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His legs nearly gave out beneath him as he materialized in Booty Bay. Even though he had been getting used to the strange sensation of Astral Recall, it was still disorienting. On top of that, he had been calling on the spirits and the wind for a good stretch of time now, trying to coax Redearth into accepting his, or anyone's help; he was exhausted.

The air about him went still as he paid for a room and climbed the stairs to it. Dropping into the bed, all his gear still on, Feren stared at the ceiling. The last scent he recognized on the wind was Azshara, he hoped that she was returning to where Getharn was searching. He knew, all too well, the problem of trying to fight some battles alone.

"Redearth... what's happening to you?"

They never really spoke at any great length, but if push came to shove, she was certainly one he would trust with his life. As much as Getharn cared for her, Feren was certain that there were few finer beings on Azeroth. To see her suffer as she did troubled Feren. The rumors he had heard of her wanderings all over both continents, her trip to Stormwind, ill fated though it was, SO much seemed to trouble her.

Darba too was troubled now, her dreams had started to manifest themselves with wounds on her body. Last night, whatever was influencing her had gone so far as to cause her to attack one of the Night Elves on the walk, Tegrial. Dreams were to Druids as the Spirit realms were to Shaman, and as understanding as Feren was, he was of little help there for her. Stargaze too was going through some troubling times, perhaps it was a related malady? He had urged her to seek aid from her fellow Druid, reluctantly she seemed to agree.

Twisting and shrugging, he worked out of most of his battle gear and packs, at least enough to be able to sleep anyhow. Closing his eye, he sighed, trying to let his exhaustion take over and pull him away...

Hours had passed, and nothing. Wide awake, a million thoughts in his mind, a million voices. The bar downstairs tempted him; just drown his problems with alcohol, shut everything out for a while, but that was not the way to deal with this. Fishing his mining pick from his bags, he drove it into the floor against the door, barring entry to the room. Repacking his things he took only the things he needed as a Shaman in his smallest pack. Switching to a simple linen shirt and leather pants, he grabbed his pack, and fumbled his way out the window of his room, closing it behind himself.

The jungles outside of Booty Bay weren't at all safe for Feren just yet, so he took a wyvern North to Grom'Gol. Dropping into Ghost Wolf he ran out of the small settlement and made his way further North into the jungles of Stranglethorn Vale. It took a while, but he found a spot, overlooking the coast line, right where the earth begins to turn into sand, and the wind carries the spray off the ocean.

His form roiled, and he stood again on two legs, looking out over the moonlit water. Bending low, he cleared a spot near a tree of all grass and leaves, bare to the cool sandy dirt beneath, and set in it a small pile of wood. Calling on fire and wind, flame took to the wood in the makeshift pit as Feren arranged the four totems of earth, fire, water, and wind before him. He knelt beside the fire, sitting back on his hooves, and dropped several pungent bundles of herbs into the flames, their smoke thick and heady as they burnt. A glint of light and steel was drawn across his palm, blood welling from the cut. Held aloft, he let the deep red fluid fall to the flames, more smoke rising from them. A skin of water opened and poured around the rim of the fire, darkening the ground, steam rising to mingle with the smoke. Kneeling lower still, Feren exhaled deeply over the wood, stoking the flames, and adding his breath to the smoke and steam that rose from the flames.

"Humbly I call on the spirits of Earth, Fire, Water, and Wind. With these gifts of sacred herds, precious blood, purest water, and my very breath I call for your aid in this time. In this place where the elements meet, I pray that you come to me now..."

Feren's eye rolled back, only the white of it showing now. The empty socket beside it filled with a soft blue glow of power. The earth shook beneath him, lightning flashed in the sky above, waves surged over the beach below, the wind grew, tearing leaves from the nearby trees. His body went limp, falling back to sit on his hooves as his spirit left it.

A spirit realm mirror of the land lay spread out before him, as his senses adjusted to the shift, two forms coalesced nearby. Pulling from the very ether itself a feminine form took shape. Azure hair fell to the ground, a small pool of water at her feet seemed to feed it. Her eyes shone with power, one grey-green, made of stone, the other blazing with the light of day. Her skin translucent and ever shifting, made of the wind itself.

The second form came into focus, an elder Tauren, clearly a Shaman in life; his eyes burned with the wisdom of his years, but his frame, once mighty, now hung heavily, weighed down with grief.

"Hello my child," She smiled, "I am pleased with your call to Us, but this night, We feel your search for answers may be best ended with him." The feminine form nodded toward the elder Tauren, "We will leave you to speak with one another, but know that the sound of your voice, strong once more, pleases Us. Keep down the road you now walk, be strong, and know that We are beside you, always..." She faded slowly into the four elements of which She had been made, and left the two Shaman facing each other. It was the elder who spoke first.

"You come searching for answers about my child, Redearth, do you not, young one?" The aged Tauren cocked his head slightly as he regarded Feren.

He nodded, "Yes. Wait, your child?" A nod was the only reply. "She is... something troubles her, deeply, and I wish to help her, even if it means bearing some of her burden myself."

"It is fear, shame, and guilt that trouble my child. Redearth has lost much in recent days, and the weight of it has brought her to her knees. Her pride has kept her blind to the signs, and unwilling to call for the help that she needs. The pig-men she sees, they are her fears made real, and they are growing. She has," he sighed, deeply, his concern as a father quite apparent, "lost her way, Shaman. Her fears have caused her to turn a blind eye to the Earthmother, and now she cannot find the road she so desperately needs to."

Feren nodded, thinking a moment, "Do you believe she will listen to another? I tried, in vain, to get her to accept my aid this evening, but she would not have it."

"Perhaps. She has always been a very stubborn girl," the briefest of smiles crossed the elder Shaman's face, "but I believe she has reached a breaking point. She will either take someone's help, seek out a guide to get her back onto the road, or she will be lost. Whether that guide is you, her protector and love, or another, I cannot say, but without one, she will merely drift further away."

The elder Tauren seemed so very tired, worry furrowed his expressions deeply, and he watched the younger quietly for several moments in silence. "I do not know if there is more advice to give you, young Shaman, but please, do what you can to steer her back to her rightful path."

As Feren nodded, the elder Shaman's spirit faded back into the ether, and the world about him quickly fell out of focus.

It was morning when he came to. The fire before him was just lingering coals now, and the light of day was just breaking to the East. Feren rose, closing his eye, and called on the Earth and the Wind. "Show me where Redearth lies, guide me to her..."

A breeze picked up, whispering in his ear as the ground beneath his hooves rumbled ever so slightly, nodding as he dropped to all fours. The faint outline of his Ghost Wolf form tore through the jungle, back toward Booty Bay. He would gather this things, then he would find her...

A week, perhaps more, had passed since Feren had scrambled through the mountainous ring around Moonglade with Darba's help, and other than quick trips to Everlook for mail and supplies, he had not left the peace of the place. It was strange to see in practice what he, and so many others hoped for; peace between races that were supposedly at odds with one another. Here Tauren and Night Elf alike treated each other with respect and dignity, enough so that they had found a common tongue among them. They lived here, in peace, just as willing to help visitors as they were to repel would be attackers, side by side.

He asked to come here for quiet, for rest; to be away from the madness that seemed to have taken over the world. Kidnappings by those he thought were to be trusted, dragging a friend Night Elf to the very gates of Ogrimmar. Assassination attempts and successes on Cairne Bloodhoof and others. Influential members of the Horde being in turn taken hostage, and the retaliation by Horde 'peacekeepers' when negotiations for release failed. Cries of alarm and war rang throughout the world, and it was all getting to be too much for him. Add to it the river of blood that he helped draw from the Quilboars, all to rescue another, Red Earth. Feren could feel his control slipping through his fingers.

As a Shaman, he trained to keep things in check, to help keep the balance in the world. First hand he had learned how vital that balance was when he lost himself for a time to the taint he had pulled from Darba. Now, everything felt off kilter. The scales clearly were no longer even. What little peace had been gained now slipped from the hands of those who had fought for it. The world felt as though it was headed down a path of ruination, and Feren sat, hiding from all of it.

Nirani had been right, accusing him of hiding from the world. She had not said those words, not precisely, but it is what she meant. It was true though, he was hiding from his troubles, those of others, and the world. He covered his ears, deaf to the cries for help from those under attack, blind to the fury in the eyes of comrades as they flew into battle, righteous or otherwise. He sat back, here in this Northern haven, and ignored all of it.

