Yar, the stuff I posted before is all lost in backhistory, so I'm starting over where things move slower!
The Natural Order
Chapter 1
What time was it? Six in the morning? Noon? Shiawase hadn't been keeping track. It seemed he had been crouching in the same tree waiting for weeks, although no more than a day or so could have passed. The din of the Ashenvale Lumber camp began drifting to his ears again; that would make it an hour or so after daybreak. Another day of Orcs ravaging the forest in ignorance. Shiawase sighed. Such a loss of life, and so avoidable, but it was the natural way of things that life should compete against life.
A rustle in the bushes below him brought Shia back to the task at hand, and he leaned against the trunk of the tree in which he was perched, fading into the shadows in the way only Night Elves could. Many feet below him sat a small shrine, nothing but a few arranged rocks, really, and atop it sat a basket of dried and spiced fish, caught for the benefit of the forest protectors. The fish had been disappearing lately, and the protectors had grown upset, so Shia had offered to keep watch and see what was making off with the food. And that was why he had been sitting in a tree for Cenarius knew how long, staring down at a pile of fish that had more than passed their prime and nursing a behind so sore from the chafing bark that he could hardly feel it anymore.
The bush rustled again, and a young furblog appeared from the underbrush. Its fur was matted and dirty, even gone outright in some patches, and its ribs poked prominently from its sides. With a cautious, crawling pace, the furblog inched its way towards the dried fish, glancing in every direction at every step. Shia let out a heavy sigh, stretched, and once the furblog had extended its paws towards the fish he morphed into a bear and leapt down from the tree. He had intended to land right in front of the shrine, let out a decent roar, and terrify the runt into never approaching the shrine again, but Shia had misjudged his size as a bear, and as he went shooting down to the forest floor a stocky branch caught him in the side and sent him spinning and howling until he had finally crashed into the bushes on his back. What he had intended to be a vicious roar ended coming out as an agonized whine, and the impact of the fall had left him in no mood to move for at least a minute.
None the less, the furblog was sent screaming off through the forest, the fish still sitting intact on the top of the shrine.
Later that day Shia sat and listened as the Ashenvale townsfolk discussed his findings. The entire town was small enough that they could fit in the general goods store with room to spare, and yet the extent of their chattering seemed to overflow from the building and spill out onto the clear water of Ashenvale's largest lake. Shia pondered the crystal face of the water, his mind on the furblog he had scared away and how in need of sustenance it had seemed. What did Protectors need with a few dried fish anyway? Would it not be better to give something like that to a starving creature of the forest?
"Shia, brother, are you listening?"
Shiawase turned his head back to the crowd and nodded, smiling. Raene Wolfrunner gave him a disapproving shake of her head and continued with whatever it was she had been saying.
"We must petition Darnassus for a force capable of driving the Orcs out of Ashenvale and -keeping- them out. As long as we let those monsters rape our forest the creatures that once lived there will continue to turn to unnatural means of survival. The furblogs and Satyrs both are nothing but a menace now, and even the stags are acting oddly. The Sentinels we have stationed here may be able to keep Astranaar safe from the growing Orcish threat, but to go against their forces directly would be suicide."
Young Faldreas stood up. "Do you think Darnassus would bother to send any forces here at all? They're more worried about regaining their immortality and denying the horde their resources in the south. They've left the Eastern half of the forest completely unguarded for months, and no matter how many times we'll petition them, they're intent on winning the gulch. We're sitting ducks here and we might as well face it."
One of the Sentinels established at Astranaar, Sentinel Thenysil, waved away Faldreas' complaint dismissively. "Your anger is misplaced brother." She said, standing. "Ashenvale is not the only front where the war is being fought. Our elders would send more forces if only there were more forces to send. But see, they sent us a druid to aid us when our brother here," she gestured to Shiawase, "is conscripted to aid the humans in retaking their lost kingdom and reviving it to its natural splendor. He had to spend a week out to sea and run for a day just to get here."
