"Much of our behavior is merely an attempt to seek warmth."
Embers broke off of the firewood and flitted up into the air. There was no breeze on the edge of Runewood - at least, not any movement of air pressure he could feel. Yet the embers still floated away from the fire, twirling and dancing and marking little red trials in the darkness as he watched with his comrades. It was almost hypnotic.
He stirred, shifting on the rock he'd dig up to sit on as he ate. The roasted boar shank tingled in his mouth with its heat as if answering his statement in the affirmative.
Straight across from him, she watched. They mostly ate in silence, enjoying the crackling of the fire between them and the brief respite it provided from the clamor of his squad's woodland camp. Still, he could tell that she was about to challenge him. He knew her too well.
"Some people prefer colder climates," she replied after chewing more of the succulent meat. "Look at the Frostwolves."
The way her eyebrows arched was less mischevious than usual. Perhaps she was just arguing for the sake of arguing. He didn't mind. "Putting politics aside...even they seek warmth. Their homeland was known as 'Frostfire' for a reason. Their camps were known for the bonfire in the center, just like ours."
She hasn't finished yet, to his delight. "That's only one aspect of life. Some people like other things cold: their food, a dip in a cold lake...their burrow."
He noticed how her lip curled up over her lower canines at the last comment. If she was enjoying this more than he was, then he'd feel jealous. Their third wheel, the most educated of the goblins, pretended not to be paying attention. But he didn't care - nobody forced her to sit there.
He spoke gradually. "Food creates body heat from digestion; even cold food gives us a warm feeling inside."
"Okay."
"A dip in a cold lake freezes the surface of our skin, but we only know that feeling because it contrasts with the natural body heat inside. Then, when we jump out wrap ourselves up, the usual warmth of bearskin feels all the better..." He forced nonchalance, though he had a feeling she'd see through it. "Especially when skinny dipping."
"Specious, but okay," she laughed. The poor goblin stiffened up and chewed faster in an attempt to block out the conversation.
"As for a cold burrow...nobody wants that. People who go home to an empty bed just say that in denial."
"Well, I'm done! Good night!" Gnugs, their goblin tinker, said while leaving her empty bowl at the campfire unattended.
They both had the common courtesy not to laugh as she hurried back to her sleeping spot beneath a mulberry bush. Once she'd left, the two of them finished their food in relative silence, though most of his other troops hadn't laid down for the evening yet. Consequently, there was a sort of outer barrier of noise around them, and he spent a few moments staring into the fire after their meal in order to take his mind off of the activity to come.
One ember in particular continued to float up and down without actually hitting the ground. Reaching over to the charred grey log it had sparked off from, he held out his big hand and caught the burning flake. As thick as his green skin was, he could still feel the heat on his fingertips as he crushed it.
"This is what all living things fight for...even land is used to create warm spaces to live," he murmured.
He wasn't sure if Ola was still listening since she hasn't finished her food. That was fine; given the pressure he was receiving from all sides, he didn't mind the brief respite.
Briefer than he would have liked.
"Boss," he heard the familiar voice of his cousin say from a part of the camp behind him.
Sighing through his nostrils, he waited for a moment as he tried not to rehash old arguments out of familial respect. When he didn't answer, though, his cousin approached and sat down at the fire. Zyrdax, fresh back from a final cleanup mission on Argus, fidgeted in the spot he'd chosen to sit in. He was clearly irritable and nervous, if still loyal to the chain of command.
Putting diplomacy first, the squad's leader put a hand on Zyrdax's shoulder to reassure the war-hungry grunt. "Our mission is still important," he said quietly, not wanting to reject the request he was expecting in front of the others. "Aunt Greta still needs us on standby for the next week. It has to be done."
Zyrdax bit his lip as if trying very hard to remain quiet, though the younger soldier was simply too jump. "Gutteral, something has come up with Greywatch."
"Half the men and women here have families, Zyrdax."
"But Gutteral-"
"We can take Greywatch, but we'll suffer losses. Our actual mission is just as significant and risks no losses." He turned away from his cousin in an effort to deftly end the conversation. "This tract needs to be defended. We have to be sure that the Alliance doesn't push further than that fort - no more, no less."
"Gutteral, just listen!"
Silence fell over the camp again as a few of his troops took notice of the exchange. He stared at Zyrdax for a few moments, forcing the impatient grunt to look down at the ground deferentially. A subtle glance back at the soldiers in the area sent them back to their business, and he kept quiet without even letting his heart race. He had to maintain order, but at least the upstart was a family member he could push around without causing a grudge.