A few days had passed since he had found Red Earth here, her scent carried on the wind as he strode about in the form of the Ghost Wolf. She had left Moonglade only to return a short while later, confused about all that had been going on in the world. He filled her in on what he knew, only to find out that Getharn had apparently gone missing. He learned also that she could no longer hear the Mother's call, the spirits were silent to her now, and she was scared and worried that they may never return. Comforting words, reassurance, were all he could offer, certain though he was that she would indeed hear them again. Knowing Getharn had yet to speak with her regarding Ishnu Por Ah, Feren brought it up, inviting her to join the family that the guild had become. She accepted after minor protest, and appeared truly relieved to have a family to call hers once more.

Now, however, Feren decided it was time for action. Sitting on the edge of Nighthaven, looking out over lake Elune'Ara he could feel Her call. Something on the wind had changed, carrying the sounds and smell of battle to him, even so far away from the fighting. Visions had already brought to him knowledge of what he was to do, now was time to act upon that wisdom. The ritual would begin with him, and he hoped that others of family would join him on the path he now set out to take.

.........

Still, as always, cool woods stretched from the town of Nighthaven. His footfalls were nearly silent in the lush grass and undergrowth, and his eyes carefully tracked the deer as he approached it. The animal was calm, as almost all of them seemed to be here, they did not fear those who walked here, there was no reason to. If he was not certain of Her blessing in what he was about to do, Feren would be wary of his actions.

A large hand reached out carefully to the animal, resting on its side. Warm breath passed from his mouth, carrying his plea to the spirits of the beast, asking for permission to take its life and for the gift of its blood, so that he might complete the task before him. Thin legs gracefully folder under the animal's body as it came to lay beside him, large brown eyes closing in acceptance of Feren's plea. His hand slipped from the animal's side, bringing a bowl against its neck, his other hand flashed by, the blade in it cutting through the flesh, and spilling its blood into the container below. A sickly, sweet, copper smell filled the air as life slipped peacefully from the animal. He thanked the spirit of the animal for its gift, and carefully poured the blood into a pair of empty skins for safer carrying as he rose, and turned back toward the lake.

Hooves and knees sank into the silken mud on the bank of the lake as fingers dug deeply into it, filling a small bag with the rich, wet earth. Setting the bag and his other supplies aside, Feren filled another empty skin with the water of the lake and laid it aside as well. Calling on his gifts, and the power within the scales he carried with him, Feren dove deep into the waters, breathing normally there as he swam for the deepest part of the lake. There, he gathered several small plants, reddish in hue, tucking them in the loop of his belt.

.........

The flames from the bonfire rose high into the air, towering above his head as he stood before it, the last bit of moisture drying from him. Perched atop a rock looking out over the lake still, Feren had spread the sack full of mud in a fine layer, letting it begin to dry into a clay by the heat of the fire. On another spot, he had ground the plants down into a thick red paste. Laying back to wait, he stared skyward, his one eye focusing beyond the canopy above, to the moon, Mu'sha. I pray I have interpreted your wishes correctly, Mother, that the path I now set myself and others upon is indeed the one you wish of me...

Hands reached to work the clay, kneading it, making it more supple. Into it he worked the paste made from the plants, the color going from a light grey-brown to a sun touched red. Spreading the clay out again, he worked a lip around it, pouring the deer's blood from the skins onto it. Carefully he folded the clay over, already soaking in much of the blood. Kneading and folding, over and over, he worked the stain of the blood into the clay, his hands taking a hue to match, deep, deep red. Spreading it out one last time, to dry now before the flames, Feren again laid beside it, staring skyward.

Time passed, and Feren slept. On the stone beside him, the clay had shrunk again, still moist, the blood not leaving it almost oily to the touch. The bonfire lay beside him, a mass of glowing embers. Retrieving the bowl used to catch the blood originally, he gathered the clay and placed it within, adding oil to it. Slowly he worked the oil into the clay with a rounded stone, forming thick paste, a paint of sorts. Slitting apart one of the skins that had been used to carry the blood, Feren poured the paste onto it, tying the bundle tightly to keep it from drying further.

.........

Clad only in simple leather leggings, Feren stood before the embers and called upon the spirit of Fire; the coals popped and crackled, flame leaping from them once more, growing quickly in height and fury, they once again rose above the Tauren. The skin carrying the paint lay open beside him, reaching down, he dipped a finger into it and painted the glyph of the Sun, An'she on the back of his right forearm. Dipping a finger from the opposite hand, he painted the glyph of the Moon, Mu'sha on the back of his left forearm.

"I paint Your eyes upon me, An'she and Mu'sha, that they might grant me the strength to walk the path You have set before me. Under their dutiful gaze I seek to restore and maintain balance to Your lands. Mu'sha grant me peace while I rest, An'she embolden my spirit in my waking hours, as I walk the earth in Your service."

Again, he dipped his finger into the paint, and more glyphs were inscribed from shoulder to shoulder across his collarbones, the name of his family this time.

" Ishnu Por Ah , for the Earthmother. Across my shoulders I bear now the yoke of Peace-bringer. A pledge to aid those in need and to defend those who would suffer attacks at the hands of warmongers who would see violence across the world once more. For you, Earthmother, I bear this burden."

Covering the palm of his right hand in the paste, he marks the center of his chest with it.

"By the blood of an innocent, given freely for this cause, I mark my heart. I pledge the beat of it to You, may I never forget my place, always, in Your own. I pray, Earthmother, grant me resolve in these trying times, when the pain in my heart, body, and mind is greatest, to forge ahead in Your name."

One last time he covered his palm with the sticky, crimson paste, placing it directly over his right eye, the hollow one, and drew it down the length of his face from there.

"I mark myself, Blooded, in Your name and in Your service, always. By these marks others shall know my words and actions are by Your wishes. By these marks I pledge myself."

Facing the fire, the paint quickly drying on his fur and skin, he stared deeply into the flames, the light of them dancing in his lone eye.

"By these rites, I, Feren Longstrider, Shu'Halo and Shaman, leader of Ishnu Por Ah, brother to Shu'Halo, Tanka (Troll), Kee (Orc), and Yakee (Risen) alike, am Yours. My power and will, will bend to You, Earthmother, in pursuit of peace restored, finally, to the land. A pact to strike down those who would bring war to the land, those who attack from hatred, greed, and fear. A vow never to raise my blade first, but only once struck, and never for anger alone. By these marks I am bound to abide by Your will and ways, from now forward, until I pass from this world to the next."

Face turned skyward, he roared, the force of it tearing at his lungs. His hoof rose and slammed to the ground below, the earth trembling beneath him. The fire before him swelled, flaring brightly. As his voice echoed around the valley of Moonglade, Feren turned, gathered his things, and again donned his armor, his weapons; the tools of war. It was time to leave this tranquil place, it was time to hide no more.

((So now, when you see Feren running around flagged, you know why))

Tiny feet dangled and kicked, high above the plains of Mulgore, over the edge of the Spirit Rise of Thunder Bluffs. Feren trembled visibly as he held the Goblin aloft by his jerkin, shaking him violently with each question.

"Who sent this letter, you thieving, greedy waste of life?"

Green fingers clung tightly to the Tauren hand that kept him from falling, eyes wide and staring at the bull. "I.. I told you. Some she-cow, funny pink bird followin' her 'round. I don't know no name boss."

"You lie!" The muscles in his arm tensed, rattling the Goblin fiercely, the stitching in the flimsy jerkin popping. "I want a name, toad!"

A high pitched yelp bounced off the cliff walls below, "I don't know boss, she did'n give one. Paid real good, said find you quick, that's it. I dunno nothin' I swear."

His eye flashed, and the Goblin was flung back against the elder's tent behind him. "You find her, hear me? However sent this letter. You find her, and get me a name." A pair of gold coins was flung at the tiny creature, "Earthmother help you if you just try to run off with that gold, you hear me? I'll find you, and turn you into a coin pouch." Turning, the lone eye in Feren's skull seemed to glow for a moment.

"Yes boss, right away boss, on top of it boss!" The Goblin snatched up the coins, and spared no time at all to take off running toward the lifts, leaving Feren alone.