Shia began to loose interest in the conversation again and turned his attention back to the water. It was a clear autumn day, and the sun was blinding off the water's surface. It's heat hit Shia in the face like a warm kiss, and with a contented sigh the druid sunk a little deeper into his chair to soak the sun up. He recalled the times he spend sunbathing in the Emerald Dream, naked and sprawled over a rock at the edge of a gentle river, taking in the sun, the wind, the whispers of the trees, everything, not a care in the world. What a pure land the Emerald Dream was. It was a land swelled with life and verdant energy. Where the power lied in the hands of the stag, the bear, the great oak. It was a realm of purity and natural beauty, and it had been home for some hundreds of years for Shiawase. There were times, such as that moment, where Shia doubted whether it had been for the best that he woke from the Dream to heed the call of his brothers in defending the Eastern Kingdoms from the growing danger presented by the Horde. True, he would not have met the many gnomes, dwarves, and men that he now called his friends, nor would he have ever stepped into the epic halls of Ironforge or stumbled about in a drunken stupor alongside Stormwind's canals, but there was no peace to be found in this world, and every day it seem the call to escape petty mortal squabbles and return to the welcome embrace of the Emerald Dream grew like a unscratchable itch.
"Brother Shiawase?"
Shia jumped and snapped his attention back to the room. Everyone had stopped to watch him as he drifted into a nap it seemed, and with a self conscious laugh the druid bowed and muttered an apology.
Sentinel Thenysil's lips were pursed and her eyes narrowed. Faldreas was frowning as usual as he asked, "Did you hear me?"
"Ah, I'm afraid not." Shia replied.
"We're going to petition Darnassus for extra troops again. We would appreciate it if you could sneak into the camp to the East and give us an approximation of the enemy forces so that our request will be an informed one."
"Of course. I'll do that right away."
"We need to know not only how many military forces they have posted there, but what sort of firepower they're wielding, if they have mages or warlocks or any other such poisonous people hanging about."
"Will do."
"And if you can find a way to sabotage any of the operation, that would be excellent too," Sentinel Thenysil added.
"I understand." Shia stood and bowed to the room. "Leave it to me."
Pelturas Whitemoon invited Shia to lunch after the meeting, and the two sat in Whitemoon's small house together with a bucket of stewed clams between them. Whitemoon's daughter lay in bed, sleeping. Her fits had been getting better for the last few days, but her waking moments remained few and far between. Shia sucked thoughtfully on a clam and watched the faint rise and fall of her breathing until he noticed that Whitemoon was staring at him intently, his plate empty of eaten clams. Shia set his own clam down and smiled.
"These are excellent."
Whitemoon smiled thinly and nodded. "I know you love seafood. Please, eat all you like."
"Thank you, I will." Shia sucked down another large clam while trying not to squirm under Whitemoon's stare before asking, "Is there something you need of me?"
"No, no. You've done so much for us already. Relara's condition has been improving steadily I think. With any luck the stones you brought us will cure her of the disease completely." Both Elves glanced to the girl sleeping in bed.
"I'm sure she'll get better. The stones are doing their work, and your daughter has a strong will."
"Yes yes." Whitemoon nodded absentmindedly and turned back to stare into the bucket of clams, from which Shia grabbed another handful to munch on. "This is the Orcs' fault, I know it. Their machines poison the air and their very breath brings sickness to this place. If they aren't driven out it won't matter if Relara recovers from her illness. She'll wake to a dead forest."
"Brother, I understand your anger, but you mustn't let such emotions get a hold of you."
Whitemoon's eyes flashed up to Shia for a moment, narrow and scowling, before Shia's companion sighed and closed them with willful effort. "You're right of course. Anger is a window for vicious spirits and regrettable action... but what can we do but grow frustrated at our position here?"
"You heard the others at the meeting. We'll be petitioning for more forces here soon."
"Bah." Whitemoon shot up from his chair and began pacing the small room, hands clasped behind his back and head upturned towards the ceiling. "It's all a bunch of meaningless motions. The townsfolk petition, knowing they'll be refused. Darnassus has no interest in the request but pretends to be willing to send aid if only they had aid to send, and meanwhile the forest dies little by little every day. Did they really think a single druid could do anything against an entire Horde company? Ah, I didn't mean to bemoan your presence brother. It's just that even you must know what we're up against and how unprepared we are if the horde were to make a push against this little island."
"I wouldn't underestimate the skill of our sister Sentinels." Shia sucked on another clam and realized he was running out of room on his plate to put the empty shells. With an apologetic grin he gestured to Whitemoon's still empty plate. "May I?"
"What? Oh, of course. Yes, the Sentinels. Well, I don't mean to sound ungrateful, really I don't. But the Sentinels can only protect us if the lumber party grunts try to cross the bridge or traverse the lake. We don't have any ground in the forest itself at all. And is it wise to wait for the entire forest around us to be burned to the ground before we go on the offensive? Surely you agree with me brother, you're a druid. You must feel the pain of the forest more acutely than any of us."
