Author's Note: Revamp! Most of these are focused on Jama because I ended up getting inspired by exploring her character and I cling to any form of inspiration these days.

My ladies and gents are the only ones that belong to me. If you see a name you recognize, it belongs to Blizzard. Particularly Baine Bloodhoof, who I am stealing for a while 'cause I like him. I shall put him gently back into canon safe and unharmed. Although he probably won't stay that way with Sylvanas around. Bitch.

If you cannot get rid of the family skeleton, you may as well make it dance.

-George Bernard Shaw

Thousand Needles, many years ago

The shadows were starting to grow over Darkcloud Pinnacle. The late afternoon painted the towering spires of Thousand Needles with red and orange, giving the shaman some fading light with which to finish his work.

Van Grimtotem watched silently as the shaman prepared his brother's body. Guilt and sorrow threatened to rise up in him again and he quashed both useless emotions down determinedly.

The shaman stepped back, studying the decorated hide he had wrapped around Merle before placing him on the funeral pyre. The old tauren shook his head with visible regret. "Such a waste of so much talent. Stormsong himself was interested in taking care of his training."

Indeed, it was one of the only reasons he'd allowed Merle short visits to Thunder Bluff. He had no worries of it tainting his brother as long as the Elder Crone and her people were with him to remind him of what real tauren were like. One of his real mistakes had been allowing Jama to go as well.

The shaman's expression hardened and he said, almost as if he heard Van's thoughts, "Has there been any sign of your sister?"

"I have no sister," Van rumbled, rage twisting through him. "She lost the right to that title the moment my brother's blood stained her hands."

"She will pay," the shaman assured him. "She cannot expect to elude justice for long. Merle was favored by the elements, by the Earthmother herself. She will not escape retribution."

Van grunted in agreement and nodded curtly, turning to leave the shaman to his final preparations. Merle would be honored with a ceremony before they lit the flame beneath him. He had every intention of making sure he stood as a symbol to the rest of the tribe.

The shaman turned back to the pyre, glad to feel a breeze sweeping over the pinnacle. He could even see dark, brooding clouds coming from the direction of Feralas, as if the sky itself was angered by the death. He couldn't think of a better sendoff or a more dramatic way to mark a young shaman's death.

The wind whistling through the peaks around them, making wood rattle and leather flap noisily all helped mask the sound of a body not used to stealth creeping up behind him. The shaman finally registered he wasn't alone but it was already too late. The blunt end of a small axe crashed against the back of his head, once, twice, and he dropped like a stone to the ground.

The tall figure, black against evening sky, stepped over him and laid a trembling hand on top of Merle's body. Jama glanced around to make sure the alarm hadn't been raised yet and got to work pulling the body off of the platform, grunting softly as she hefted him, half dragging, half carrying him to the edge. It was quick work to secure the ropes she'd brought around him and fashion a crude pulley using the edge of the pinnacle and part of the pyre the shaman had built. She carefully pushed the body over the edge, digging her hooves into the ground to counteract the weight and gently starting to lower the body, going as fast as she dared. Someone would notice the guard she had knocked out to get up into the village soon enough, but this part of Darkcloud Pinnacle was far from the ramps leading up and she was pretty sure no one would suspect right off who had crept into their sanctuary and why. She considered it a blessing no one had come so far.

She couldn't lower him all the way to the ground from this point, of course, but the rope was long enough she could get him a good distance. When she reached the very end of it, she murmured an apology to her brother and let go, allowing his body to fall the rest of the way, glad she didn't have to hear the sound of him hitting the ground.

Jama made sure the remaining rope was very secure and grabbed hold of it, rappelling down the sheer sandstone face of the spire, her hooves scraping over the stone. Getting up one of the spires was next to impossible. Getting down, on the other hand…

When she reached the end of the rope, she reached into the pack at her waist and pulled out a pure white feather, saying a quick prayer to the Earthmother before gripping the feather and waiting for the feeling of lightness to flow through her limbs. Then she let go.

The height wasn't quite enough to kill her outright if she'd truly fallen, but it was definitely high enough it would have done her some serious damage. The enchanted feather…one of the many things she had purchased without her elder brother's knowledge…slowed her fall, allowing her to sink to the ground not far from where Merle's body had landed. She tucked the feather away and moved, grateful to see he had landed on an outcropping. It made getting his body to the ground a little harder but it also meant he wasn't too damaged. A few rope tricks and some time later, she was securing him to a small wheeled carrier she'd borrowed.