Deep, calming breaths, gaze turned upward, watching Mu'Sha make Her way across the night sky. "This cannot be. It's impossible."

A hand slowly opened, the parchment within was crumpled horribly, but still legible, again he scanned it:

You let me fall, you watched, stupidly, and did nothing, brother Ren.

My memories are newly come to me, and I can see your wide eyes on me as I slipped over the edge, to the rocks below.

You did NOTHING! Now, you too will know the same hurt I have since then. I am little no more, and I grow stronger each passing moment. Soon, brother, soon.

La

His massive frame trembled, reading the letter again, and again. "How? No one called me by that name but her, but she died, her body... Father said... Animals took it... It cannot be Mala, father would never have lied to me like that, would he? I was young, but not naive, why would he lie to me?"

Memories played over and over in his mind, his sister, a calf still, playing with him atop the bluffs, too close the edge, and she slipped. Her scream tore at his heart, helplessly he watched her little hands as she fell over the side. Limbs frozen, eyes wide, voice gone, until his Father ran to him, looking for his sister, his voice echoed in Feren's Mind. I heard Mala scream, Feren, where is she? Massive hands grabbed his shoulders, shaking him, Where has La gone son? Trembling, his small hand pointed toward the cliff's edge, but still he didn't speak.

Feren closed his lone eye tightly, shaking his head, he didn't want to see this memory again, this letter, it had to be some sick joke, it couldn't possibly be her. Surely, had she been alive all these years, especially now that he was a Shaman, he would have felt her, wouldn't he? But... "My memories are newly come to me..." What did that mean? Had she forgotten who she was until recently? Had her memories been taken, from the fall, from something else? What if it was her?

For the Goblin's sake, he had better return, and soon, with a name to tie to the letter. One way or another, Feren would find out what was going on.

The hulking form knelt upon the fallen human. Light from the nearby torches reflected in his lone eye, and off the pain that decorated his body. Feren's mind raced as he paused to rest, so many things were happening around him. With his friends and family. So many things that he felt helpless to do anything about.

One of his most trusted friends, Qoz, eating the flesh of the living to sustain himself. Feren could understand the benefit of it, but it did not change the fact that he was not wholly comfortable with it. Neris seemed to become unhinged slowly as Feren watched and listened to him. Darba having left for the Dream, and now returned, seemed so distant. Getharn was always tired as of late, of all of them, he seemed the most tireless in the past. Now to hear that friends of Ishnu Por Ah had willingly allied themselves with that filth, Aziel. When Roshuatah had heard of it, she'd leapt from the bluffs to her death, and last he heard, refused the call of healers to bring her spirit back to her body.

Then there was Mala. More and more he was beginning to believe that the letters were indeed coming from his sister, but they were so hateful, so venom filled.

Sighing deeply, he drove his dagger through the fallen Scarlet Guard's sternum and twisted it. Fingers deftly reached into the wound and tore open the ribcage, reaching in, he retrieved the still hot heart of the zealot. The apothecary in that foul pit that was the Undercity wanted a sack full of the things, so be it.

.........

Leaning against the wall of the Inn, staring out over the plains of Mulgore, he sighed deeply. Too many things on his mind to sleep, at least not well. Somewhere nearby he knew Rosh's broken body lay, but he didn't want to see it, not just now. In his lap lay a small package, this one had gotten the Goblin thrown from the bluffs without hesitation. A bloody piece of skin, branded with strange markings, clearly from a Tauren hide, and the letter that it came wrapped in.

Brother Ren,

Enjoy this small token of my love, a piece of my own hide, my neck actually, flayed from my body by my own hands. The marks are the work of the sick piece of filth that you and father left me to when I fell.

If you only knew the other acts he committed against me, brother, you'd kill yourself from shame before I had the chance at you or father myself.

Speaking of father, where is he hiding? The goblins say they can't find him, and they're quite good at what they do.

I will see you soon now.

Scarred Hide

Scarred Hide... She'd taken another name. Judging from the piece of skin, were it really hers, it was a fitting name, though it seemed not only her hide was scarred. Another great sigh escaped him and he moved inside to try to get some sleep for the evening.

"Earthmother... guide me."

The bulk of his frame pressed back against the tree as he sat, drinking and eating, a moment's rest in the lush jungles of Stranglethorn Vale. Beneath him, the earth and grass were soothing and cool, nearby, a stream worked its way to the nearby sea.

"Earthmother guide me... My family tears itself apart, while I busy myself with hunting. Menacing letters from one I've no doubt is indeed my lost sister taunt me almost daily now. Darba, last I spoke with her, seemed to be descending further into madness. There are whispers of those who would leave us. Madness plagues others as well... What am I to do?"

Feren rubbed his good eye, taking a deep breath as he leaned his head back against the tree, "Too many things need too much of my attention, I feel. Those fools who have chosen to follow Aziel. Mala, her mind broken by the atrocities performed upon her for years. Getharn has again become distant. Qoz seems to be growing more mad by the day. What has happened to the strength my family once had?"

A breeze tickled his ear, Her voice coming quietly to him. Lead them, then, as you once did...

"I am no leader, all are equal-"

Pretty words to speak, but never the truth. Always have some been above others. Lead them. Let them seek counsel with you. Let the strength of your faith bolster their own, my child... The sound of the water as it rushed toward the sea swelled, ever so much.

"To what end though? Who am I to lead them? Among my family there are those of greater martial prowess, greater spiritual strength."

Beneath his frame, the earth trembled ever so slightly, nearby boulders shifting and falling to the ground and water. You speak the truth, but you know full well that prowess and strength do not make a leader. It is conviction and sacrifice. Your heart swells each time you think of those you call family. Go fight for that family, bring it together once again.

Sighing, he shook his head, "And if I fail?"

Then you fail, and the world would move on. Fight for the family you have, lest you regret doing nothing. A rumble of thunder, and thick droplets of rain began to fall, drenching him in moments. Worry not of your quest for peace for now. The sudden tropical storm continued, the glyphs that marked him as Blooded welled and broke apart with the rain. You will fail in that task too, should your family break apart. Cure the disease there first, then seek to make an example by your actions. The rain continued to pelt Feren as he sat there, washing away all the red markings. As he sat, clean of them now, the rain subsided again, and the tropical heat quickly pressed in.

Wiping the excess water from his face, his lone eye moved over a formation of rocks not far off. They perched oddly, threatening to fall away from one another. Growing from within the cracks, a tiny sapling sprung forth. The vivid green of its limbs and roots entwined about the rocks, holding them together.

The ground rumbled, ever so briefly, a sharp, sudden motion, like the plucking of a violin string. High in the canopy above, several sleeping birds take flight, singing loudly into the cool, otherwise calm, night air.

It is time... A gentle voice on the wind as Mu'sha watches from the starry sky above.

A large, moss-covered mound stirs ever so slightly at the base of a massive tree, deep within, ragged, forced breath is taken in. Insects and other things stir from inside the mound, skittering away from it. A pair of rats that had taken up a nest within chitter angrily as they climb away. More movement from the pile of wet, half-rotten plant matter, and a scream cuts sharply into the quiet Moonglade evening. Shakily he stands, like a newborn fawn, legs trembling, the moss, earth, and leaves fall away like a placenta, and two-tone eyes look out onto the world for the first time, his chest rising and falling in strained, uneven breaths.

Ages seem to pass as he stands there, eyelids falling and rising heavily as his vision comes slowly into focus. Blue and gold orbs stare out over the forest floor of the night, waves of pain bringing heat to one eye, still new, and unaccustomed to the strain of seeing. Tentative first steps are taken; still weak, knees giving way, the Tauren falls into the mass of plant and earth from which he emerged. Coughs wrack his body, earth, fluid, and other things working themselves free of his lungs, and again he screams. Twisting around to sit up, he leans against the tree for support, wiping debris from his arms and chest. Tatters of leather and cloth armor that had rotted away, fall to the ground, and he sits there exposed as a newborn calf.

You are whole, healed, and reborn. Now go... The voice caresses his ear on a current of night air, energy pouring through his limbs, and drawing him to his feet.

