He knew it had been a bad idea to wander so far North. The Alterac mountains had been terrible enough. When they wandered into Tirisfal Glades, over and over June had told Garron to turn back.
Maybe he should have stayed in Southshore and let Garron go alone. Maybe then he wouldn't be hiding meters away from the festering graveyard, watching as the walking dead threw bodies on a bonfire. Maybe he too wouldn't be rotting alive from disease.
But Garron couldn't be abandoned. The Alliance did try to protect their people, but they could also be cruel to the people. Garron had spent most of his life in isolation because of the shadows he saw. He might have been branded mad, or even worse, a heathen.
Drawing his knees to his chest, June didn't feel so regretful. Perhaps it was better that Garron not live. He could rest in peace now. No more waking nightmares of shadows. No more fighting that he never understood. Yes, it was best that Garron had left this world.
But where did that leave June? He was now alone in the middle of Horde territory, and no matter how hard he tried, none of his magics would cure the festering disease he had contracted.
An Orcish exclamation startled the young priest. He froze, at first believing that he had been discovered; but when he found himself still alive after about twenty seconds, he peaked around the tree towards the gathered undead. The pile was gone; those who lived here before the plague and Garron were all gone. Beyond the fire, there was a group standing in a circle, clamoring over something.
"Why can't they speak common," June anxiously whispered. They were human once; shouldn't they know their own language?
"Rady Hearer makes id dhad way."
June could barely keep himself from shrieking in surprise when he received the answer. He looked up and stared confusedly at the large body looming over him. "Garron?" he murmured in confusion, then blinked hard. "Y-You're… alive?"
"Dey sed I god da prague," Garron replied while sitting down with a confused expression. "Rady Hearer deaches Orcish so we be friends wid Horde, since ours won'd have us."
June stared confusedly at Garron. He now had the aura of the rest of the Undead, and yet he wasn't vicious, nor did he seem to care about his condition. Aside from signs of festering, the only change seemed to be that his speaking was even less refined than it was before. "You're… one of them?" June asked shakily, tears welling in his eyes.
No heaven. No peaceful rest. Garron was worse off now than he was before. Why, oh, why hadn't he convinced the warrior to turn back?
"Guess," Garron replied slowly. "We're stirr friends, righd?"
June blinked confusedly. "Garron, don't you understand? You're one of them now. They'll kill me. And the Alliance will kill both of us."
"Dey sed you cou' sday," Garron replied childishly. "Dey sed you're nod rike odders now."
"Drec ec ouin vea'ht?"
This time June couldn't control himself and shrieked as he jumped up.
"Waid, June!" Garron cried while grabbing his wrist, and then stood up and looked at the three undead that had approached. "Oac. Rec hyda ec June." He looked at his friend. "Dey jud wand do no if you're my friend."
"You speak Orcish?" June cried frantically.
"Rady Hearer daughd me," he replied insistently. "Don'd go. Prease?"
"Hu tu'ipd. Ra fyc y rid'yh," the priest that had approached muttered. "Ra'c y crnea'gehk, pisp'mehk edeud."
"What did he say?" June asked frantically as the other two undead laughed.
Garron sighed. "Dryd'c hud hera," he said to the three, and then looked at June. "Dey'r jud deasing," he replied. "Don'd be mad."
"Don't be mad?" June cried. "They're laughing because they're gonna…"
"Sirence, foorish boy," the priest snapped while approaching, and stared him fiercely in the eye. His comrades appeared to be surprised by his use of common language.
"Y-You understand?" June asked frantically.
"One-dime offer," he replied. "You are diseased bud wirr nod die. I dake care of deh wounds so you do nod fesder do nodhing if you are wirring to join our peopre."
June stared at him. "Become one of you?" he demanded.
"You never wirr be ours," the undead snapped. "You join 'tirr deadh finds you. If nod, redurn do Arriance and face dhem as a draidor. A headhen." He looked to Garron for a moment, and then returned his gaze back to June. "Wirr you reave him arone? Wirr you reave dis pup among worves?"
"Pup?" Garron asked with confusion.
"Or wirr you dake dis chance do be rearn dhe drue hisdory behind our peopre?"
June stared confusedly at the priest, slowly translating the strangely accented common language. He looked to Garron, who was watching now with an expectant smile. That same, childish smile he always had while alive. Then he looked to the new undead that had gathered about them. None of them were remotely friendly looking. How long would Garron last among them? Or would they completely change him, breaking down the barrier of humanity that kept his animalistic side dormant?
The thought of his Garron being anything but what his spirit was sickened June. He had heard of deserters of the Alliance, but never was he able to understand why it happened. Was this it? For the sake of friends and loved ones?
Very slowly June reached his festering arm forward. "Deal," he said reluctantly as the priest gripped his hand firmly.
"Adda boy," the undead replied, grinning crookedly. "Wercome do dhe famiry of undead."
June became nauseous as the undead around them laughed. What had he gotten himself into? But upon finding Garron's face within the crowd again, he realized he hadn't gotten into anything.
He had simply kept his promise not to abandon the young man.
A/N: Just a quick note regarding the language; I sort of cheated on the Orcish thing. Blizzard doesn't appear to have a set lanuage system, so I've used a modified version of another game's uncommon language. Kudos to those who pick up on it. Also, I tried to construct it so that l's and t's are ommitted from accent and language with the undead. A bit weird, but whatever.