4.

Vol'jin ran his hand through the bottom of a trench. Light, dry silt flew out from between the cracked arid earth and he sighed. Looking up, he could see water trickling down from on high, sparse and strained. What little did not evaporate in the sweltering desert air seeped into the ground, leaving nothing but a dark wet patch where, once, a great pool had been. A growing crowd mumbled around the troll, drawn to the spectacle of the failing waterfall. It was not long before Thrall arrived at the scene.

Orgrimmar had weathered drought before. In the past, allies, both Tauren and Blood Elf, would ferry fresh water either by sea in great ships or by high mountain road. However, the shoreline was awash with human warships, and Cairne Bloodhoof was away from the capital. It would take some time to get word to Thunder Bluff, and even greater time to receive aid. Even at it's most pitiful, the falls in the Valley of Spirits nearly always held a little water for rationing, but this time, there was none. This situation was far more dire than had been faced before. Something needed to be done - now. Vol'jin came to stand beside his Warchief.

"Bad mojo.", he sighed. "Dis be worse, even den last year.". Behind them, Garrosh Hellscream and Lor'themar Theron had arrived.

"This is troubling indeed.", the Lord Regent spoke, "My ships have been on lock-down since the activity on the shore has increased. I could send out a party, but It would be unlikely that they would return.". Thrall nodded.

"A fortnight, at least, it will take for adequate supply to arrive from Thunder Bluff.", the orc turned, and looked over the faces of the concerned Horde races that were still gathering behind them. "We must plan for the mean time."

"What will you have us do?", Hellscream asked. A long hush fell over the group. Vol'jin could feel the tension mounting, the heat of the mid-day sun burning uncertainty and dread into their hearts, but it was eventually cut through.

"I've got a suggestion!", a little female voice rang out. They raised their heads, and upon a sandstone ledge, Armadda Fellwind sat perched, lounging against a stone, a wide grin upon her face. Voices immediately erupted from the crowd, Orcs and trolls discussing their confusion and surprise within their native tongue, others staring unblinkingly as the little human slid down the cliff to meet the leaders in the basin.

"Armadda?", Thrall did not appear pleased to see her in the open, his face crinkled up in frustration, but he did not send her away. Garrosh bolted forward.

"Who..!?". The Warchief raised his arm to impede the orc's movement. He waited, gruffly, but patiently for her to continue.

"I got folks between here an' Thund'a Bluff. It'll take me three days to ride out, gath'a supplies, and bring them back. Four if we wait much long'a. It won't be nearly enough, but iffin' ya ration, we'll survive.". Thrall turned his gaze on the dried up falls. A single drop took leave from the height, catching the rays of the sun as it fell, like a crystal refracting a rainbow. It landed unceremoniously upon Armadda's face and she brushed it off, annoyed. Even four days was too long.

"Your allies are...?", he began to ask.

"Human, mostly.", she finished for him. Vol'jin was not aware of any Horde-friendly humans on Kalimdor. The Tauren kept unusual friends at times, but even they would not hide humans in secret.

"This is ridiculous! We can't trust her!", Garrosh growled furiously. "We can't let humans so willingly into Orgrimmar! This is the perfect opportunity to attack!". The young orc was growing more agitated by the second. Thrall had listened to his words, weighing them heavily in his mind. Vol'jin could tell, the Warchief always closed his eyes when he was lost in thought. He turned to the troll then, and regarded him sternly.

"What say you, Vol'jin?", he asked. The Darkspear pinned his ears back. He looked upon Armadda fiercely, and she held his gaze without falter. The reality of the situation did appear highly suspect. The little blast monk had been living in the city for no longer than six months. She had easily wormed her way in by playing her cards right, and now, upon the solid foundation of her own confidence, she wished to grant access to even more strangers. In any other situation, Vol'jin would have lobbied to cut the human down where she stood, drought or no, however the troll could not convince himself to stand against her. Armadda had been transparent with him, and likely as well, with Thrall, since her arrival in Orgrimmar. She could be sarcastic and he had noticed a particular talent she had for not telling the whole truth. But he had come to know her as a person who would never lie, even if the truth was not what one wished to hear. He sucked in a breath and straightened his back, regretting what he would say next.

"Warchief... I be trustin' Fellwind.".

"Good." Thrall's expression softened then, almost to a smile, but it quickly returned to it's prior state when he turned to Hellscream.