Reaching low he pulls a rotted pack from the mound of earth and plants, its contents spill as it falls apart. Simple linen pants and a vivid blue tabard only remain free of the rot that has eroded all else in the pack. Gold, silver, and copper coins, all tarnished as though decades of disuse have passed over them. Weapons showing signs of rust and wear are strewn through the rot. Gathering only the money in a small, still usable scrap of leather, Feren looks through the trees, back toward the road with new eyes.

"It is time..." His hooves fall almost silently as he moves toward the small cluster of buildings that stand nearby.

Brilliant Mulgore sun slowly warmed his face, tugging him from a gentle, dreamless slumber. The past several nights had all be filled with normal, healthy sleep, more than once he had even managed to sleep more than was likely needed. Pala, the Innkeeper, had toned down her rigorous feeding routing now that he had put on some more weight and muscle mass. His nightly walks from the Bluffs down to Bloodhoof and back were getting easier and shorter as he was able to jog at least part of the route, so long as his packs were light.

Since he had taken up the skinner's knife once again, he often stepped from the road to skin the hides from animals that younger Tauren had taken down and wastefully left to decay on the plains. The wastefulness pulled a sigh from him with each new body, but he was grateful for the extra practice. The work was easy enough, though he was often left with scraps, instead of pelts, due to the beasts' time spent in the elements. One the pelt and any usable meat was taken from the fallen animals, he called on the Earthmother, thanked her, and committed the rest of the body to flame, rather than letting it rot and bring disease to the area.

The relationship that he had with Her had changed as well; he actively sought to commune with Her from the physical world only, rather than venturing to the spirit realms. Revisiting old mentors, he helped the young prepare their own ritual saptas, asking only for a few extra ingredients here or there so that he might craft his own. They were simple mixtures, serving only to deepen his sight, as they had when he first set down the path of the Shaman. The world again bubbled with sounds that most could not, or would not, hear; Her voice came to him from a thousand places, the trees, the air, and the beasts.

His family in Ishnu Por Ah was doing as well as he could hope for, all things considered, though he felt just as distant as ever. The distance had been there, and been growing, for some time, and it saddened his heart to think on it too long, but it was almost always at the back of his thoughts. Many evenings were spent pondering whether it might be time to pass the mantle of leadership to another, perhaps to walk the world alone for a while. His lack of ties to the world is what drew him so frequently, and dangerously, into the spirit realms, however, and worry for repeating this mistake was much of what kept him from severing any more ties.

Losing Darba had affected him, far, far more than he wanted to admit to anyone, himself included. Seeing her a few weeks back brought out the worst in him, and he regretted all he said and did, fearing it only served to drive the wedge between them further. He wondered, frankly, if they could ever manage to be so much as friends at this point, let alone more.

Blinking repeatedly, he turned to gaze through his window, sighing deeply as he tried to quell the torrent of thoughts in his head. The sky outside was a brilliant blue blanket for as far as he could see. Bits and pieces of chatter, animals, and the other sounds of life drifted in through the window, open now, despite the distinct recollection that it had been shut before he went to sleep. Quit footfalls carried him toward it, breathing deeply of the fresh air. In the very corner of his vision, a strange shadow caught his attention, and he spun, drawing his dagger as he did so. Gold and silver eyes glinted as did sharpened steel, all focused toward a dim corner, in his chest, his heart thrummed like a caged bird.

"Step forward where I can see you better, and explain yourself, now!"

A young Tauren female cautiously stepped from the corner, a rose colored plainstrider stood just behind her. Eyes shone brilliantly, contrasting the dull scars that covered most of her exposed skin, a particularly fresh one drew the eye to her neck. She raised her hands to show she was unarmed, but she bore the trappings of a Hunter. Her voice, far more world weary than that of one so young should be, trembled as she spoke. "Please, put the dagger away. If I'd intended to do you harm, I would have done so while you slept."

His eyes narrowed and a growl rumbled low in his chest, muscles tensing, he motioned with the blade as he spoke. "Who are you? Why are you in my room?"

She shrank slightly from the sound of his voice. A quick hand darted up to her eyes, drawing away a glistening wetness there. "I... papa's dead. I had heard that you..." She swallowed heavily and blinked a few tears from her eyes, shaking her head. Her tangled mane made small clinking sounds from the trinkets there and she stared toward the ground as her voice came again, "It's me... Mala... I-"

"Lies!" Feren's voice boomed loud enough to startle himself as well as the girl. "Tell me where you heard that name!" Anger welled up from deep within, causing him to shake, his eyes glowed slightly as they ran over the pattern of scars on her hide. Rage bubbled within him, how dare this sorry thing use his sister's name.

Shrinking again from his voice, more tears came as she sank down to a ball on the floor. The beast that accompanied her drew close about her making odd, quiet squawking sounds. "It is MY name. Ren, I... I heard you had died too. And papa's gone." She trembled where she sat, tears soaking a path down her cheeks as she stared up at him.

His mind flashed through a thousand memories, his little sister, curled up in their home, crying, her knee skinned. The face was different now, harder, and the scars, so many scars, but the eyes. The eyes that stared up at him bore deep into his memory, and shock gripped him, causing the dagger to drop to the ground. His legs shook and gave out, dropping him beside the weapon, and he reached over, fingers touching rough, raised scars on her face. "Mm... Mala? Wha... I thought... but... those letters?"

Terror stiffened her body, seeing the hand come for her, but the moment it touched her skin she melted against it, eyes sliding shut, she leaned into his palm and cried. Her voice came out, quiet and shaking, between sobs, "I was angry. With papa, with you... No one came for me, just left me with that monster... I tried to find papa first, instead I found where his body rests... Then I, he.. I heard that you'd died too and... and..." She drew her legs up to her chest and hugged them, lifting her head to stare into his eyes. "I lost you both, all over again."

Tears had welled up and spilled from his eyes, their glow softened as he watched her and listened. Almost unconsciously he'd moved closer to her, cradling her face in both hands. "Shhh, shhh. I'm not dead, see? I'm right here." He pulled himself closer to her, closing his arms around her, and the two of them sat for several minutes, crying and holding one another. The rose colored strider merely regarded them with a cocked head, and the occasional prod with the tip of its beak. She was the first to pull back, snaking from his embrace, she wiped at her face, eyes red, and tried to steady her breathing.

"Ren, I'm... I'm sorry, for the things in those letters. When my memories came back to me, I," she swallowed, shaking her head, and looked to the ground. "I was so angry, with you, with papa, with everyone."

Again his hand reached out toward her, touching the raw, fresh scar on her neck, he started to speak, but she quieted him. "When I found papa's resting place, my anger burned even hotter, and I came to find you but... You were gone, the goblins I sent to find you said you were dead, to the North. At first I was angry with you both for dying before I could make you pay for what happened. I ran back to papa's bones, to desecrate them, but when I got there, I..." Hands, just as scarred as the rest of her reached out and took his, enveloping it within them. "When I touched his things there, I heard Her, just like papa said he did. Two words was all, 'Let go', but my anger left me, and I fell, crying next to where our father rests. I had lost my family, all over, I was alone again."

The nervous poking of the plainstrider caught her attention and she reached out to it, coaxing it to her side with a gentle hand, running her fingers over its feathers to calm it as she kept speaking, "Days passed, and one of the goblins I'd hired to find you told me you were here, in Thunder Bluff. I watched you, walking, but... I didn't think it was you. You looked so... so sick, so old and weak. You could barely walk to Bloodhoof, and I remembered my brother being able to run for hours on end. I kept watching you from the shadows, hiding every time I thought you might spot me. Last night though, I heard your voice, and.. and I knew it was you."

"Why didn't you approach me then?"

"I was scared, my mind and heart raced all over. I was angry with you again, I felt like I'd been lied to. It spilled over me, and I was afraid of what I might do if I came near you." Shoulders rose and fell with a deep sigh. "I ran, ended up at papa's grave again, though I'm not quite sure how I got there. I talked to him, plucked the little stray weeds that had grown up through the rocks there, cleaned the things that were left for him. It was late before I knew it, and well into the night when I made it back to the Bluffs. Pala would not tell me what room you lay in, so I snuck around outside, and started looking in the windows. I found your room, and climbed in. I couldn't talk, I could barely move, so I just sat there, in the corner, and watched you sleep."

