The sun had hardly begun to light up the sky when Shia tip toed over the bridge into Astranaar. The sentinels at the bridge were new faces. They weren't familiar with Shiawase, and simply nodded to him before returning their attention to the road. The townsfolk were still nestled in their beds it seemed. All of the houses were closed shut. Well, that was fine enough. There was no one around, Shia would try again another time. He was almost across the bridge again when he heard his name called out, and turned to find Whitemoon leaning out of his door.

The inside of Whitemoon's home had been cozified since when Shia had finished construction on it. Numerous wools hung on the walls to ward off the winter chill, and a blanket of bearskin sat on the floor. A fire was crackling in the fireplace, and the smell of mushrooms and hare wafted out of the pot hanging above it. Shia unconsciously licked his lips.

"Same old same old I see." Shia blinked away from the pot to find Whitemoon smiling at him softly.

"Ahah... well..."

"How have you been?" Whitemoon pulled a chair from the table and mentioned for Shiawase to sit. Shia did, and folded his hands on the table in front of him. "I haven't gotten a chance to properly talk to you since we left for Darnassus. It's good to see you're healthy."

"I've recovered completely, thanks to brother Stormrage."

"I see." Whitemoon pulled two bowls from his cupboard and began to fill them with stew. "Last time I got a good look at you you weren't breathing you know."

"So I've been told. I, of course, don't remember that particular moment."

"Hrmph. You've made yourself scarce since we've come back too. I only catch glimpse of you occasionally, and you've only come into town when things are too busy and I can't sit you down to talk properly. Here. It'll warm you up." Whitemoon set a bowl in front of Shiawase and sat down with his own. "If I didn't know any better I'd think you were avoiding me." He took a tentative sip of his broth and with a frown got up again. "I was surprised when I saw this house too. When I left there was nothing but ruined wood here. And when I come back it's as if my old home had sprouted from the ground overnight. I'm not sure I can thank you enough for that." Whitemoon returned to the table with a bag of spices, put a pinch into his bowl, and pushed it over to Shia. "Relara's been doing much better too. She woke up for a few minutes a day or so ago. Her nightmares seem to be fading... are you all right?"

"What? Yes, I'm fine." Shiawase continued to contemplate the hands folded in front of him. The bowl of soup remained untouched.

Whitemoon let out a deep sigh, sunk into his chair, and reached over to place his hand over Shia's. "Don't let our hot-blooded brothers and sisters get to you. They're still in shock. Even if we all knew the danger of attack was there, none of us really thought it would sweep in that quickly. Some of us are shaken and looking for a reason. If they give you trouble it's because they're scared."

"I should have stayed."

"Shia, your duty was to the Retribution."

"My loyalty was to you."

"And if while you're here your friends across the sea meet with some sort of catastrophe that might have been prevented by your presence?"

Shia looked up, wide eyed. "Do you think they're in trouble?"

"No, no, that's not what I'm saying."

"Damnit, maybe there's something wrong and that's why Ravine sent that letter. She'd be one to seem to skirt issues like that." Shiawase shot up from his chair. The image of the Crimson Jewel in flames had just hit him. Kitra, Cole, Olmag, Dagar, fighting for their lives somewhere, and him, sitting in a cozy house in front of a cozy fire doing nothing but loitering his time away when he should be fighting along side the people closest to him!

Shia had made it almost to the doorway before Whitemoon grabbed him by the arm, spun him around, and shook him violently. "What's wrong with you Shia? Don't snap on me like that! What the hell's wrong with you?"

He let himself be shaken until Whitemoon had tired out and dragged him back to his chair. "Sit down," he snapped. Shia obeyed mechanically.

"Now what's going on? You've been lurking around town like a specter, you haven't touched the food I set in front of you, and you’re as pale as milk, to be honest. Has the attack got you that upset? You've been through worse, haven't you?"

"That's not the point."

"Then what is?"

"I promised I'd protect you, and seeing your house burning, not knowing where you were, falling into the middle of that hell… Other situations I could handle. But that... if we hadn't gotten assistance from Stonetalon in the last minute it would have been a massacre."

"But it wasn't, we can breathe a sigh of relief, and move on."

"Yes but..."

"But what? You're the one who said we should trust in Elune weren't you?"

"I know, but..."

Whitemoon let out a huff and pushed the bowl of stew at Shia. "Explain yourself while you eat."

The vapors of the broth wafted up in to Shia's nose and his stomach grumbled in anticipation. Whitemoon smiled. "See? Your mind might be foggy but your body knows what's good for it."

Shia took a sip of the stew. It was, true to Whitemoon's form, delicious. He had consumed the entire contents of the small bowl before he could think better of it, and when his spoon scrapped against empty wood he grinned sheepishly and set the bowl down away from himself.