Shia nodded. "Of course I do. I mourn for the trees as much as any of you, even more so perhaps. But it is natural for things to come and go. The trees that have fallen will be replaced with new greenery in time. Perhaps it will happen long after we have left the world, but it will happen. We shouldn't worry about it so much I think."
"Honestly brother, you're still stuck in that Emerald Dream of yours. This world is different. What the Orcs are doing isn't -natural-. As they cut the forest away their machines pollute the sky and water and warp the very fabric of life from which the cycle draws its power. They don't only kill what is alive now, they stifle the birth of the next generation. Why cant you see that?"
Relara stirred in bed and turned on her side with a weak moan. Whitemoon instantly cut off his speech and knelt at the side of his daughter, putting a hand gently on her forehead. The room was still for a moment, and then Whitemoon let out a slow sigh and settled down next to the bed, his head in his hand. Shia stood and pat his friend on the shoulder gently.
"It's almost noon. I should be making my way to the camp."
Whitemoon nodded, his eyes hidden by his hand. "Yes, yes of course."
"Please don't take what I've said today to mean I won't fight for this forest. I'll throw myself against the horde until it kills me, or until they learn. But you must have faith in the land, in Elune, and Cenarius."
"Yes, I know brother, but..." Whitemoon reached up onto the bed and clasped his daughter's hand in his own. "I trusted once and lost my wife. If I were to loose my daughter too..."
"If there's anything I can do to help you..."
"There's nothing you can do. It seems destiny that this forest will fall to the horde."
Shiawase sighed, his hand still resting on Whitemoon's shoulder. The shadows outside had all but disappeared. It was almost noon. If he didn't get going soon the lumber camp would be shut down by the time he arrived and his surveillance would be inaccurate.
"I know it isn't much brother," Shiawase said softly, "But as long as I'm alive I'll see to it that this place is safe. Please trust me."
Whitemoon nodded and said nothing.
Chapter 2
The Ashenvale lumber camp was a small affair compared to the slash and burn destruction ravaging nearby Warsong, but the smell of the operation had managed to permeate almost the whole of the forest. The stench was offensive, particularly when Shia was lurking about as a cat. He could hardly smell the many Orcs posted as sentries over the smoke and oil, and so once he was within a mile of the main operation his advancement ground to a halt as his senses were stifled and he had to rely on instinct and reflex more and more.
Sentries made their rounds in groups of three, covering a small area of the perimeter in a back and forth motion. Apart from that, archers had set up various snipping platforms amongst the trees and were constantly on the look out for the occasional furblog that might wander by or a nice large bear for supper. Shia had caught an arrow in the behind the first time he tried to sneak into the camp, and so this time he made every precaution to keep from stumbling into their line of sight again.
At the same time the townsfolk's request that he survey the camp's defenses required that he find all of these hidden snipers and make some note of their location. By the time Shia had managed to make a tally of the camp's perimeter defenses, the sun was disappearing into the tops of the trees and he had almost been shot at twice. And his stomach was growling.
The camp would still be there after supper, Shia told himself, and he trotted off to find a nice deer to munch on. He would have preferred fish, but the oil in the rivers made them inedible. Another entire hour passed before Shia managed to track a small doe, wandering around nibbling on grasses. After having his fill of her he picked up the carcass and carried it to a nearby grove he knew belonged to a small pack of wolves. He left the doe on the outskirts of their territory for them to find and enjoy.
Back at the perimeter, Shia watched as one of the three man patrols passed him by and made their way on their path, oblivious to his presence. Once they were out of hearing distance he crawled out of the bush he had been sitting in and made his way towards the camp at a brisk trot, until a loud explosion sent him diving for cover in a small river. When he didn't see any immediate danger, he surfaced and immediately started hacking and wiping the oil out of his face. Crawling out of the water, he took off his tunic, which was no longer a dusty green but a dark, sopping brown, shook it out, and commenced with wiping his eyes on his undershirt. Once he was sure he wasn't blind he turned his attention to the direction of the explosion.
Through the steadily darkening forest Shia could see the glimmer of a fire, and from one of the watch posts a horn sounded. Immediately Shia thought of how desperate Whitemoon had looked that afternoon, and sent up a frantic prayer to Cenarius that his friend hadn't snapped and done something drastic.
As Shiawase was fretting over what the commotion could be about, the patrol that had just passed him came crashing out of the woods, stopped as they saw a night elf sitting on the bank of the river, and with a war cry charged straight at him.
Well, the townsfolk –had- told him to rough up the camp's operation a bit. And those Orcs looked like they were hurting to get roughed up. They weren't the sharpest axes in the horde either, Shia realized, as all three of them jumped into the oil infested river and made their slow way towards him.