Once he was sure that his control had been asserted, he turned back to his cousin. "What's this about?" he asked tersely.
For a few seconds, Zyrdax stared at the ground and pouted. The youth had been pushing for a raid on the town all week, but he wasn't the type to beat a dead horse. This must be different.
"We have a situation. There's some lady here at the camp - she's dehydrated and all. Says her man got kidnapped by a bunch of humans."
He leaned in at the same time that Ola did. "Where is she? I didn't hear anything. Did you check her for disguises?"
"Yes-"
"Corruption? Illusion?"
"Yes, she's legit, a Rageroar refugee. And legit freaking out."
"I didn't hear any commotion."
"We found her outside of camp...Gutteral, can you just talk to her?"
He pursed his lips and considered the sudden disturbance. He hadn't faced the issue of lost travelers previously, but he couldn't let on to the troops that he didn't know what to do. "Bring her here, but stand behind her while I talk to her. If she turns out to be a Legion remnant or a turncoat, you take her out fast."
"Gutteral-"
"This is recon, we don't have reinforcements; any risk to any one of us is critical. I give the signal, you strike. Her. Down."
The way he lowered his voice instead of raising it at the last part startled Zyrdax, and his cousin hurried off, garnering a few concerned looks from a few more grunts milling about. Not wanting the rumor mill to start, Gutteral leaned to one side, catching the eye of one of the Tauren. The bull man approached on cue, kneeling down to receive instructions.
"Stand watch at the edge of camp. If anybody follows this wanderer in, of any race or background, kill them on sight and sound the alarm."
"Yes, boss," the furry man replied unquestioningly, swiftly taking his leave.
The camp rustled, and he could faintly hear the sound of voices in the vicinity. If the traveler had been panicked, then the others must have calmed her down by then. Ola remained in her spot across from him, the two of them saying nothing while waiting. Eventually, the sound of sniffling became clearer, and he could see Zyrdax and another grunt leading a diminutive young woman toward his campfire. She didn't appear hurt, but she shook with hunger and wore unwashed clothes.
"Do we have any left?" he asked Ola quietly.
"Yes, we have a bit of bread crust and pheasant gristle left."
"Alright, let's get this to her."
He reached out and scraped the leftovers into a clay bowl, laying it down where he intended to let the visitor sit. Despite being a stranger, she seemed relieved to be there, and most of her tears had dried. "Sit," he ordered, and he didn't have to tell her twice. Her eyes fell to the bowl hungrily. "Eat, and make it fast."
"Thank you so much, mister," she replied with the accent of an uneducated bumpkin.
She practically inhaled the leftover food, and when they gave her fresh water to drink, she began to choke and cough from the speed at which she consumed it all. Gutteral watched in silence, waiting for her to finish; he doubted that he'd get any sleep before this was sorted out.
Once she was finished, he tried to figure her out. "Why are you out here?" he asked.
Still shaking lightly, she appeared to be a disorganized mess both outside and in. "My name is Koleg Mar-"
"Why are you out here?" he asked more insistently.
"I-I, yes. Right. We're Clan Rageroar, what's left of it. We're refugees-"
"Doing what?"
"We're refugees, the Alliance destroyed us."
"Everybody knows that; spirits avenge you. But WHY are you out here?"
The disheveled young woman looked to Ola for support, but found a more outwardly stern expression than what Gutteral was giving her and gave up. "Well, we wanted to settle here," she said with a wavering voice, more from the squad leader's scrutiny than whatever crisis she'd experienced previously. "We were in Valdisdall with the vrykul there, but we heard that Runewood had been claimed for the Horde."
"That was us," Gutteral interjected, "as well as a blood elf contingent. They left to the southwest, though."
Her eyes widened. "You killed the Bone...carvers? Boneweavers? Bone...whisperers?"
"Whatever you call those overgrown humans, yes; we left the children and elderly in custody of the Valarjar emissaries. None of the others were left alive." Her eyes lit up for a moment, but he remained stiff-lipped to quell any false hope. "This isn't a place for civilians. You shouldn't have come here yet."
She looked like he'd slapped her across the face. "But we don't have anywhere to go! Our clan was ravaged by the Alliance! We heard the Broken Isles are unclaimed by either faction! We didn't know there was fighting here."