Jama cast one more glance upward, thinking she could hear an all too familiar bellow of rage, and hurried off into the dusk, pulling the cart along behind her.

She had to light a torch, both to keep away predators looking for an easy meal and to give her light to work. Jama was a shadow amongst shadows as she created a crude pyre using rocks, wood, and hide she had stretched and tanned herself. It was dark and her hair and coat were streaked with sweat. She had a healthy coating of dust and sand by the time Merle's body was settled atop the pyre. She shivered in the breeze sweeping the canyon as she gazed down at the cut she had made in the leather wrap so she could see his face.

He wasn't all black like Van and Jama were. Even when he'd first been born, his coat was marked with swirls of grey and spatters of black over grey. At first, there had been rumblings from the other Grimtotems that he was deformed or cursed in some way, but as Merle had grown up and it became obvious he was blessed with strong ties to the elements, they had changed to assurances that he was marked as special. Van in particular often declared his younger brother was destined for great things.

It was one of the few things Jama had agreed with him about.

Tears cut tracks along her dusty muzzle and she swiped at them, drawing in a shuddering breath, unable to hold back the tide of emotions anymore.

She had been the one they muttered about. She was the one who only had a steady eye and a good shot to offer the tribe. It was always Jama who fought with Van. Jama who snuck away when she was supposed to be practicing. Jama who got her brother into trouble. Jama who didn't show respect for the Elder Crone.

Jama who had killed her brother.

She had to reluctantly give the Hag all points for being fast on the uptake. The second Jama had gathered her wits about her after she had run away, she had headed to Thunder Bluff, fully intending to tell someone…anyone…that Magatha not only knew every damn thing that went on at every Grimtotem outpost, she was the driving force behind them. It had been naïve on her part to an embarrassing level, a fact hammered home to her by the sideways glances she had gotten when she arrived. She would have chalked that one up to the fact everyone kept an eye on a Grimtotem tauren- as well they should -until Magatha herself had cornered her, sadly condemning her for murdering Merle and making comments about how she, Jama, had always been jealous of him. She'd left soon after, not caring if it made her look guilty. She had no proof, and no standing whatsoever to refute Magatha's claims and she didn't doubt the longer she lingered the more likely it was she would have someone from the tribe coming after her. That mixture of smugness and anger in Magatha's eyes told her that clearly.

She might already have had a terrible 'accident', like her parents, long ago if it weren't for her brothers. Van had never allowed her to be killed because he insisted he could bring her around, the same way their father had insisted he could bring their mother around to the proper Grimtotem way of thinking. Van had defended her out of pride, but Merle…he had always done it out of love. Jama was the one who got them into trouble; Merle was the one that got them out of it.

Jama piled up wood beneath the pyre and stood for a moment, rocking back and forth, tears running freely from her eyes, her ears flat against her head. She made herself light the torch but found herself unable to put it to the wood. She tried to tell herself this was what Merle would have wanted. It was why she'd risked so much to get his body away from Van, unable to bear the idea of Merle being used as a symbol for something he hadn't believed in. That was what had finally caused Van to snap, she knew. It hadn't been the fact Jama was defying him, it was that she had swayed- at least in Van's eyes –Merle away from his rightful path.

He'd loved this spot, right at the point where the rocky heights of Thousand Needles gave way to the vast expanse of the Shimmering Flats. They'd snuck out often to travel over that fascinating plain, stopping by to watch the races on the Mirage Raceway. They'd even made it as far as Tanaris once. But something about the Shimmering Flats had fascinated Merle in a way she had never quite understood. The deserts had called to him. Sometimes he would stand outside the hut they shared with Van back in their village, facing the direction of Tanaris, his face raised to the wind, listening to it in a way only he and his kind could.

She finally dug up the courage to put the torch to the kindling beneath the pyre and watched it blaze up, climbing up and up to consume the pyre and the body upon it. The blaze might attract centaurs and most certainly would attract any Grimtotem that might be tracking her, but she didn't care. She'd accomplished what she had set out to do. Merle wouldn't be set up before the rest of the Grimtotem tribe for Magatha to intone something stirring and dramatic over. His ashes would rise to the sky and fall to the ground of his favorite spot in the wilds he loved so much.

