All that you can’t leave behind

silverwing

I stopped at Silverwind Refuge after I left Demon Fall Canyon, and left orders for Captain Tarkan to blanket the zone with as many scouting teams as he could pull together. I’ll send word over to Hellscream’s Watch to send out air patrols as well to watch the borders, but I can’t imagine that last human could keep traveling at much of a pace. Not if he’s as injured as he had to be, and not if he’s weighed down by carrying…never mind. Point is, I’ll be surprised if he’s not still in Ashenvale somewhere.

Grebo’s a whole other matter. He could be anywhere. So next up is an alert to all the border patrols. Notices to all the outpost commanders. Who to look for, and where he was last seen, and setting a messenger network to warn all the nearby stations if he’s spotted anywhere, in case he gets away again.

See. I’m staying on top of this. Doing the job. Keeping my mind on the job. Checking off all the boxes, hitting all the right protocols. Textbook.

Not letting myself think about that sound, from Grebo’s axe. Or of Lakkara crying out. Or how 99 times out of 100 I would never, ever let my back get turned to an oncoming enemy like that. Not going to think about all the ways I would usually square my body and turn to meet him and not give anybody else a chance to get close.

And I’m not letting myself start thinking about what they want with her. Why they would take her. Or who they even are. Or the fact that the last dead body they took an interest in was Grebo himself.

And I’m not thinking about that damn Demon Fall Canyon, that spirits-forsaken place that’s orphaned me twice now, on the exact same spot. Or how beautiful it’ll all look covered in bright, cleansing flames.

I’m not thinking about any of that at all.

I have work to do.

 

 

[Header image provided by Rioriel from Postcards From Azeroth, reproduced here with permission and many thanks. Click here to see the souped-up Postcard version!]

When a good orc goes to war
Because I'm a glutton for punishment
 

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