Shia let his body relax and curled his toes lightly into the soil as his mind took hold of the power of the nature around him. It wouldn't do to send roots into water like that, so a more direct method would have to work. Raising his arms, Shia pulled energy from about him and centered it in the area between his hands until it was so condensed and excited it sparked into a burning green flame. One of the Orcs charging at him stopped his wading to stare at it. The other two seemed oblivious to their impending doom, and began to clamber up the bank, still screaming. The first Orc to get up from the water took Shia's bolt of energy directly in the chest, fell to the ground, and with little more than a shiver was dead.
The second Orc's war cry rose in pitch from a roar to a squeal, but he was too close to consider running and so lunged himself at Shia with an axe aimed at his face. Shia jumped back and let the swing miss, caught the Orc as his momentum propelled him forward, and stabbed his exposed back with his dagger.
Once he was sure that neither opponents were getting up again, Shia turned to the third patrol member. That one had already managed to scramble back up the bank from which he had come and start a mad dash towards the safety of the trees, but he couldn't reach the forest edge before another burning ball of energy caught him in the back and knocked the life straight out of him.
Once he was sure no one else would be jumping him, Shia resumed the form of a cat and made a dash towards the commotion. As he approached he realized that a guard tower at the entrance to the camp was on fire, and surrounding it was a hoard of angry furblogs.
The scene would have been amusing if it weren't obvious that the furblogs, with their sticks and stones and occasional shamanistic bursts of energy, were being completely slaughtered by the horde defenses. A line of archers were standing on the remaining guard tower, picking off the shamans, while the grunts wadded through the crowd, clambering over the bodies of their latest kill to get to the next body in line.
To interfere would mean Shia's death. But watching such uneven slaughter turned the druid’s stomach, and he resolved to at least give the Orcs a scare and the remaining furblogs a chance to escape. Shifting out of his cat form he hid himself behind a thick tree and focused all of his effort on the area where the bulk of the fighting was taking place. The air began to snap and crackle as black lightning clouds began to form, and with a bang the first bolt struck a young logger at the back of the horde force. The shock sent him flying through the air and the Orcs about him were thrown onto the ground. The second bolt hit closer to the line of battle, and Orc and furblog alike collapsed in a domino like motion. By the time the third bolt had sent another grunt sprawling out on the ground and smoking, the horde had lost its morale and the furblogs had decided that they had had enough of the slaughter. Both parties began to make a hasty retreat. Shia melded into the shadows immediately. If he were to be caught then he was sure the Orcs would chase him all the way back to Astranaar, and after that little show he didn't have the energy to outrun slime.
The sun was gone and the moon was out in all its glory when Shia arrived back in Astranaar. He was immediately greeted by Whitemoon, who had a meal waiting in his hut.
"I should tell the townsfolk I'm back," said Shiawase.
"Nonsense. If you announce your presence you know they'll keep you for an hour telling them everything, and when will you get a chance to eat then? I bought some ale from a dwarf that passed by while you were away too, let's just eat."
Shiawase smiled. "Well, if you insist. But first, let me wash up. I reek of oil."
Chapter 3
After Shiawase had given the townsfolk a detailed account of what had happened that day, and written down for the Sentinels an estimation of the camp's strength (minus those three patrol members who happened to bump into him) everyone yet again was engrossed in chatter.
The fublogs had never organized and attacked in such a way before. It was obvious now that if something wasn't done about the logging, and soon, the damage to the forest would be irreparable. The townsfolk should follow the furblog's example and take up arms in protection of the forest, said someone.
And then the town would also be following the furblogs to the slaughter, said another.
Either way, the townsfolk should extend some aid to the remaining furblog population, said someone else.
Shiawase had forgotten who said what by the end of the meeting.
The next morning Shia's brief reprieve from his post within the Retribution of Arathor was over, and it was time for him to take the long journey back to the Eastern Kingdoms. The townsfolk gave him a bagged lunch of his favorite fish for the travel back, and a tapestry along with a letter of thanks to be presented to the leaders of his organization. He returned the favor with presents of his own, including a small gem in the shape of a bear, Shia's secondary totem, given to Whitemoon’s daughter for her protection and safe recovery.
"I'll be back again the moment I'm given time. You've all been more than hospitable towards me."
Sentinal Thenysil saluted him. "Thank you for your aid, and goddess bless you."