"Garrosh. You will accompany Armadda as a representative of the Horde.", the orc in question opened his mouth to protest, but was cut off. "You will leave immediately. There is no time to lose. The fate of our people is in your hands.". The boy gritted his teeth and bared his tusks, then he heaved a violent huff and turned to leave.

"Come, woman!" , Garrosh yelled from over his shoulder as he made for the border. He crashed into the crowd that had gathered and broke them apart like the world's angriest figurehead parting through the ocean. Armadda sauntered calmly behind, winking at Vol'jin as she passed. His eyes narrowed, and he raised a brow. Mebbey she mean 't'ank you'.

Nearly three days had come and gone since Garrosh and Armadda had left the city. The sun was descending over the mountain border, casting Orgrimmar in an uncertain shadow. Vol'jin found himself standing upon the great gate these last two evenings, anxious to see his allies return. The troll was not particularly fond of the young Hellscream boy. He was over-impulsive and quick to anger, and Armadda did not hold back. Any number of things between them could cause the orc to lose control of himself and murder the little human. On this night, Thrall appeared on the gate to join his friend. He was armor-less, wearing light, folded clothing, and appeared relaxed.

"My brott'a.", Vol'jin greeted him with a bow of his head, lowering his tusks in reverence. The Warchief came to a stop beside him, arms folded behind his back. He did not face the troll, but he appeared to be smiling.

"Worried?", he asked. Vol'jin recoiled a bit, sneering.

"Pah!", The Darkspear spat, dismissing the accusation, but the question still hung over the two, like a thick, scratchy blanket. He was not worried about the woman. Vol'jin squatted down, sulking a bit. Thrall chuckled.

"Rest easy, friend. They come.". The orc raised his arm, pointing just over the farthest dunes on the horizon. When Vol'jin returned to his full height, he could see the envoy heading up the crossroads en route to the city. Vol'jin's eyes strained as he scanned the far off figures. He spotted Garrosh Hellscream easily, his massive body blocked out the waning light from the setting sun behind him. Carts full with stacked casks and barrels followed closely behind him, and atop one very large Woolly Rhino, Fellwind guarded the rear. Both leaders climbed down the stairs and raised the iron portcullis, opening the gate for the caravan.

It wasn't until the troop was safely inside the city walls that Vol'jin had noticed what a strange bunch they were. Beyond Fellwind, there were four human drivers, two male and two female. They each openly carried a rifle on them. A lady dwarf held a precarious stack of barrels level. She kept an axe upon her back that was nearly as large as she. A pair of guards stood between the carts, one a Tauren shaman, the other a very short, green-skinned orc, the latter of whom had a gnarly trail of scars across his right side. Many appeared weathered, like they had seen their share of battle, but none showed any fearfulness as they entered under the gate. Vol'jin came to stand next to Armadda as she tumbled off her steed.

"Dis be your mount? Somet'ing about it seems... perfectly you.", the troll remarked. Armadda patted the Rhino's thick neck. It's hair, though dirty from it's trek across the desert, looked freshly combed and not a single tangle could be clealry seen. Upon his crown a silver cap kept it's primary horn from damage and matching silver covers kept his toes from harm. The saddle was a deep black leather, with a simple red woven blanket underneath.

"His name is Bur-Hok and he is my baby boy.". Armadda grinned. She clearly enjoyed caring for the animal, however big and ugly he may be.

It crossed Vol'jin's mind, as he scanned the others, that much of what was layed before him was very telling of the individual's intent. Thrall had come to the gate without anything to defend himself with. He showed the party his trust in them, even as they came so laden with weaponry. In turn, all who wielded weapons in the caravan did so in an obvious manner. They did not attempt to hide their might from the Warchief. Vol'jin could not help but feel slightly impressed by their conviction. He felt in this moment the odd troll out; he had glaive in hand, an instinctual habit when anxious. He donned his pauldrons and other battlewear. No one seemed to pay him much mind, though it silently stuck a bit of needle in Vol'jin's brain.

"I present you, The Orphans.", Armadda announced. "We come bearin' you a gift of faith."

"Lok'tar! Welcome.", Thrall greeted. "We greatly appreciate your donation. You may not trust orc kind, but I assure you, as Warchief of the Horde, we shall return your favor ten-fold, in time."

"Orphans?", Vol'jin interjected, curious.