Whitemoon took it and returned to the pot. "Maybe with a satisfied stomach you'll be able to make more sense?"

"I don't make sense to myself anymore."

"At least you acknowledge it."

Shia allowed himself a smile. "I don't know how to explain it. Nothing really should have changed. I know I'm over reacting, but I get these panic attacks. The other day I was down the road and I heard one of the children shout. I almost killed myself trying to get back to town thinking it was under attack, but it was just Celene playing with her father. And as jumpy as I am, I've almost run straight into a number of Horde patrols, even though I have their routes practically memorized. There's no reason I should ever have been caught of guard like that. I spend my days worrying about an attack at night. I spend my night's worrying about an attack in the morning. I've started seeing things in the forest that aren't there. Shadows of nothing, rustles in the bush…"

Shia threw up his hands. "And on top of that, I can’t even get a full night’s sleep any more!"

Whitemoon had sat back down, and was chuckling with a broad grin across his face.

"I'm serious," Shiawase said, growing upset, "Why are you laughing?"

"Because you remind me of myself when I lost Shara."

Shiawase leaned back into his chair, sobered.

"I said the same things then Shia," Whitemoon nodded and closed his eyes, "Why am I so helpless? Why didn't I do things differently to save her? Why can't I make my daughter any safer? The feelings are natural. It's what we get for living in an imperfect world like this."

"I can't even sleep."

Whitemoon nodded. “There are nights I just sit by Relara’s side, praying for her to wake up for just a minute, and dreading the nightmare I know is coming. I tell myself, if I sleep I might miss the moment she opens her eyes, or I won’t be there when she’s in pain and needs me. It doesn’t end. It –won’t- end as long as we let those Orcs push into our territory. They need to be stopped Shia. And we mean to do something to stop them.”

Shiawase frowned. "What are you talking about?”

Whitemoon bit his lip and considered for a moment before leaning over the table. His voice fell into a confidential tone as he said, “The two Druids who took Stormrage’s place are leaving for the Gulch in two weeks. By that time Faldreas and I plan to have enough arms and fighters to launch a surprise attack on the camp and end this once and for all.”

“This again?”

“Something has to be done Shia. We can’t give those Orcs any more ground! We’re tired of living with this fear. I know Faldreas is wary of you, but he needn’t be. With you on our side we could really make those brutes pay.”

“You must know that sort of thing is suicide.”

“Will you fight with us or not?”

Shia regarded his friend, who was looking back at him with the same pleading eyes he had worn in the meeting house the day Stormrage and Faldreas had butted heads.

“What about Relara?” Shia asked. “If you die, who will look after her?”

Whitemoon stiffened but repeated his question firmly. “Will you fight or not?”

“It’s –suicide- Whitemoon.”

“To wait is suicide!” Whitemoon shot up, sending his chair clattering behind him. “Until those Orcs are gone there will –never- be a night’s rest for us. Never! Please brother, don’t listen to Stormrage’s talk about waiting it out. The man is brave when he’s pushing around a young Elf, but he’s afraid of breaking stalemate and claiming a true victory from the Horde.” He extended his hand to Shia. “Tell me you aren’t like Stormrage, that my faith in you is warranted, that you’ll help us destroy the lumber camp.”

Shiawase looked at Whitemoon’s hand, but stood up without taking it. “I am not Stormrage.” He said. “But I won’t condone this. I won’t let any more of my friends die needlessly, and if you go through with this attack, your deaths will all be needless. I’ve seen what the Horde does to an inadequate offense. They won’t just repel you. They’ll pen you up and cut you down like the trees they harvest. If Darnassus saw fit to send a real force to our aid, one that could take the camp and hold it, I assure you that I’d be on the front lines, but with a handful of villagers I’d be surprised if you even made it far enough to do any temporary damage to their operation.”

“Then you won’t help us.” Whitemoon had withdrawn his hand and crossed his arms. His voice had been sucked of its usual warmpth as he looked at his friend darkly.

Shia let out a defeated sigh and shook his head. “No I won’t, and furthermore I’ll stop you if I can. I don’t know what compels you to throw your life away, but as long as there’s strength left in my body I won’t let you do this.”

Whitemoon smiled sadly and opened the door, ushering Shia out. “There are things in this world more precious than our own lives Shia. Sometimes its better to fight a doomed battle than to give up without trying. After what you’ve told me, I thought you understood finally, but I was wrong. You don’t understand what’s truly at stake in this war. You don’t understand that it’s not just our trees the Orcs slaughter, but our pride.”

“Pelturas, listen to me.”

“Good day brother.”

The door closed with a soft click, but to Shia it might as well have slammed him in the face.