You Scratch My Back...

After a disturbed sleep, Minara rose with the dawn and prepared her things for departure. The Night Elf, Meng was already gone. She breathed a sigh of relief that she would not need to converse with him any further. Many of the things he said were revolting, even in reference to those barbarians in the Horde. As much as her parents despised 'lesser' races, they'd never spoken of hunting them for trophies. Though she hadn't traveled much, she'd never known her own people to harbor such cruelty. Her thoughts went to what Malfurion Stormrage would think of such a thing, and was startled that she even wondered.

Shaking herself, she secured her pack, now laden with a few days' rations. Wonx had been strange and his voice annoyingly high-pitched, but he'd been far more friendly and less disturbing than Meng. More importantly, he had some dry rations he was willing to sell her for a reasonable amount.

As she was descending the ramp to the ground floor, she began hearing shouts outside. Then she heard the unmistakable sound of sentinel scythes whistling through the air.

Minara didn't need to see what was happening to know the tower was under attack. Her stomach clenched in fear, and in her mind she saw that Orc coming for her once more. She shifted to cat form and stealthed, then slowly edged toward the doorway, hoping the fight hadn't reached the steps, and she would be able to sneak out.

For a while, luck seemed to be with her. The Orcs were engaged with the sentinels and seemed content to focus on taking the tower as brutally as possible. Minara slipped around the perimeter behind the structure and began carefully picking her way down the hill to the northward road.

Her luck, however, did not hold. Two hulking figures suddenly melted out of the underbrush and leaped upon her. Concentration broken, she lost her stealth and fought them desperately. How could they have seen her? In the struggle, the Night Elf felt secure metal cuffs clamped on her front paws, then a strange weariness engulfed her. All the fight left Minara, and she shifted to her normal form. She tried to shift again, but it was no use. The cuffs dampened her abilities and rendered her magically impotent.

Now she looked at her captors and cringed; they were Orcs, their monstrous green faces sweaty from exertion. They spoke in their guttural, beastly language, as if conferring on what to do with her. Minara's eyes darted from one to the other, afraid of what they might decide.

One turned to glare at her and snarled around his enormous tusks. A terrified whimper escaped her, and the other one chuckled. The first Orc shot his amused fellow a hostile look, then reached down and grabbed Minara by the hair. He hauled her to her feet and the two of them marched her down the road.

She didn't have to ask where they were taking her.

Stretching luxuriously on the bunk, Daznik slowly let himself come awake. Camping in the wilds was good, but sleeping in a bed was better. Every chance he got to indulge himself, he'd take advantage of it.

He was startled to see Captain Tarkan striding purposefully down the row of bunks. Daznik glanced around; he was the only one still lazy enough to be in bed, so the captain must be coming to see him. Rising, the Troll stretched his back and yawned.

"Hey Cutter," Tarkan barked, "don't bother packing up. I got a favor to ask you."

"Sure," Daznik nodded. "Whatchou want?"

"Couple of my boys brought in a Druid skulking around Raynewood," the Orc informed him. "Lousiest sneak they've ever seen. Thought about following her for awhile just to see what else she can't do, but she was heading up north, so they jumped her."

"Druid?" Daznik asked with interest. "An' she ain' good at sneakin'?" Chuckling, he shook his head. "Dere been a Druid like dat on mah tail foh'uh few days."

"Yeah, well, looks like we found her," Tarkan nodded, leading Daznik to the front of the building. "Problem is, nobody here speaks Common. I know you do, so how's about you talk to her? Let her know what's what."

Daznik nodded. "Be glad tuh. So... why'd dey bring'er in, den? Jus' let'er go."

The Orc snorted. "I sent some troops up to the tower to soften things up a bit. The damn retreat seems to be Captain Thagg's obsession of the week, and he told me the sentinels are chewing on his ass. Anyway, this little bit of noise isn't a sentinel; she's just at the wrong place at the wrong time. She's heading blind into a battlefield. Best just to hold her here for a little while until things die down."

"So yuh ain' gonna let me head ou' yet eithuh, eh?"

Tarkan shook his head. "No. Not until I get the all clear."

Daznik nodded. "Aw righ'. Where she at?"

"Over here," the Captain replied, gesturing to a tent guarded by several grunts. "Damn near pissing herself. I'm not saying she won't manage it when you walk in, but at least you're both Druids. Maybe that'll calm her down."

"Ah hope so," Daznik sighed.

"Hey," Tarkan said in a low voice, gripping Daznik's elbow to stop him. "Put the fear of Hellscream in her, will you? So she knows not to come around this area again? She's as good as dead if she keeps wandering around like she doesn't know where the hell she is." Glancing at the tent, he added, "You'll see what I mean. I don't think she's been a Druid for long. Either that, or she's just about the worst one alive."