A sigh came from deep within his lungs, and he sat there, just watching her for some time. His mind raced, hundreds of questions. His eyes traced over the scars on her body and a great sadness welled up inside him, but still he said nothing. The two of them sat in silence, both studying the other like they were trying to memorize every hair, every feature. It was finally his stomach that broke the silence, rumbling loudly in protest to its empty state, and a boisterous chuckle turned his solemn expression into a broad smile. "Maybe we should get some breakfast? I'm sure we can pack a few things up, find something quiet outside, and we can talk?"

Her own stomach rumbled in reply, and the plainstrider's head shot up with a 'Krraw?' in question. Nodding, she stood. "I'd like that. We have... a lot to talk about."

Ragged, shuddering breaths broke the quiet of the pre-dawn morning. The air hung heavy and humid, almost salty with the sweat that clung to the two bodies as they coiled about one another. Gasps, growls, and release, and the pair collapsed to the bed as one. Heartbeats raced, as much from the act, as from fear of discovery. The Shaman's eyes, gold and silver, shone bright in the dim light. ... Mala He kissed her brow, sleep overtaking her.

… … …

Feren's eyes shot open wide, the haze of alcohol still dulling his senses, weighing his eyelids down. He sat himself up, blinking to clear the fog, as he tried to get his bearings. Placing his hand so as to steady himself, it came to rest upon the soft, warm form beside him. His heart froze at the feminine voice that rose quietly from it, “No...”

An arm snaked around his torso and pulled him down, more asleep than awake as she togged on him. "Don't go..." the words were slurred, the scent of alcohol as heavy on her breath as it was on his mind.

Relief swept over him as he saw that it was Auraura beside him, and not Mala, his sister. The relief was short lived, however, as the reality of the situation sank in. Clothing, armor, and weapons lay tossed aside starting at the door to the room. Bottles and skins, all empty now of their intoxicating brew lay strewn among the ruins of their modesty. Her arm tightened and rose, pulling him down to lie fully beside her once more. Heat swelled in his face, and other places, at the feel of her body pressed against him.

Shaking his head, he scrambled and slipped from the bed, and grabbed the first article of his clothing he could find, trying desperately to hide his... embarrassment. "I... I'm sorry I.. uhh...," but it was pointless. His pillow had already been pulled in to replace him, and it was clear that the younger Shaman slept again.

Feren gathered his things, and looking to the bed one last time, he called on the spirits to pull his form back to Bloodhoof.

… … …

Little attention was paid to how much noise he made as he waded into the lake behind the Inn, washing himself in the chilly early morning air. A thousand thoughts ran through his mind. What did the dream mean? What was he going to say to Auraura when they next met? Would he avoid her? Deny anything happened? What if...?

He shook his head violently. “No, best not to let the mind wander there.”

Feren raised his hands to his muzzle, breathing in deeply, trying for any scent of the young female Tauren. River water and wet fur, no more. He hoped it was enough.

… … …

Few Rogues would be unimpressed at the quietness of his hoof-falls as he snuck back into the room he and Mala shared. Dawn would be coming soon, he did not need her to wake to find him only returning now.

Heat rose in him as his gaze crossed her curled, sleeping form in the bed he normally occupied. Shaking his head he turned, and left the room. Perhaps taking a ride to the Bluffs was a better idea this morning…

((Fair warning, the following post contains themes that some may find offensive. If any of my other IC posts (See Feren's Journey, especially toward the end there or anything posted by Mala) offend you, I don't advise reading this one.

This does mean that I'm going to be reactivating soonish, so maybe some of you will actually get to /meet/ the guild founder *chuckle*.

At any rate, you've been fairly warned, read at your own risk.)

A small wooden pipe bounced to and fro as the Shaman murmured prayers to the fire before him. Cloying, sweet, violet-gray smoke twisted from the pipe, which stopped its dance each time his powerful lungs took another draught from it. The focus faded from his lone silver eye as the toxin of the lotus coiled its way into his mind with the smoke, calming his nerves, feeding his dependance... his addiction to it.

His chant goaded the fire to burn higher, imploring it to burn hotter so that it might fully consume the wrapped body at its heart. The vague outline of a ritually wrapped Tauren could be seen within, as flesh, bone, and sinew popped and sputtered in the flames; a macabre chorus to accompany the roar of the flames on an otherwise still swampland night.

Working deeper into his mind, the lotus stirred the memories of the Shaman, bringing them to life once again....

... ... ...

Leaning back into Shamaness' supple form, he sighed; thick violet-grey smoke coiled from his mouth. Their hearts slowed in unison as their bodies recovered from their lustful act. She wrapped dark grey arms about his torso, pulling her unclad form tighter against his back, her black mane brushing against his cheek as she lay her head to rest on his shoulder...

... ... ...

A low growl trembled deep within his chest, his hands pulling against her thighs, trying to hold her still as she sat atop him. A quiet chuckle escaped the soot colored Tauren Shamaness, bubbling up from deep within her. Yer eyes flashed, and for just a second her fur seemed to ripple, color twisting to white and mottled brown. As he blinked, the light playing in his gold and silver eyes, the illusion passed, and he smiled up at her. Her hands closed over his and pulled them up from her legs, over her swollen stomach, and up to her breasts as she ground down against him...

... ... ...

His fingers gently brushed Auraura's black mane from her face and they lay there looking back up at him. Her hand played on his chest, and lower, curling her fingers around him as she grinned. "I want more..."

She squeezed him as she moved her body lower against his, her breath causing him to buck. Firelight flickered, and the ebon color melted from her pelt, white and brown mottled spots taking its place, and he froze in terror. Mala's voice filled his ears as Auraura's face faded into that of his sister. "What's the matter? You're not going to make me beg for it again, are y-- Feren?!"

A hoof shot out, kicking the younger Tauren several feet away, and against the hard stone wall of the cave. Feren scrambled to right himself and to find something to cover his nude form, shock, horror, and rage flooding through him, burning away the haze the lotus flower had draped over his mind...

... ... ...

Ragged panting echoed in the cave, but all Feren could make out was a dull ringing in his ears. Something thick and warm clung to his hands and face. The smell of copper flooded his nostrils. His knees stung against the stone floor, between his legs, pinned down with his weight, lay the unmoving body of a female Tauren...

... ... ...

An'she crept slowly into the morning sky, the last vestiges of the lotus flower's hold on the mind of the Shaman passed, silencing his memories for now. Feren still knelt, now before a smoldering pile of soot, ash, and remains. The fire had burned so hot it had fused the sandy soil into smoky glass, locking bones and other remains together in the ground. A troubling monument to darker things that had passed in the nearby cave. A slight, female Tauren skull stared skyward, locked permanently in the strange, twisted grey glass. Lower among the remains, at the pit of the female's body, a smaller assortment of bones also lay, fuzed forever to the earth. A tiny, hornless skull turned its gaze upward as well, a twisted mimicry of its mother's.

"Sweet sister... Now it is my turn to bear the burden of your demons."

He reached up, rubbing his tired, thin face with rust stained hands; the blood had faded, but would forever mark his arms like gloves. A splatter of that same rusty color decorated his face, like violently applied ceremonial paint. He stared at the remains, tears still welling from his silver eye; its golden companion crushed, cut, and seared from his face by both his hand and hers, a pitiful payment for both their sins.

Trembling slightly, Feren stood and tapped out the pipe, tucking it away in his pack. He pulled a pinch of dried and shredded black petals from a small pouch and tucked it into his cheek, sucking at it, his saliva drew a sickly sweet flavor from it. As the toxin of the flower quickly took root, the spark dulled in his eye, his pupil went wide, and the tremor stopped.

He sighed, and looked Northward. He coiled his hands about his pack, hoisting it over his shoulder, and again took up his axe, forcibly willing his legs to move. One hoof in front of the other, his slow, shameful walk began...

With a grunt he tore his axe free from the Ogre's corpse, wiping his face clean of gore, his breathing heavy, but not overly strained. Feren scanned about the ruins, there were several other corpses to match, most of which he'd called upon flame to consume. The stench was rather overwhelming.

With a sharp whistle, he pulled himself onto his Kodo, and kicked sharply at her sides to take them both back to Mojache. It had been too long since he'd been in any sort of combat, and he was exhausted. It felt good, however; the heft of his axe, the push and pull of his muscles, the voices of the elements as he asked them to strike down opponents, or protect him. It was all familiar and comforting, and it helped quiet the trio that whispered foul things to him in the still moments of his days.