"Cenarius watch over you all," Shiawase replied, and bowing, morphed into the lean catlike form he used to travel and began the long run that would take him to Ratchet and the intercontinental dock.
It would have been faster and safer to take the Alliance controlled northern pass to Darkshore, but Shiawase preferred to go south, past the mountain range that separated Ashenvale from the aptly named Barrens. The only direct road to the Barrens was well fortified by the Horde and almost impossible to slip by. With steep mountains for miles and miles on either side, and being only a few feet wide at its narrowest, that passage was cut of from Alliance forces. He could have traveled far to the East, snuck past the lumber camp yet again, run for a day, and made his way to the Barrens through a river, but that would put him a stones throw away from the Orc city of Orgrammar, and the druid wasn't sure his luck was thick enough to try something like that.
Neither of those options would do. The only one left to him was a small underground tunnel in the southwest of Ashenvale that burrowed under the mountain range and popped up in an area called Stonetalon. The area had once been a lush forested valley, but the goblin organization called Venture Co. had made short work of the trees there, and there was nothing left but parched earth and lumbering machines. Without the aid of greenery for stealth, the going would be dangerous, but it was the safest way to enter the Barrens short of spending months circling the entire continent on a boat. And there was nothing more annoying than being surrounded by water and yet unable to fish.
When Shia emerged from the tunnel the sight that greeted him was one of complete destruction. A sea of stumps spread out before him as dried up testaments of once had been a beautiful forest. The constant trekking of the workers and the tracks of the machines had uprooted all of the grass, and the erosion caused by the lack of roots to hold together the soil had turned the lake into a thick, muddy pool. Shia shielded his face from the sun that seemed so many times hotter with cracked earth reflecting it every which way, and made a quick check for danger.
With the entire forest gone the goblins that had leveled it had moved on, leaving many of their tools and constructs behind to rust and meld in with the scenery. As Shia ran south for the area where the forest still had a small foothold, he made detours around the largest chunks of machinery, lest bandits or straggling lumberjacks be still hiding about.
Once he had made his way safely out of the valley, Shiawase began his trek further south through a ravine pass. The area had once been home to a clan of Tauren and travel had been much more dangerous, but an internal conflict of some sort had left the entire settlement in charred ruins. Shia rushed past old fire pits and hut frames, darting among fallen boulders and keeping his eyes peeled for snipers in the cliffs.
A sharp glint of sun off metal alerted Shia to a troll sitting behind a boulder a good climb up ahead of him, gun at the ready and aimed at Shia. There was nowhere to take cover at the bottom of the ravine. And the sniper would have a clear shot at him if Shia simply tried to make a run for it. There was no choice but to fight. Without breaking stride Shia morphed out of his travel form and pressed himself close to the wall of the ravine, hiding himself from the sniper's line of sight. He relaxed himself as he had when the Orcs had attacked him the night before, and his mind touched a small batch of shrubbery standing next to where the sniper was positioned. Their roots were weak, but they would give Shia the time he needed to dash up the ravine path and force the troll into close combat. With a quick shake to steel himself up, Shia morphed back into his travel form and dashed away from the wall, hoping to lure the sniper into wasting his first shot right off the bat.
The tactic worked. The Troll had misjudged Shia's speed, and in his attempt to catch him right as the druid appeared his shot missed the mark by a good number of feet. As soon as he heard the shot Shia morphed into his elf form, and without bothering to wait for his feet to stop skidding across the dusty earth or checking to see if the bullet had hit its mark, his will grabbed onto the shrubs sitting next to the troll and forced their roots out from the ground. In an instant the troll found his gun entangled in shrubbery, and as he tried to pull it away Shia had become a cat and was scrambling up the ravine in a mad dash against time.
The plan was working. The shrubs were stronger than Shia had expected, and after failing to yank his gun free the sniper had pulled an axe from his back and started to hack at the roots. -Too late!- thought Shia, as with a roar he pounced at the Troll’s back. His claws had almost made contact with Troll flesh when from his side he heard a high pitched scream and two large clawed feet came barreling into his ribs. The impact sent Shia rolling towards the edge of the cliff, and the ground was disappearing from under him before he recovered his senses and sent his claws sprawling for something to grab on to. They managed to dig into the dirt deep enough to slow his sliding, slower, slower, slower, until he was dangling from the cliff by his forearms, but at least it seemed he was stopping. He could hear the Troll barking orders, and the raptor roar in response as it strode up to the edge of the cliff.
