Our two souls therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
Like gold to aery thinness beat.

If they be two, they are two so
As stiff twin compasses are two ;
Thy soul, the fix'd foot, makes no show
To move, but doth, if th' other do.

~John Donne

Fury was the only word that came to mind. Dusk picked her way nonchalantly through the lichen, feigning ignorance. Live mounts still refused to ride alongside the imperious mare, causing all sorts of havoc in procession. The other horses gave them a wide berth, although that could have just been fear of Dusk's master.

They were going to pick up Alliance deserters.

Thassarian, not a happy person at the best of times, had been livid when he was handed the letters. He had proposed their beheading in full view of the Horde delivery orc. General Arlos said no.

Deserters were all the way down there in Thassarian's book. Betray your squad and people die. You could be as patriotic as you wanted but when you were out there you fought for the soldiers either side of you, behind you. Your comrades were more important than king and country and you did not break rank.

He dismounted and cast a cold eye on the dissenters. Not meeting his eye, they trudged forward with a nudge from the orc holding the axe. He and his troops had come empty handed. The Alliance gave no quarter: this was a perfect PR moment orchestrated by some greasy blood elf, most probably.

A scowl manifested itself onto his face.

'We'll take it from here.' He made to mount up: a nudge from a guard to his friend in the corner of his eye stopped him.

'You.' The orc with the axe sniggered. 'Elf-lover. Man-fucker.'

One of his squad almost grabbed his shoulder before remembering who Thassarian was.

'What did you call me?' It was almost a whisper to be carried away in the breeze, but everyone was a doe in the brush, fixated on every sound. No one on either side even dared to draw weapons and the horses stood stock still. The orc, either fearless or a poor reader of atmosphere, puckered up.

'Does he taste,' he growled, pug nose snuffling, 'like whore-scent?'

Thassarian charged. At the last second, he drew the cold in the air around them onto the orcs, freezing them: he narrowly remembered to spare the Alliance soldiers.

Spitting at the orc's immobilised feet, he swung himself onto Dusk, one look silencing his men.


'You don't attack Horde without express permission, soldier. Even if they insult you.'

Thassarian was fighting to keep his anger under control. 'Yes sir. It won't happen again.'

General Arlos lifted a piece of paper from his desk, pretending to read it. 'I understand that you're looking for your sister.'

'Yes. I believe there was,' he glared at the general, 'a mix-up involving my recruitment papers. She's out there looking for me, she's the only family I have left.' An image of his mother, her face tear-streaked but defiant, rose up in his mind. 'I... I forgot to talk to her after Light's Hope, but now I'll find her. Say sorry.'

'Of course. Take as long as you need.' Thassarian hated the pity in his eyes. 'Before you go, soldier: this arrived this morning.' It was a letter, the address written in neat, long script. The envelope was already neatly sliced. 'I understand you were friends before-'

'Still are, sir.'

The general looked up. 'Sorry, what?'

'Koltira and I. We're still friends.'

'Of course. He coughed delicately. 'Make sure you're not letting anything important slip. He's still Horde.'

'Yes, sir.'


Oooh. You don't trash-talk Thass. I love this quest line, by the way.

On the other hand, I was re-reading the previous chapters and I am so, so sorry for the blatant and ridiculous typos that are scattered like pips. My face burns in shame- I promise to check my chapters extra carefully from now on. In the words of a very rich and silly man, 'My ideas flow so rapidly that I have not time to express them—by which means my letters sometimes convey no ideas at all'!