. . . . . . . . .

The leaves rustled as he padded through the edge of the woods, so close to the human lands. It had been a terribly long time since he'd been here, but the place was burned into his memories. He dipped a canine nose low to the ground and sniffed, looking about with a lone eye to make sure he'd not been spotted.

The farm still stood, looking virtually the same as it had last time he was here. It was late, and its inhabitants slept soundly within, oblivious to the return of their daughter's killer.

He trotted around the side of the farm, to a tiny cluster of carved stones, the family's burial site. Several generations lay interred here, the most recent stone only a little over a year old. Glancing about, he sniffed at the air and closed his eye, letting his Tauren form emerge only when he was certain he was alone.

Kneeling by the small grave site, he brushed it free of the debris of early fall, letting his fingers linger as they brushed over the words carved into the tombstone's face.

'Callie Anne - Beloved Child'

"Hello Callie, it's been a . . . long time." A somber smile spread across his face, his voice hardly a whisper. Carefully he reached into his pack, pulling a cloth wrapped bundle from it. Delicately, he pulled the cloth away from the bundle of wildflowers from Mulgore and laid them before the tiny stone, resting his hand upon it once again as he sighed.

Feren carefully twisted his legs about beneath him so that he sat upon the tiny grave, facing the stone. Pulling his hat from his head, he exchanged it in his belt for his pipe. Meticulously he pulled some of the black lotus that Red Earth had given him from its pouch, tamping it into the bowl of the pipe. Muttering a few quiet words, he called flame to the flower, and drew deeply from the pipe, letting the sweet tasting smoke fill his lungs. Holding his breath in, he reached up and unfastened the group of feathers that was tied behind his right ear, turning them over as the moonlight played on them. Mu'sha's light danced in the silver of his lone eye as he exhaled the smoke slowly over the feathers, fanning them as he spoke in the tongue of his people.

"Carry my words to her in the place of spirits, tell her that the 'bull-man' calls to her tonight."

The thick smoke coiled about the Tauren, twisting around the feathers as though it possessed a life of its own, dancing as he fanned at it. A cool breeze stirred from the forest floor rustling the leaves and small branches of the trees. It wrapped itself about his frame and took up the smoke, the form of a tiny human girl forming from it, a small stuffed bunny clutched under one of her arms.

Bull-man! The tiny spirit smiled broadly, crouching low she ran delicate ethereal fingers along the flowers laid upon her grave. Pretty flowers, thank you!

"They are from my homeland, in Mulgore, I. . . thought you would like them."

A giggle bubbled up from her, spilling into the night air, Of course I do, silly. Silent 'footfalls' brought her beside him so that she could carefully climb atop his knee to sit staring up into his face. She brushed at the hollow of his right eye with a frown. It is gone again. . .

He shrugged and smiled, watching the spirit child. "It was Hers to take. Perhaps for the better, I see better with the moon than I ever did with the sun anyway."

She nodded, in that too serious manner that only children can, and curled about the stuffed bunny in her arms. Those tears are for your sister, aren't they? A whispy hand motioned to the red stains beneath the hollow.

His hand reached up and brushed idly at his cheek, tracing the blood stained fur there, nodding, "Yes."

Frowning, she shook her head, Don't cry for her, bull-man. What you did, those prayers you whispered over her fire? They brought her to a safe place, they soothed her madness and gave her peace.

"I know," he shook his head a little, reaching up, he twisted his mane into a braid, fixing the feathers behind his right ear once more.

The child fiddled with one of the stuffed rabbit's feet as she spoke, You know that what She has made you carry isn't punishment, right? Mother didn't give those voices to you to hurt you.

A bitter sound comes from him, "It is a funny way to /not/ hurt som-"

The conviction of her angry glare was enough to stop his words, Hush! A tiny frustrated sigh escapes her and she looks back to the bunny in her arms, playing with its ears. That much. . . hate, it had to go someplace, bull-man. Better to put it into you, then let it into the land where she died, enough pain was there already. She sat the stuffed bunny in her lap and folded her arms around it.

"I just do not know that I'm fit to bear the weight of them."

Her cherubic face turned up to him, something in the way the moonlight played off the smoke that it was made of sent a chill through him. You had better learn to, or they will be the death of you. Her gaze moved to the dagger at his side, If not at your own hands, it will come at the hands of who cares for you.

Feren nodded, sighing as he looked to the ground a moment. "It troubles me that there are times I am not certain if the things they say or show me are really all of their own making, or. . ." His voice trailed off, he didn't really want to consider that he had such thoughts, even in the most base recesses of his mind.

She stood and moved into his line of sight, moving his muzzle to look him in the eye, a smile played on her tiny face. You worry too much, bull-man. Whatever it was that had been there a moment ago was gone, and the little girl was clearly the speaker once more. A tiny sigh escaped her, and her shoulders slumped a little bit. I need to go, bull-man, it's late. . .

Nodding, he leaned forward and hugged the tiny spectral child, her form already starting to thin as the wind carried the smoke away. "Thank you for answering Callie." He sighed deeply as he watched the rest of the smoke dissipate, her bright eyes the last thing to vanish.

Behind him, something stirred within the farmhouse, and he could hear the chatter of human voices. He hastily grabbed his things, and called on the ghost wolf's form, his massive Tauren frame shrinking into that of the spectral canine. With a chuff he turned and darted off into the woods again, leaving only flowers, hoof prints, and wolf tracks as evidence that he'd been at the tiny grave.

Feren shifted, a frustrated sigh escaping him as he sat up carefully, trying not to disturb the sleeping form beside him. It was very late, or very early, depending on how you chose to look at it; in either case, he should have slipped into sleep hours ago. He reached out carefully to brush the hair back from her face, letting his hand come to rest in the middle of her back. His gaze traveled along her spine until it disappeared beneath the covers, and he shivered, a chill running over him as his thoughts turned to the evening's events. The moonlight that shone into the room of the Thunder Bluff in only served to accent the azure hue of her skin as he watched her sleep. She seemed so delicate, so small, laying there beside the Tauren. He hadn't really ever noticed it until earlier that night, when he'd...

He shook his head again, a voice in his head chuckling quietly. What's the matter? Don't want to think about what it felt like-- "Shut up!" It was a mocking tone, almost sweet, especially for the source of it. She stirred slightly in her sleep, rolling to her side and curling against him, wrapping an arm about his waist, burying her face at his side.

Tsk. You should be quiet. You'll wake her up. We wouldn't want that, now would we? He could picture Mala's face perfectly, the words rolling from her mouth as the voice spoke. I'm sure she'd let you. . . well, no need to be crude, really. Sighing, he tried his best to slip from the bed, sliding pillow down to take his place under her arm. Pulling on the first pair of pants at hand, Feren bent low, brushing aside crimson hair to kiss her forehead. "I'll be back," he whispered. Turning, he slipped quietly from the room.

Pala had nodded off briefly downstairs, and he slipped past her, grateful that he didn't have to endure whatever stare she was liable to shoot his way.

He eased himself down in the moist grass beside the pond, tucking the pipe between his lips, and calling flame to the lotus blossom in the bowl. Silently he drew on the sweet smoke, letting the focus fade from his eye, staring at everything and nothing all at once. Violet-gray smoke coiled from his nostrils as he let it escape from his lungs, almost painfully slow. He tugged the small bundle of rose colored feathers from their place in one of his braids, and stared down at them, plucking them one at a time and dropping all save three into the pond.

"One for each of you."

As the lotus smoke slithered into his mind, he murmured into the night air, a breeze stirring as his consciousness slipped from his form, leaving it seated there before the water.

. . . . . . . . .


The bonfire blazed high, a large, dark form at it's center. The voices of the three came to him before his vision adjusted to see them, seated there near the flames. The youngest of the three was the first to see him, hopping up and moving over to him with a bright smile. Mala, it was his sister, as he knew her in childhood, before her fall. "You came to see us!"

"Tsh," the eldest clicked her tongue. Again it was Mala, covered in her myriad scars, older, and bitter, but still unmistakably her. "Of course he did, the fool is just as stuck with us as we are with him." A frown crossed the younger's face, but she led him to sit near them by the fire.

