Part 5 of Thunderhoof
Part of me wonders if I ought to go back and somehow edit these posts to show the actual story in order. The rest of me doesn't really know how and is fairly dubious that anyone will actually find these and bother to comment, and therefore not motivated to do so. Woo-hoo.
--
After nearly a day’s walk through dusty, arid mountains and a frightening glade of burnt trees, Misha finally reached a place that was green. She paused in awe, staring up at the lofty branches of mountain pines around a small, craggy lake.
“What’s the matter?” came a voice from behind her that she quickly realized belonged to the elf that had rescued her from the centaurs. “Never been in a forest before?” he asked, good-naturedly.
“I… no, I grew up on the plains,” replied Misha, staring up at the gently swaying needles. “There are trees there, sure… tall ones, even. But… these are just… huge! Are all forests like this?”
The elf laughed, though Misha felt a bit more comforted by it than embarrassed. “You’ll see, young one. The forests of Ashenvale make these trees look positively young, and the woods on Teldrassil are even larger.” He turned back to Misha, a curious look on his face. “By the way, what’s your name? I don’t suppose you want me referring to you as ‘Tauren’ all the time.”
Misha blinked in surprise; introducing herself had completely slipped her mind. “I am called Misha,” she said, bowing her head. “My parents are…” Upon mentioning them, memories of the dreadful night when the centaurs attacked their camp sprang to mind, and a tear escaped her eye before she could stop it. “My parents were Tarok and Auruna of the Thunderhoof tribe, but… they’re dead now. The last I saw of them was the day the centaurs attacked us, and… judging from the stories I’ve heard… centaurs don’t leave survivors behind if they can help it. Somehow, I just know my parents didn’t make it.”
“I… I’m truly sorry to hear that,” replied the elf, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Guess you don’t really have anywhere to go back to, do you?”
Misha shook her head, sniffling back tears.
“Well… I probably shouldn’t say this, but you’re welcome to come along with me if you like. Shaeri may not like it… but she doesn’t like anything much these days,” he said, almost to himself. “How about it, kid? You want to stick with me, or try and hoof it back to the plains on your own? I’ll stay with you as far as the Barrens anyway, but it’s up to you after that.”
Misha stared down at her hooves, trying to think. Part of her couldn’t forget the way her parents and brother had died, and confronted with those thoughts all she wanted to do was lay down and never get up again. But, even still, here was an opportunity she’d scarcely even dreamed of: a chance to see the world, and to learn about the Kaldorei at the same time. The thought of going back to her tribe’s elders and living as an orphan until she achieved journeyman rank paled in comparison… not to mention the fact that even touching on the thought of home still brought up razor-sharp memories of her family’s death. It felt strange to even consider it, maybe even un-Tauren-like, but all she could think of was getting as far away as possible from the great plains of Mulgore and the pain that lurked in those memories.
“I’d like to come with you, I think,” she replied, trying to will away the knot of pain and fear in her stomach. “I… don’t think I want to go home… not after what happened.”
“I understand. I…” He stopped and sighed, giving Misha a quick one-armed hug. “I’m no good at this sort of thing. Sorry. You’ll have to talk to Elm when we meet up with the others. He’s the wise and caring one. All I can promise you is that I will personally gut each and every one of those foul beasts that tries to get in our way.” A cold gleam came into his eye and his hands shifted to a pair of well-concealed daggers at his belt that Misha hadn't even noticed.
The thought of killing centaurs sent excited spikes of anger and fear shooting through Misha, but she instinctively pulled away from the notion. Tauren girls were taught to be gentle, to respect every life as a part of nature, and to avoid giving in to anger… no matter how appealing those violent fantasies were. She decided to change the subject. “Um… what’s your name, sir?”
“I’m Karrath. Good to meet you, Misha… though I guess we’ve already met. Good to finally know your name, at least.” He stood and walked forward a few steps, staring at the glow that filtered over the horizon through the gaps in the trees. “The others are at least a day ahead of us now, and I don’t really like the thought of going alone through the rest of the Stonetalon mountains. Too many places something bad could happen…” He trailed off, staring forward intently as a distant wyvern shrieked a cry to the noonday sun. “We really ought to get going.” The elf turned, starting to pick his way among the fallen leaves and roots on the floor, heading down a small path around the lake.
Misha rubbed the last vestiges of tears away from her eyes and followed him, hoping that she was making the right decision… and that her ancestors would understand in any case.
* * *
The dust was starting to get to Beaux, coating his hooves and constantly setting him sneezing. Whoever had named the Barrens had given them a perfectly apt description: brown grasses and stunted trees went on as far as he could see in every direction. But despite the dryness and apparent lack of living plants, the Barrens were awash in life. Lions rested in every twisted tree’s shadow, herds of antelope and plainstriders galloped along through the thick grasses, and once or twice Beaux glimpsed a great thunder lizard lumbering along in the distance.