"Even if decimated, the Rageroar still count in the low dozens; maybe even a hundred. Not all of your remnants could be here."
"No, yes! See, this is the thing!"
"Calm down."
"There was just ten of us; we're trying to start multiple settlements all over. That's when the Gilneans found us!"
"So you ventured into disputed territory with only ten people?" he asked, almost in disbelief.
"No - yes. Please, can't you just listen? They took my friends, my fiancé - all of them are gone. I hid in a log and covered myself in dirt so the wolfmen wouldn't smell me, but the others were taken. Those Gilneans are going to eat them!"
"Worgen don't eat other sentients," he replied, raising a hand when she tried to continue ranting. "Your people tried to find a new home; you failed. That's life. You can stay here with us for three days."
"No!" she wailed.
"Beyond that, we'll do our best to get you back to Valdisdall, provisions and all. You can't stay in a place like that."
"No, please-"
"But we have our orders, and we were specifically told not to engage unless Greywatch attacks our forces first."
"We're citizens!"
"You acted privately, of your own volition, and Warchief Sylvanas isn't responsible for your actions. We can't let open war reignite so soon after the Legion's defeat because of just nine kidnapped travelers."
"Only eight - my fiancé's brother was killed when he tried to fight back!"
At that, Gutteral did pause, but he forced himself to speak lest she continue. "Well...we'll note down the description of these brigands, but we can't hold the whole Alliance responsible for what a handful of criminals have done."
"They were in military uniform!"
"Their commanders may or may not be aware - Zyrdax, get this woman a blanket and a place to sleep."
"Yes, boss," his cousin replied in a firm voice, though disappointment shined in the young man's eyes as he took the wayfarer Koleg by the arm.
"They bore the insignia of the house of Greymane!"
Gutteral snorted through his nose. Subtle, and barely noticeable, but it was enough for Zyrdax to stop in his tracks. Even Ola noticed the slight shift in the usually stoic raider's demeanor, and Gutteral at least had the consolation of knowing that he could still exercise control of his rowdy troops with a simple noise or gesture.
Koleg, for her part, didn't seem reassured, and her face twisted as if she was experiencing an unvoiced panic attack. Zyrdax didn't let go, but he looked at Gutteral as if making one last request.
Not for either of their sakes, but more out of a sense of duty, he waved for his cousin to let the lost traveler go. Koleg slumped down into her sitting spot again, hugging herself and staring at her torn cloth shoes. Zyrdax remained behind her, though by that point, they were all fairly certain that she wasn't a spy or charlatan.
Pulling an unburnt stick from their kindling, Gutteral handed it to the distraught young woman. "Draw it," he ordered.
She looked at the stick in her hands in confusion. "I...huh?"
He worked hard to conceal his apprehension - not at what she'd said, but at the sense of impending overreaction if he'd heard what he thought he had. "Draw the insignia you saw," he ordered in a low voice, frightening her with his tone. Had he yelled, he probably would have unnerved her (and his cousin) less.
"O-okay."
Slowly, Koleg began to cut lines into the dirt around the campfire. She messed up a few times and had to start over, but line by line, curve by curve, she drew a roughly accurate, if crude, insignia worn by members and retainers of the House Of Greymane. By the time she finished, her hands were shaking again.
Ola and Zyrdax continued staring at the insignia for a moment, as did another random grunt passing by. Gutteral, for his part, felt not only anger at what he was seeing, but fear. Fear of losing control, more of himself than his troops. Fear of what he would have to do, and what he would actually do. Fear of his aunt when she learned of what he'd do. Fear of repercussions for their whole family over what he was about to do. Fear that he couldn't stop it all because he was doing the same thing any other hot-blooded soldier would do.
He hummed deep in his throat and continued looking at the insignia even as the others all looked at him. He knew they were wondering what came next even more than he was. He didn't wish for them to suffer the same apprehension he was.
"Zyrdax," he said lowly but firmly. "Get this woman a blanket and a place to sleep. At dawn...we ride."
"Yes, boss," his cousin replied, ushering Koleg away before she could say thank you.
A number of his troops overheard his orders, though the camp thankfully remained quiet. He wanted quiet before the storm he knew would come.
Ola stared at him as the two of them sat for a while longer. The fire crackled and burned, sending more warm embers into the air. The warmth came and went as the flames danced, leaving him with its absence for short periods. He'd have to seek it if he wished to hold onto it.