The last of the three almost seemed to coo, she was neither young nor old, a female Tauren in the prime of her life. A few scars marred her hide, but they served only to add to her beauty. She too was also Mala, but something about her caused something utterly primal to stir at the core of Feren's being. "We're only stuck if we see this as some sort of. . . punishment." The word played on her tongue in all the wrong ways, and Feren shivered as a result.

Sighing, he shook his head, and looked to the three aspects before him. Each clearly a part of his sister, yet all three were completely their own being. He understood why she was so disturbed in life. "It's neither a punishment, nor a blessing. It just /is/. You three are the price I paid to lay my sister to rest."

All three, each in their own way, glanced toward the fire, sadness seeming to pass from one to the next, as they spoke in unison, "We know."

It was the crone who spoke, "What then, would you rid yourselves of us? Cast us off like you did her?" She spit bitterly. The child shrunk back at her words, offering her own, "Of course not. He loved us. What he did, it wasn't anymore his fault than ours."

Watching the maiden move was both terrifying and thrilling at the same time, she seethed with confidence as she crouched low in front of him, brushing the side of his face, curling her thumb into the open hollow of his right eye. "He loved you, he never really knew us."

Feren swallowed, unable to move really, held firmly in place by that single digit as it locked into the socket of his eye with terrible familiarity. "I couldn't know her, what had been done to her, she. . . I--"

She twisted her wrist, just enough to dig her finger into the still tender flesh there. "Shhhh, we know. We've all heard you beg her to forgive you for what happened to us."

The child winced, and moved forward to carefully pull the hand away from his face. "He's done what he thinks is right. Can't we just help him?"

"Help /him/? Ha!" The crone shifted in her spot by the fire, eyes staring at the form within it. "He killed us, burned our body into the earth. Murdered our child and his. Why should we help him with anything?"

"So all of us can be free of this?" The child's eyes moved from the crone, to Feren, and back. "Surely you'd rather that, than be confined here."

The maiden purred audibly, bending to kiss Feren, staring into his eye. "I don't know, there's fun to be had here. . . He just needs to let us play."

Blinking, he twisted away from her kiss, and pushed her back. "None of you are her. You're the twisted remains of her memory. You're hate made real."

The hatred in the crone's glare almost felt hot, "See? He'd banish us to some. . . limbo, given half a chance." Her eyes darted to the other two. "He--"

"No!" Feren stood, slamming a hoof violently to the ground, cracks spreading from it, a low rumble, like thunder, filling the air. All three of them remained dead still where they stood or sat, watching him carefully.

"Listen, all of you. I came here to see if some sort of. . . agreement could be reached. If, perhaps, there was something that we could offer to one another, rather than you three struggling for control, and fighting with each other, while I slowly destroy my body with that damned flower in an attempt to block you out."

He sighed, shaking his head, ". . . but you won't have any of that, will you? You'd rather I kill myself slowly, taking you with me, than try for any hope of peace for the four of us."

They stared in shock, none of them uttering a word.

"If that's how you'll have it, so be it. . ." He turned, moving away from the fire.

. . . . . . . . .

Blinking, he shook his head to clear his vision. His pipe lay spent in his hand, resting against his leg. He still held the trio of rose colored feathers. The sun had just barely begun to light the sky behind him. Rising, he moved for the Inn, and his room.

Carefully, he slipped into bed once more, cradling her sleeping form against him as he did so. "Feren, W..what?" She murmured, still mostly asleep.

"Shh, go back to sleep." He kissed the top her her head, and closed his eye with a sigh. For now, they were quiet, and he was going to take the rest while he could. . .

It had been less than a week since he'd stopped smoking the Lotus, a choice he made so that he could (he hoped) better help Nirani break her own habit to the potent flower. He'd spent most of the time holed away in his room in Pala's inn, slipping out only late at night for a stroll around the bluffs, even then, only when the chatter of his guild had fallen silent for the evening.

Unfortunately his body's addiction to the sickly sweet smoke was the least of his worries, /they/ were are far greater concern. For the most part, they were quiet when he was around her these days, save for moments of. . . faltering control, but that was another matter really. Some evenings, they were totally silent while he lay there half asleep.

Today. . . was not one of those days. The three of them screamed, railed, and roared in his head, and it was starting to feel like his skull was about to split. His body shook, almost violently, a plea for him to succumb to the addiction. It was painful, at best, at times flaring to such a debilitating level that he doubled over, holding his stomach. Feren was glad Nirani had left to tend to whatever it was she did during the day, he didn't want anyone to find him in this state. Pain twisted his stomach, and he stumbled from the bed onto to fall to all fours, vomiting onto the floor. Arms trembling, his head swam, and he blacked out, the twisted laughter of the crone the last thing he heard as the world went dim around him.

... ... ...

See the trouble that stupid Troll's causing? You deserve this pain.

I don't know, if he'd let us play more, I'm sure we could make her worth this pain and more.

Both of you shut up! Can't you tell he's in trouble? We should help him!

He's not in trouble yet, young one. . .

... ... ...

The smell of moss and earth filled his nose, and he pushed himself up with a groan. His body ached, like he'd been fighting. He coughed and spit, a coppery taste in his mouth, the spit on the ground rust colored before it had even taken up the dirt. He rolled back onto his haunches, rubbing his face and twisting his legs from under his body. "Where the Fel am I?"

A silver eye cast up and about, thickly leaved trees spread above him, cool night air filled his lungs. Somewhere in Ashenvale was his guess. He sighed and looked around. One of his packs lay nearby, as did his axe, light from the small campfire glinted off of something thick and dark on the blade's edge. His stomach twisted, and he turned in time to wretch its contents away from the fire, several bits of something thick and heavy landed with dull splats in the pool of bile and other fluids. Meat, raw, apparently. He wiped at his mouth, nothing not only the fresh fluid it left on his hand, but the dried, red flakes that came from it. "What...?"

He looked around, eye finally coming to rest on the smaller, curled up form nearby. Violet skin and the delicate frame pegged it as a Night Elf. He half crawled over, grabbing her shoulder to roll her back, cold dead flesh protested, rigor mortis had started to set in. With some force, he uncoiled the body from itself. The elf's chest was in ruins, ribs bent and cracked, spread open, both inward and outward. The face was twisted in pain, tears had stained the dirt on her cheeks. His world swam briefly as his eye looked down into the wound. He closed his eye, holding his head a moment. "Empty..."

Feren let himself look again, his first glance had been right. the cavity was empty. The heart, pieces of the lungs and other organs were torn out. Bile rose in his throat, and he turned, gagging, but not retching this time. The crone's laughter filled his ears.

Poor stupid thing should have stayed in the shadows.

Mmm, I don't know, she seemed to enjoy when we-

"Shut up!" He beat at his head with a fist, drawing blood; he was wearing his armor, he hadn't noticed until he felt his gauntlet strike the side of his head.

He stood, and looked about. Grabbing the body, he threw it into the small campfire. He murmured a request to the fire, asking it to consume the elf. He grabbed his pack, closed his eye, and called on wind to return him to the Bluffs.

He sighed, looking down at the sleeping form beside him. Lightly he let his fingers rest on the cuts on her leg, already scabbed over and well on the way to being healed; Trollish regeneration had always been somewhat fascinating for him. His eye wandered to the cuts near her collarbones, a shiver crept through him at the thought of the cuts he couldn't see as she lay there asleep.

We'll have to test the limits of that regeneration sometime. I bet she'd make the most wonderful no- His sister's voice cooed in his ear, far too pleased with itself.

"Don't push it, or this will be the first and last time." Feren could almost see the pout on the Maiden's face, but she kept quiet and slipped back from his consciousness. He bent to kiss the cuts on her leg as he slipped from beside her, going to fish through his things. Moving toward the window, he'd stuffed several lotus petals into the pipe and called fire to them before reaching it. Drawing slowly on the burning flower, he leaned out, exhaling the thick sweet smoke, relaxing as it quieted his mind.

He'd have to talk to RedEarth, hopefully before she opted to bury a dagger between his ribs. He wasn't sure what exactly Nirani had told her, but it was better to assume the worst.