He passed a small Tauren camp early in the day, a tiny collection of tents and a few of the rare, more permanent buildings that Tauren finally felt secure enough to begin building. The tribe there was friendly, but they’d never heard of the cave he sought. In an unexpected stroke of luck, the chief of the small tribe gifted him with a well-worn, hand-drawn map of the surroundings, drawn on a thick piece of kodo leather. All Beaux had to offer in return was a small, scrawny rabbit he’d felled earlier in the day, but they accepted his tiny gift as if it were an entire bull kodo.
He also encountered the first orc he’d ever seen, a curious and prickly sort who evidently had quite some skill in metalworking. Of course, Beaux heard much about orcs and even learned a good deal of their language from the leaders of his tribe, but it was still a unique experience to watch the powerful, green-skinned creature swing his hammer over and over, shaping a blade on the anvil. Well, at least until the orc noticed him watching and threw a string of curses his way, evidently mistaking him for an apprentice who was slacking off.
Beaux explained his situation to the smith, who was suitably admonished, though still unwilling to back off of his initial assessment: there is a phrase in Taurahe meaning “basically impossible” that literally translates as “to change an orc’s mind”. Beaux swiftly found out why. After a moment’s conversation the orc proved himself affable enough, despite his gruffness. He even put a fresh edge on Beaux’s spear by way of apology for his outburst, though he never said as much out loud.
As the sun began to sink from its zenith, Beaux realized he should get moving again and made his farewells. He followed a light track that wove around small hills, deep canyons and wide, flat-topped mesas. In time, he reached an enormous ridged plateau, riddled with small crevasses and tiny caves that looked promising but contained nothing but sleeping bats and copious amounts of guano. Beaux was about to give up and trudge back home when he caught something odd out of the corner of his eye. When he stared directly at the spot, it was nothing but a rocky wall… but if he turned around sideways and stared at it obliquely, a brilliant green sigil appeared on the wall. On a hunch, Beaux committed the pattern to memory and traced it on the stone with his finger.
At first, he thought nothing was happening, but after a moment he caught a glimpse of half-seen green lines snaking all over an enormous section of wall before him. The rune swiftly duplicated itself into an enormous lattice that stretched all over the wall. After a moment, the green lines flared with brilliant light and abruptly disappeared a second later, taking away the rock wall with them.
Beaux smiled, wondering whether he’d just passed some kind of test or simply been lucky. Either way, he still felt pretty good about it. It was high time to see what this rune business was all about.
--
After nearly a day’s walk through dusty, arid mountains and a frightening glade of burnt trees, Misha finally reached a place that was green. She paused in awe, staring up at the lofty branches of mountain pines around a small, craggy lake.
“What’s the matter?” came a voice from behind her that she quickly realized belonged to the elf that had rescued her from the centaurs. “Never been in a forest before?” he asked, good-naturedly.
“I… no, I grew up on the plains,” replied Misha, staring up at the gently swaying needles. “There are trees there, sure… tall ones, even. But… these are just… huge! Are all forests like this?”
The elf laughed, though Misha felt a bit more comforted by it than embarrassed. “You’ll see, young one. The forests of Ashenvale make these trees look positively young, and the woods on Teldrassil are even larger.” He turned back to Misha, a curious look on his face. “By the way, what’s your name? I don’t suppose you want me referring to you as ‘Tauren’ all the time.”
Misha blinked in surprise; introducing herself had completely slipped her mind. “I am called Misha,” she said, bowing her head. “My parents are…” Upon mentioning them, memories of the dreadful night when the centaurs attacked their camp sprang to mind, and a tear escaped her eye before she could stop it. “My parents were Tarok and Auruna of the Thunderhoof tribe, but… they’re dead now. The last I saw of them was the day the centaurs attacked us, and… judging from the stories I’ve heard… centaurs don’t leave survivors behind if they can help it. Somehow, I just know my parents didn’t make it.”
“I… I’m truly sorry to hear that,” replied the elf, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Guess you don’t really have anywhere to go back to, do you?”
Misha shook her head, sniffling back tears.
“Well… I probably shouldn’t say this, but you’re welcome to come along with me if you like. Shaeri may not like it… but she doesn’t like anything much these days,” he said, almost to himself. “How about it, kid? You want to stick with me, or try and hoof it back to the plains on your own? I’ll stay with you as far as the Barrens anyway, but it’s up to you after that.”
Misha stared down at her hooves, trying to think. Part of her couldn’t forget the way her parents and brother had died, and confronted with those thoughts all she wanted to do was lay down and never get up again. But, even still, here was an opportunity she’d scarcely even dreamed of: a chance to see the world, and to learn about the Kaldorei at the same time. The thought of going back to her tribe’s elders and living as an orphan until she achieved journeyman rank paled in comparison… not to mention the fact that even touching on the thought of home still brought up razor-sharp memories of her family’s death. It felt strange to even consider it, maybe even un-Tauren-like, but all she could think of was getting as far away as possible from the great plains of Mulgore and the pain that lurked in those memories.