Well, Shia, what to do now? The druid spared a glance down. The fall would break things, for sure, but he would survive. And if he could survive he had the energy to restore himself completely and start round two. Before he could fully form his new tactic, the raptor had popped its head over the side of the cliff, and with another triumphant roar sent its jaws snapping at Shia's head. Shia let go as the raptors teeth were near ready to dig into his ears and its breath was engulfing his senses and with both paws attached himself to the Raptor's cheeks.
The trip down was a lot longer than Shia thought it would be, and the druid used the time, along with the raptor's shock induced immobile state, to pull the raptor under him and brace himself for the fall.
As the pair hit the bottom of the ravine Shia was aware of the cracking of the raptor's skull for just a moment before his own legs buckled under him and snapped. A sudden flash of pain engulfed his whole body and he lay there stunned for a moment before coming to his senses and working on mending himself.
By that time the Troll had managed to hack his way out of Shia's roots and was leaning over the edge of the cliff that the druid and the raptor had just fallen from. He let out a cry that could not be mistaken for anything besides utter rage and leveled his gun at Shia, who's whole mind was bent on putting his legs back into working order. The gunshot burrowed a neat whole a mere foot from the Druids head and Shia decided that his legs were fine enough. He needed to get up and run NOW.
To run was what Shiawase had intended, but he found the best he could do was wobble away. The land around him was too arid and dead. He wasn't drawing enough power to make a quick enough recovery, and the troll was resetting his gun for another go at his head. There was no way around it, Shia would be taking a bullet. But if he was going to get shot he'd be in a form where he could take the damage. When the troll looked up from his gun he found a bear rumbling back up the path to his perch.
Not the head, Shia repeated to himself. Not the head, not the head, not the head...
The Troll raised his gun and took aim. Shia raised himself on his hind feet and let out a bellow, half to shake his enemy up and half to steel himself for the coming pain. The bullet dug into his chest, somewhere between his heart and lung, but it hadn't hit anything vital, and as fast as his still healing legs could carry him he rushed at the Troll, who was now letting out a string of loud, harsh sounding exclamations and pulling his axe out from behind him again. The troll grounded himself and held the axe in front of him, aiming to take a lateral swing at Shia as he approached, but Shia ignored the weapon and without stopping sent the Troll off the cliff with a powerful backhand to the chest, almost following him off the side as his bear bulk slipped on the dusty ground. The Troll screamed and flailed wildly the whole way down until his body slammed into the ground with a dull thud and lay still.
Well hidden behind the very same boulder that the hunter's pet raptor had kept itself, Shia tried to catch his breath and recover his strength. Returning back to the form of an elf had successfully dislodged the bullet without further damage, and given time to concentrate on finding the energy about him for healing, Shia could feel the strength in him gradually returning. The fight had been hard won, and his opponent had been more of a challenge than Shia would have liked, but things had turned out fine. He was alive and the Troll was dead. That was all that mattered.
After a quick check to make sure nothing else was damaged, and a stretch to catch his breath, Shiawase made his way down to the dead body of the Troll and his raptor and bowed lightly in respect. "It was a shame we had to meet as enemies," he said, "I hope your spirit finds peace, and forgive my intrusion." With that he bent forward and daintily lifted the Troll's jacket, looking for an insignia or papers or anything else to indicate who the dead sniper was and what he was doing alone on a mountain path. But there was nothing on him but a training whistle, some food, and a few copper coins. Not even an insignia of the Horde could be found. A bandit or renegade perhaps. But he was wearing a tabard of some guild or another, even though Shia couldn't make out the pattern, it proved that the Troll was a member of some organization or another. Well, Shia wouldn't worry about it. What was done was done and now it was time to get out of the ravine and into the expansive safety of the Barrens.
Only, someone, many someones, by the sound of it, were coming from the exact direction that Shiawase needed to go, and from the sound of their traveling it seemed as if they were riding wolves and raptors. That could only mean the Horde. Shia clenched his teeth and looked around him. There was the option of hiding and hoping they would pass, but with a dead troll on the ground as a blazing beacon of his existence, that might not be very wise. Or he could hope for the element of surprise and dash past them, but if there was but one caster in the group he would most likely be fried to a crisp or collapse under some evil curse. Well, the Barrens could wait, the druid decided. It was a nice day, he would make the run north to Stonetalon Peak, the last alliance stronghold in the Stonetalon Mountains, and visit his friend Keeper Albagorm. Ratchet and that boat home would have to wait.
The decision was a good one, for Shia hadn't gotten very far before he could hear shouting and clanging metal behind him. The horde had found the fallen Troll, and from the sound of it, they were quite put out.