As much as Feren loathed the idea of feeding his addiction to the lotus flower, he also knew he couldn't let himself slip like that again. It wasn't so much that it was a Night Elf, he'd killed them before, for self-defense, or other reasons. It was what he /did/ that troubled him. After he'd run from the scene of his crime, the Crone had goaded the Maiden into showing him just what had taken place before he'd turned the Night Elf's chest to ruin. A shudder rippled through him, and he drew again on the pipe, sighing out the smoke through his nostrils.

He stood there, quietly smoking black lotus petals, and staring down over the Mulgore plains, or what he could see of them from the Inn atop the Bluffs. Behind him, Nirani slept, probably as peacefully as she had in several days, while body took to mending the series of lines he'd cut into it. The trio of voices in his mind all sat silent, a thick haze from the smoke, and the satisfaction of the deal one of them had made keeping them at bay for now.

Feren buried his muzzle in the hollow of Nirani's neck, the top of it brushing against the symbol for An'she carved into the skin there. Her fingers played against a matching symbol, that for Mu'sha, on his neck, as they sat there quietly. "I don't want Red's help in this. If something happens..."

"Shh." She placed her palm over his muzzle to quiet him. "You'll be fine, this will go smoothly, and will be over sooner than you think."

He smiled at her and kissed her hand, "I've put it off long enough, let's hope so. . ."

. . .

They were all three gathered about the bonfire in the clearing where so many of their 'conversations' took place within Feren's consciousness. The eldest glanced sidelong as she saw Feren come into view, eyes narrowing suspiciously at him as she spit into the flames. The maiden absently hummed a tune to herself, catching neither Feren nor the eldest' reaction to him. The youngest aspect of his sister smiled in greeting, Brother Ren!

Crouching down behind the youngest of the three, Feren embraced her and leaned in, whispering to her. "I need you to listen to me very carefully. I need you to run. To hide from me and from them for a while, off into the dark. If you are called, do not come, you'll now when it's safe to return." He turned her muzzle gently to face him, "Do you understand me?"

She nodded, worry playing across her features. Looking from him to the other two nearby she rose, and turned to hug Feren tightly. Be careful... she's fast.

Feren kissed the top of her head and slipped himself free of her, watching as she slipped away into the darkness away from the fire. His muscles tensed as he turned toward the remaining two, with a roar and a flash of movement, his hoof came crashing to the earth, the ripple of the shock-wave dizzying and disorienting them both. Moving swiftly he struck the eldest across the back of her skull, her eyes rolling up as unconsciousness took her and she slumped to the ground.

The maiden was shaking off the confusion and moving toward him, What did you d--?

His legs pushed him from beside the eldest' prone form toward the maiden with the full force of his weight as he drove her to the ground, pinning her arms at her sides. "I'm going to make myself /very/ clear."

What the Fel are you doing? Let me up... She struggled under him, but couldn't force his weight off of her.

Firelight danced along the cutting edge of the dagger's blade as Feren brought it around from it's sheath. "From here on out, should you not wish a similar fate to hers," he motioned to the eldest, "you will do as /I/ say, not the other way around." His eye narrowed and flame leapt to the blade itself, singing some of the fine fur of her face as he brought it close to her right eye. "Your actions will mirror mine, just as you will mirror me."

Wha-? An earsplitting scream ripped from her lungs and her eyes went wide as Feren drove the searing blade of the dagger into her right eye, twisting it within the socket to completely destroy the eye there. He winced, as he kept the blade pinioned in the socket. "Have I made myself abundantly clear?"

. . .

His body jerked, a sweat having broken out over him shortly after he'd entered the trance. Thick, black blood welled his right eye socket, his jaw clenched from the pain.

. . .

Shuttering, panting, the maiden spoke. Y... Yes.

"Good." He withdrew the blade and pushed himself away from her. "Now go from here, only return when you're called."

Standing, she closed a hand over the seeping, burned and ruined eye socket, and nodded, slipping away without protest into the dark.

A low, guttural sound built behind him. Turning, Feren found the eldest crouched low, scar riddled hide tight over ready muscles, a dagger to match his own clutched in her hand. She leapt as he came to face him, roaring as she drove forward with the dagger.

The two Tauren forms met with momentous force, the sick wet sound of blades into flesh harmonizing as both blades found purchase at the same time. They stood there, in a mock embrace, hands growing wet with blood, hilts pressed harshly against the flesh, blades driven though lungs and pointed toward hearts. Both shuddered, gasped, and chocked back blood, staring at the other.

The world swam, wind howled and extinguished the bonfire. Darkness enveloped them, and all went still.

. . .

Nirani had slipped herself behind and beneath Feren, cradling his upper body in her lap, a fistful of bandage pressed against the seeping eye socket. He jerked, almost knocking her away, and coughed, a gout of blood splashing her face.

. . .

Panic had passed and Nirani knelt against Feren's body. He'd stopped breathing when the blood came up. She'd called on the spirits with a fury that surprised even her and with their aid and that of some forcibly administered potions, his breathing had resumed. She could not, however, manage to stir him from his state. He lay there, right eye socket clotted with thick, black, blood, mouth splashed with crimson, his breathing rhythmic and slow, but steady at least.

The leather and metal of his armor groaned as he stood, straightening out. At his feet what remained of the boar's carcass was already being covered up by the ever shifting ochre sands of the Hellfire Peninsula. Deftly he cleaned his skinning blade, and packed away the leather and meat before setting his pack down. A sigh slipped from him as he tugged off his helm, the wind catching his braids and whipping them about his face for a few moments.

He stared around the desert-like landscape. How many months . . . ? He had come here almost immediately after his re-awakening, when his will was returned to him along with so many other death knights, not bothering to even venture too far. He did little of importance here; he hunted, skinned and tanned the hides, gathered meat, and mostly used it to pay his stay in Thrallmar.

Was he hiding?

Feren shook his head. No . . . It wasn't hiding, inasmuch just being away. He wasn't sure if it was just being here, instead of on Azeroth, but it was so solitary here. The constant howling of the otherworldly wind made it supremely easy to block everything else out. When he slept, it was as the sleep of the dead. No dreams, no whispers, no spirits from his past.

It was, however, time to go back. There were those he owed... something to, if not an apology, perhaps an explanation?

... ... ...

Silence. So much silence.

Coming back through the Dark Portal, he assumed the silence was the fault of the rift in the land there. He rode through the Blasted Lands to Stonard, and then flown to Grom'Gol to catch the zeppelin back to Kalimdor. Arriving in Orgrimmar, he still heard nothing, so he walked back to his homeland of Mulgore.

Sure, he heard the commotion of the people he passed, and the beasts near and far, but the world was silent. All that he used to know and hear intimately, the wind, the life of the land, was mute to him. It made sense, he supposed, no longer having his shamanic ties to the land, to Her. He could still see the Earthmother in the flow of things, An'She and Mu'Sha circling through the sky, but it was all so disconnected from what he had known before.

His hand had wandered up to the empty, glowing, right eye socket. Certainly not the worst reward I've gotten for my choices.

... ... ...

The life of the land made him itch. On some very fundamental level Feren knew that he didn't really belong in Mulgore, not anymore. His heart did not beat. He only really breathed out of habit, or to speak. All the life of his homeland rankled against his undead form.

... ... ...

Convincing Kauth to let him have at his former room had been trying. Eventually the innkeeper let him in to gather what things he'd left there, and then asked him to leave. There were enough of his kind going in and out of Bloodhoof that he did not get looked at too strangely, but the attitudes of the Tauren toward the former slaves of Arthas were far from kind.

... ... ...

Kauth had been difficult, Atepa had been nearly impossible to convince. It had been Pala, of all people, who's word convinced the banker to let him at his stored items, though she would scarcely look Feren straight on, and refused to listen to his thanks.

Pala did, however, allow him a room at the Inn, and while curt, he trusted her response of "Fine" to his request that she not let anyone know that he was there, for now.

... ... ...

Feren stared at the tabard, brushing it between his thumb and fingers. It wasn't regret that he felt, he wasn't really sure he /felt/ much, actually; perhaps it was merely obligation. He had fathered the guild, at the very least, he owed it to Red Earth to explain why he made his choice, though he wasn't sure he knew that himself.

Fishing out several sheafs of parchment from his pack he sat to pen a few notes, idly scratching at an intricate scar carved into the flesh of his neck. . .