“I’d like to come with you, I think,” she replied, trying to will away the knot of pain and fear in her stomach. “I… don’t think I want to go home… not after what happened.”
“I understand. I…” He stopped and sighed, giving Misha a quick one-armed hug. “I’m no good at this sort of thing. Sorry. You’ll have to talk to Elm when we meet up with the others. He’s the wise and caring one. All I can promise you is that I will personally gut each and every one of those foul beasts that tries to get in our way.” A cold gleam came into his eye and his hands shifted to a pair of well-concealed daggers at his belt that Misha hadn't even noticed.
The thought of killing centaurs sent excited spikes of anger and fear shooting through Misha, but she instinctively pulled away from the notion. Tauren girls were taught to be gentle, to respect every life as a part of nature, and to avoid giving in to anger… no matter how appealing those violent fantasies were. She decided to change the subject. “Um… what’s your name, sir?”
“I’m Karrath. Good to meet you, Misha… though I guess we’ve already met. Good to finally know your name, at least.” He stood and walked forward a few steps, staring at the glow that filtered over the horizon through the gaps in the trees. “The others are at least a day ahead of us now, and I don’t really like the thought of going alone through the rest of the Stonetalon mountains. Too many places something bad could happen…” He trailed off, staring forward intently as a distant wyvern shrieked a cry to the noonday sun. “We really ought to get going.” The elf turned, starting to pick his way among the fallen leaves and roots on the floor, heading down a small path around the lake.
Misha rubbed the last vestiges of tears away from her eyes and followed him, hoping that she was making the right decision… and that her ancestors would understand in any case.
* * *
The dust was starting to get to Beaux, coating his hooves and constantly setting him sneezing. Whoever had named the Barrens had given them a perfectly apt description: brown grasses and stunted trees went on as far as he could see in every direction. But despite the dryness and apparent lack of living plants, the Barrens were awash in life. Lions rested in every twisted tree’s shadow, herds of antelope and plainstriders galloped along through the thick grasses, and once or twice Beaux glimpsed a great thunder lizard lumbering along in the distance.
He passed a small Tauren camp early in the day, a tiny collection of tents and a few of the rare, more permanent buildings that Tauren finally felt secure enough to begin building. The tribe there was friendly, but they’d never heard of the cave he sought. In an unexpected stroke of luck, the chief of the small tribe gifted him with a well-worn, hand-drawn map of the surroundings, drawn on a thick piece of kodo leather. All Beaux had to offer in return was a small, scrawny rabbit he’d felled earlier in the day, but they accepted his tiny gift as if it were an entire bull kodo.
He also encountered the first orc he’d ever seen, a curious and prickly sort who evidently had quite some skill in metalworking. Of course, Beaux heard much about orcs and even learned a good deal of their language from the leaders of his tribe, but it was still a unique experience to watch the powerful, green-skinned creature swing his hammer over and over, shaping a blade on the anvil. Well, at least until the orc noticed him watching and threw a string of curses his way, evidently mistaking him for an apprentice who was slacking off.
Beaux explained his situation to the smith, who was suitably admonished, though still unwilling to back off of his initial assessment: there is a phrase in Taurahe meaning “basically impossible” that literally translates as “to change an orc’s mind”. Beaux swiftly found out why. After a moment’s conversation the orc proved himself affable enough, despite his gruffness. He even put a fresh edge on Beaux’s spear by way of apology for his outburst, though he never said as much out loud.
As the sun began to sink from its zenith, Beaux realized he should get moving again and made his farewells. He followed a light track that wove around small hills, deep canyons and wide, flat-topped mesas. In time, he reached an enormous ridged plateau, riddled with small crevasses and tiny caves that looked promising but contained nothing but sleeping bats and copious amounts of guano. Beaux was about to give up and trudge back home when he caught something odd out of the corner of his eye. When he stared directly at the spot, it was nothing but a rocky wall… but if he turned around sideways and stared at it obliquely, a brilliant green sigil appeared on the wall. On a hunch, Beaux committed the pattern to memory and traced it on the stone with his finger.
At first, he thought nothing was happening, but after a moment he caught a glimpse of half-seen green lines snaking all over an enormous section of wall before him. The rune swiftly duplicated itself into an enormous lattice that stretched all over the wall. After a moment, the green lines flared with brilliant light and abruptly disappeared a second later, taking away the rock wall with them.
Beaux smiled, wondering whether he’d just passed some kind of test or simply been lucky. Either way, he still felt pretty good about it. It was high time to see what this rune business was all about.