Azeroth.
“My heritage served me, and through my leadership, the Horde, very well then. But … I cannot help but wonder … does it still serve them now?”
Eitrigg kept his eyes on the road before him and merely grunted, indicating that Thrall should continue.
“I want to care for my people, provide for them, keep them safe so that they can turn their attention to their families and rituals.” Thrall smiled a little. “To finding mates and getting children. To the things all thinking beings have a right to. To not have to constantlysee their parents or children going off to war and never returning. And those who still spoil for battle do not see what I do—the Horde population now consists largely of children and elders. A whole generation almost entirely lost.”
He sensed the weariness in his voice, and Eitrigg obviously did, too, for he said, “You sound … soul sick, my friend. It is not like you to so doubt yourself, or to fall so far into despair.”
Thrall sighed. “It seems most of my thoughts are dark these days. The betrayal in Northrend—Jaina cannot imagine how stunned, how shocked I was. It took all my skill to keep the Horde from splintering afterward. These new fighters—they have cut their warrior’s tusks on slaughtering undead, and that is a very different thing from attacking a living, breathing foe, who has family and friends, who laughs and cries. It is easy for them to become inured to violence, and harder for me to temper them with arguments that call for understanding and perhaps even compassion.”
Eitrigg nodded. “I once walked away from the Horde because I grew sickened by their love of violence. I see what you see, Thrall, and I, too, worry that history will repeat itself.”
They had emerged from the shadows of the swamplands and onto the road heading north. Heat from the baking sun seared them. Thrall glanced around at the place so aptly named the Barrens. It was drier than ever, browner than ever, and he saw few signs of life. The oases, the salvation of the Barrens, had begun drying up as mysteriously as they had appeared.
“I cannot recall the last time I felt rain on my face in Durotar,” Thrall said. “The silence of the elements at this time when something is clearly so very wrong …” He shook his head. “I remember the awe and joy with which Drek’Thar pronounced me a shaman. And yet, I hear nothing.”
“Perhaps their voices are being drowned out by these others you are listening to,” Eitrigg offered. “Sometimes, in order to solve many problems, you must focus on only one for a time.”
Thrall considered the words. They struck him as wisdom. So much could be eased if he understood what was wrong with thisland and was able to help heal it. His people would eat, would have shelter again. They would not feel the need to take from those who already had bitterness and hate in their hearts. Tensions would be eased between the Horde and the Alliance. And maybe then Thrall could focus on, as Eitrigg had said, his own legacy, his own peace and contentment.
And he knew exactly where to go to listen.
“I have been to the land of my father only once,” he told the elder orc. “I wonder if now another journey is in order. Draenor was a world that saw more than its fair share of elemental pain and violence. What it is now—Outland—could still remember that. My grandmother, Geyah, is a powerful shaman. She could guide me as I attempt to listen to the wounded elements there. And perhaps they have some knowledge bought from the pain of their own world that could help ease Azeroth.”
Eitrigg grunted, but Thrall knew him well enough to know the gleam in the other’s eyes was that of approval.
“Sooner you do that, sooner you’ll have a little one to dandle on your knee,” he said. “When do you leave?”
Thrall, his heart lightened by the decision, laughed.
N INE
Jaina rowed steadily, deep in thought. Something was troubling Thrall. Something more
“My heritage served me, and through my leadership, the Horde, very well then. But … I cannot help but wonder … does it still serve them now?”
Eitrigg kept his eyes on the road before him and merely grunted, indicating that Thrall should continue.
“I want to care for my people, provide for them, keep them safe so that they can turn their attention to their families and rituals.” Thrall smiled a little. “To finding mates and getting children. To the things all thinking beings have a right to. To not have to constantlysee their parents or children going off to war and never returning. And those who still spoil for battle do not see what I do—the Horde population now consists largely of children and elders. A whole generation almost entirely lost.”
He sensed the weariness in his voice, and Eitrigg obviously did, too, for he said, “You sound … soul sick, my friend. It is not like you to so doubt yourself, or to fall so far into despair.”
Thrall sighed. “It seems most of my thoughts are dark these days. The betrayal in Northrend—Jaina cannot imagine how stunned, how shocked I was. It took all my skill to keep the Horde from splintering afterward. These new fighters—they have cut their warrior’s tusks on slaughtering undead, and that is a very different thing from attacking a living, breathing foe, who has family and friends, who laughs and cries. It is easy for them to become inured to violence, and harder for me to temper them with arguments that call for understanding and perhaps even compassion.”
Eitrigg nodded. “I once walked away from the Horde because I grew sickened by their love of violence. I see what you see, Thrall, and I, too, worry that history will repeat itself.”
They had emerged from the shadows of the swamplands and onto the road heading north. Heat from the baking sun seared them. Thrall glanced around at the place so aptly named the Barrens. It was drier than ever, browner than ever, and he saw few signs of life. The oases, the salvation of the Barrens, had begun drying up as mysteriously as they had appeared.
“I cannot recall the last time I felt rain on my face in Durotar,” Thrall said. “The silence of the elements at this time when something is clearly so very wrong …” He shook his head. “I remember the awe and joy with which Drek’Thar pronounced me a shaman. And yet, I hear nothing.”
“Perhaps their voices are being drowned out by these others you are listening to,” Eitrigg offered. “Sometimes, in order to solve many problems, you must focus on only one for a time.”
Thrall considered the words. They struck him as wisdom. So much could be eased if he understood what was wrong with thisland and was able to help heal it. His people would eat, would have shelter again. They would not feel the need to take from those who already had bitterness and hate in their hearts. Tensions would be eased between the Horde and the Alliance. And maybe then Thrall could focus on, as Eitrigg had said, his own legacy, his own peace and contentment.
And he knew exactly where to go to listen.
“I have been to the land of my father only once,” he told the elder orc. “I wonder if now another journey is in order. Draenor was a world that saw more than its fair share of elemental pain and violence. What it is now—Outland—could still remember that. My grandmother, Geyah, is a powerful shaman. She could guide me as I attempt to listen to the wounded elements there. And perhaps they have some knowledge bought from the pain of their own world that could help ease Azeroth.”
Eitrigg grunted, but Thrall knew him well enough to know the gleam in the other’s eyes was that of approval.
“Sooner you do that, sooner you’ll have a little one to dandle on your knee,” he said. “When do you leave?”
Thrall, his heart lightened by the decision, laughed.
N INE
Jaina rowed steadily, deep in thought. Something was troubling Thrall. Something more
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