Jama dropped the torch, raising her hands to her muzzle as a sob tore from her, giving voice to the terrible pain that had ripped through her heart from the moment Merle had stepped in front of her. Van's roars of rage, the pain in her head from when he'd thrown her across the room and the ice cold knowledge that her brother truly and finally meant to kill her had fogged her mind up enough it had taken her one long, horrible moment to realize what had happened.

"W-why did you do it, Merle?" she whispered hoarsely, closing her eyes. "It was going to be me. It should have been me. You shouldn't be here."

She had been going over the what ifs and should haves and if onlys in her head over and over. If only she had been able to keep her temper, if only she had simply agreed with Van's declaration to marry her off to one of Arnak's allies and snuck off quietly. She should never have snapped back at Van, their tempers sparking off each others' and creating a blaze. Then Merle wouldn't have had to step in between them yet again. He might not have tried to reason with Van, trying to make him understand he could not accept the idea that the tauren were the only real race that belonged on Kalimdor. That he couldn't stand behind the raids, the plots, the vicious attacks on other children of the Earthmother.

And oh, she shouldn't have taunted Van after Merle said that. It had been what had tipped him over the edge. The fact he'd never been able to fully bring his sister under control had been maddening to Van and the idea of both of them slipping from his grasp had driven him into new heights of rage. She'd seen it in his eyes as he had started throwing things, crashing through the lodge, picking up anything heavy; in the way he'd focused on her, seizing a spear leaning against the wall, all his anger picking her for a target. He might have regretted killing her later, but he had every intention of doing so.

Even now, Jama didn't know what Merle had been thinking. She wasn't sure Merle knew what he was going to do. It had simply been in his nature to step in to protect his little sister even though Van was clearly out of control. She only knew he'd dragged her up and pushed her toward the door. She didn't know…would never know…if Van had been swinging at her and Merle had gotten in the way or if Van had actually driven the spear into their brother. She remembered the look of horror on Van's face that probably matched her own but it was far too late. Van was a mighty warrior and that blow had been meant to be fatal. It had run Merle straight through.

And she…she had run. Crazy with grief and fear as Van and some of his friends had gathered, she had run like a coward. The fact it had most certainly saved her life didn't make the act any less cowardly.

Jama sank to her knees and wept as her brother's body burned. "Big brother to the very end. It sh-shouldn't have been you. Not you. You were the one that was s-special. You were the one who was going to do great things. I was proud of that, Merle…so proud of you. I was. You shouldn't have died for me."

She knelt there, even as the fire raged and consumed, not moving even when there was nothing left but ashes stirring in the winds, half praying some predator would come along and kill her. There was a terrible symmetry to that idea.

The wind swirled around her suddenly as if angered by her thoughts and a rumble of thunder high above her had her lifting her head. She shivered as the wind, cooled by the night, ruffled her hair and fur. For an instant, she thought she heard a whisper on the wind. It was her imagination, had to be. She'd never heard the spirits speak to her…

It came again. She was sure her ears weren't playing tricks on her this time. A whisper on the wind, the last word Merle had uttered before he died.

Her name.

Jama lifted her face as the storm opened up, rain pouring down on her, soaking her. She wasn't sure if she was laughing or sobbing or a crazy mixture of both. "Big bossy brother to the very end. You're right. You're right…" She stumbled to her feet, watching the rain wash away the last of Merle's ashes, swallowing hard. Her brother had given his life to save hers, right or wrong. Just lying down and giving everything up was an insult to him and all he had stood for.

She lifted her face to the rain again, feeling it pound down, little spikes of coldness that now felt invigorating.

She and Merle had both loved storms. He always said he felt cleansed after standing in one and for the first time she truly understood what she meant.

Her mind turned, working more clearly than it had in days. She couldn't go back to Thunder Bluff and she couldn't stay in Thousand Needles. She didn't have anything resembling the power required to take down Magatha and Van and the rest of the Grimtotem clan, but that didn't mean she couldn't find ways to work against them. And one day…

Jama shivered, realizing for the first time exactly how big the world was beyond the lands she'd grown up in. There were so many places she'd heard of, but it had never occurred to her that she might see them. It was terrifying…and exhilarating.

Counseling herself that she would need to be very careful, she turned in the direction of the Shimmering Flats, finding it fitting to start by heading in the direction. She'd done odd jobs here and there for the people at the Mirage Raceway. That seemed as good a place to start as any.

Jama Grimtotem closed her eyes and took a deep breath, starting for the path that would take her out of Thousand Needles and into the world.