"These are me kinfolk." Armadda anwered, holding her head high. "Human refugees from me hometown. Other folks what helped prison'as and vigilantes , cast out and hunted by their very people. We call ourselves 'The Orphans'. We have no place in Azeroth, nor, truly, anywhere safe in the Eastern Kingdoms. So, we came out to Kalimdor, and have been patchin' together a livin' in the barrens. Sound familiar, aye?"

"Aye.". Thrall and Vol'jin both agreed.

"These others are friends.", the woman gestured to the guardsmen. "Those who themselves have been cast from their clans, or parted voluntarily, and have taken comfortable residence with us."

Garrosh Hellscream almost seemed to vibrate in his place within the saddle upon his warg. He had been deathly silent the entire time. He held his sight far away from the party, his hands gripping the wolf's reigns tightly. Sensing his tension, Thrall gestured for him to dismount. He did so, and stood before his Warchief.

"Garrosh, you have done well to escort our allies safely along the crossroads.", he said, placing a massive, stabilizing hand upon his subordinate's shoulder. "Help them disassemble and cart their wares into safe keeping, then you may take your rest.". Wordlessly, Garrosh quickly went to work. He seemed eager to get this whole ordeal over with as quick as possible. His teeth remained steadily shut, the creases of his face all wrinkled together clearly revealing his internal fury. Vol'jin wondered what kind of voyage he must have had with the humans, and if the troll himself would have returned in any less of a state. Still, he was keeping himself together, and that was admirable to the Darkspear. Once all had been removed from the carts, the humans made to leave the very way they had come.

"Stay in our city overnight." Thrall offered. Armadda shook her head.

"No. You have pushed your people much this week, mate. We are happy to part with your thanks."

"Thank you.", Thrall bowed his head lightly to the party.

"Don't worry." Armadda winked. "We're no pushovers. We're wanted criminals, mind. We're good at flying by night.". She turned her attention to the troll, then.

"I'll be back.", she said. Vol'jin hesitated. The woman had done the Horde a great kindness, one he was sure they would not have done for her, otherwise. These outsiders had come to their aid quickly and without fear. Though he did not like them, the chief could not let them leave without returning them something. That was not honorable.

"I be goin' wit'cha.", he demanded. "Last time ya 'ad Hellscream for protection. Dis time it be me. We return toget'ah.". Armadda and Thrall both grinned widely and Vol'jin quickly removed himself from their eyes, making to ready his raptor for the journey ahead, internally kicking himself the whole time.

To Vol'jin's ease, the trip passed uneventfully. Armadda spoke much with the villagers, who kept her mostly occupied. She did insist on keeping night watch with him, though. She regaled the troll with stories of various townsfolk, all of whom had their own personal reasons for departing the Alliance. And as he entered the town on the second day, he was shocked to see just how many there were. A crowd of Tauren lived here, keeping steady watch over them. Most others were humans, peppered by a few dwarves and Vol'jin spied a Night Watchman who was clearly half-orc. When the two left town they agreed to ride back through day and night, with only one stop along the way. It was midnight by the time they came to their checkpoint. Vol'jin had fixated on the watchman he had seen upon leaving and, before he took his turn to rest, the troll asked the woman about him.

"Da half-orc at the watch when we left, dat be ya friend? From ya villiage in Westfall?"

"Oh - you remembered!". Armadda beamed so hard she was almost more luminous than the fire pit between them. Vol'jin's ears folded down and he looked away, scratching at his chin. He attempted some stammering excuse, but he realized there was no convincing her that he hadn't been listening to the words she had spoken to him. The fact they had any register in his mind at all was surprising to the troll himself. The woman shook her head. Though she continued to smile, her voice became much softer.

"Nah. That's me friend, Kar'nak. And ya met Zol'thar from the caravan. They're both half-orc, as you've correctly spotted, but Perri, me childhood friend, is dead.". There was silence. Armadda had failed to mention that on her first recount of her past, and now Vol'jin felt ashamed and embarrassed. Two completely foreign emotions the troll chief was not keen on expressing around her.

"They took him with many others to the capital, where they beheaded them for treason."

"I... be sorry.", Vol'jin winced.

"Don't be. We've all lost folks. I- I'm sorry about your fath'a, I didn't say that before. I meant to but...". She was the one stammering now, a sudden break in her rigidly impenetrable walls. Vol'jin realized they were now in the middle of a heart-to-heart and it pained him to think on. He did not wish to become friends with this human. He was still steadily against her presence in the Horde and could only imagine the erruption of abuse she was about to face from these people she had helped. It made him very uncomfortable, and sleep did not come easy to Vol'jin that night.