, and didn't live long to regret their decision.
But healing one Sentinel was hardly enough. For every person Shia aided another fell. The Druid had no time to think of the Alliance's futile situation. His every thought was bent on saving those around him, and living to find out what had become of the townspeople. Cenarius, he begged, please, take the very breath from my body, but let these people live!
As if his wish had been heard, no sooner had Shia cleansed a warlock's curse from another Sentinel than a ball of fire slammed into his side and sent him flying to the ground. He had no energy left to mend his charred flesh, or even to subdue the pain. As everything was engulfed in a deep red, and the sounds of battle became more and more distant, Shia tried to prepare himself for death, where he would meet Whitemoon and beg him for forgiveness for his failure. Shia thought he could hear the war dead shouting in the distance for him to follow them, but soon those sounds also faded as the Druid slipped out of consciousness.
Shiawase awoke on a padded mat somewhere outdoors. The sky was a brilliant crisp blue, accentuated with the occasional gray smoke clouds, and a light breeze nipped at his entire body. Was there winter in the afterlife, Shia wondered. Surely not! But if that were so, then Shiawase could not be dead. And if he wasn't dead then Astranaar...
Shia attempted to jolt up into a sitting position, but the intense pain of movement allowed him to lift himself only a few inches before he collapsed back onto the pad with a groan. His entire right side felt like it had been gnawed away by a pack of wolves. Even his cringe of pain was painful. It sent sharp jolts of sensation from his cheek straight to the back of his head.
"This one's awake." A faintly familiar voice range out from the previous silence, and a Night Elf's face appeared in Shia's line of vision. The Elf's mouth was drawn in a stern line, and the many creases of his face seemed chiseled in stone. Shia recognized Stormrage immediately, and a tiny moan escaped his lips. Perhaps he -had- died and this was Elune's idea of punishment, to lie prone as the old Druid berated him for leaving Astranaar unprotected.
Stormrage narrowed his eyes and leaned in closer. "How do you feel brother?"
Shia attempted a weak smile.
"You were on the edge of death when we got to you. Cenarius must have been looking out for you. Astranaar is safe for now, brother. Rest and regain your strength."
"The..."
"What was that?" Stormrage turned an ear towards Shia.
Shia licked at his lips in a futile attempt to wet them and tried again. "Villagers."
Stormrage nodded. "The griffon master and innkeeper died in the initial assault, as did ten Sentinels. The rest of the population made it to an underground shelter and waited out the battle in safety."
Shia relaxed into his bad. They were alive.
"Now get your rest. You did well. Let us take care of things for now."
Shia had barely nodded a reply before he had returned to the dreamless black of exhaustion.
The force that had attacked Astranaar was not a body of the Horde army, but some outside organization led by a revenge crazed Undead woman under the impression that her hated enemy had taken refuge somewhere in the town. The force had descended upon Astranaar without warning, and only the battle tested reflexes of the Sentinels had prevented the entire island from crumbling to ash in the first five minutes. The griffon master had died sending word off for aid, which had allowed the Allies to hold ground for a full hour before Shiawase had arrived.
The Druids guarding Stonetalon Peak had noticed signs of trouble in Astranaar immediately, as they kept a careful eye on all the territory below them, and they had rushed off to help. Upon their arrival the tables were turned definitively towards the Allied side. As formidable as the Horde warriors were, they were not prepared to face two of the most powerful druids in Azeroth, and they fled as soon as their situation became apparent to them.
Shia had spent the second half of the battle face down in the bloody dirt, dying. When the Druids found him they thought he was already gone, and with breathing patients in need of immediate care and their energy waning, they almost passed him over, but the Sentinels had insisted an attempt to save his life be made. To everyone's surprise, Shia had started breathing again, and was placed with the rest of the wounded.
It was there that he lay now, listening as Sentinel Farsong brought him up to date from her own sickbed. The villagers were at the Elven capital at the moment, resting out of harm's way. It was for the best that they were gone, Shia thought, that way he wouldn't have to face them. If Whitemoon showed up, Shia would have gone into critical condition all over again for the shame.
Stormrage visited the young Druid on a few occasions to check his recovery. The hard fought battle and the task of aiding so many wounded had taken an obvious toll on even a veteran warrior like Stormrage. It was clear in his drooping eyes and dragging feet. But as exhausted as he seemed, he remained curt and professional, and not once mentioned their previous meeting at Stonetalon Peak. Shia wondered if the older Druid had forgotten. Somehow he doubted it. An opportunity to mention anything about it never arrived, for as soon as Stormrage had confirmed Shia's improvement, he was on to the next patient.
With his senior's aid, and thanks to his own natural connection to the healing powers of nature, Shia went from being incapable of something as small as speech to walking about slowly on unsteady legs within a week. Within two weeks he was helping the other patients in their own recovery and rebuilding the town. Whitemoon's house had been leveled and was nothing but a frame of charred wood. Shia saw to its restoration himself, taking every pain to fish out trinkets from the ashes, and insisting on a faithful recreation of the old hut.
By the time Astranaar had been rebuilt and the townsfolk were to return, Shia's leave from the Retribution had ended again and he was due to return to the Eastern Kingdoms, but Shia found the very thought of leaving Astranaar again made him sick with worry. The enemy might return, and the problem of the lumber camps had yet to be dealt with. What if he left, only to come back to the entire area torn apart by the Horde? What if the enemy had only been regaining its strength and was preparing another strike within a week, before aid could come from Darnassus?
Shia had decided. Leaving Astranaar again was not an option. He would remain in the town and send a notice explaining himself to Retribution. They were all fighters in that group; they would be fine without him, where as the villagers of Astranaar had no power to defend themselves.
When the ship left for Menethil Harbor, Shia was not on it.