Daznik nodded. Typically, Druids didn't concern themselves with the political disagreements between the factions, but their work often brought them into war zones. While Night Elf Druids passing through Ashenvale from the south were rare, it wasn't unheard of. Obviously Tarkan had seen his share, and forbade any attempt to hinder them.

Another reason to respect the captain, Daznik mused. Nodding to the grunts at the tent entrance, the Troll ducked inside.

It took him a moment to adjust to the gloom. Huddled in a far corner sat the Night Elf, dampening cuffs on her wrists, her arms around her knees. She stared at him with wide, luminous eyes. Her dark blue hair was mussed and unruly from her capture. She was trembling from head to toe.

"Hey, now," Daznik said softly, squatting down just inside the tent and keeping a respectful distance. It looked like his job was already done; the Elf got a pretty good dose of Hellscream's wrath on the way here. A bruise was turning her light lavender cheek a dark purple. Daznik frowned with disapproval at that. "Don' be scared. It gonna be aw righ'."

She blinked slowly with surprise. When she mustered the ability to speak, her voice was shaky and terrified. "Let me go."

Tarkan be damned, Daznik wasn't about to make this worse. "Dey be lettin' yuh go soon. Duh figh' at Raynewood gonna go on a bi', den he let us bot' go. Yuh goin' tuh Moonglade?"

"I'm... they're not...," she whimpered uncertainly. Daznik smiled gently.

"Nah, ain' nobody gonna hur' yuh," he reassured her. "Duh Horde don' murder folks."

Her mouth twitched and her brow furrowed. "That's not what I've always been told."

Shrugging, the Troll replied, "Mebbe yuh be tol' wrong?" Yet he couldn't hide his own frown. "Dere be some in duh Horde... ya. But dere be some in d'Alliance, too. Duh Warchief don' hold wit' it, doh. He duh voice'uh duh Horde." Grinning, he added, "Ah t'ink mebbe yuh king don' like it neithuh, ya?"

"No," she snapped, agitated by this soft-spoken Troll. His manner flew in the face of everything she'd been told of his race and made her terribly uncomfortable.

"So," he continued conversationally, "yuh di'n' ans'uh mah question. Yuh goin' tuh Moonglade?"

"What business is that of yours?" Minara said haughtily. Daznik arched his brow.

"Ain' mah bizness," he shrugged. "Jus' t'inkin'... if we goin' tuh duh same place, migh' as well go tuhgedduh. Yuh know dis fores'?"

"I can manage quite well on my own," she said.

Daznik appraised her for a moment. Tarkan was right; she had a manner about her of being in over her head and desperate to hide that fact. She wouldn't last the rest of the way out of Ashenvale, much less get far in the blighted forests of Felwood.

He hated lying, but if telling a little one kept the Elf alive, was it really all that bad?

"Ah don' t'ink yuh got much choice," he said grimly. "Duh Captain say yuh ain' goin' no where wit'out uh guard. So yuh wanna get t'rough tuh Felwood, pas' duh Horde, yuh gonna have tuh go wit' me." Forcing himself to grin, he added, "Ah take care'uh yuh."

A revolted look crossed her face and she looked away. Frowning, Daznik narrowed his eyes. "What dat s'pose'tuh mean?"

"If I leave here with you," she hissed, "how long will it be before you finish what your Orc friends started?"

Sighing, Daznik nodded. "Yuh got no reason tuh trus'. Ah know. Mebbe we bot' Druids, but yuh t'ink we on opposite sides udduhwise. Duh way ah see it, ah'm on duh side uh nature. Ah see what war has done, and it make meh weep. Ah feel duh pain, and ah wanna heal it. What side'uh you on, eh?"

"I...," she said uncertainly, and shut her mouth. She couldn't very well claim opposition to that. How would that make her look? "I suppose... you have a point," she replied evasively.

Grinning with approval, he said, "Ah be called Daznik. Wha's yuh name?"

She hadn't wanted to get too familiar with him, but it would likely make things easier to know names. At least it would spare her being called other less flattering things.

"Minara," she told him. "Now could you take these cuffs off?"

"Ah'd like tuh, but it be duh Captain's decision," Daznik shrugged. "Ah talk to'im foh yuh." Standing, he ducked out of the tent and went in search of the Orc.

Minara let out a long breath and sagged. She hadn't realized how tense being in the tent with that Troll would make her. Did he know she'd been following him over the past few days? What would he do if he knew?

Likely kill and eat her, she assumed, and glanced fearfully at the tent entrance.

Gnawing her lip, she wondered if what he said was true, that the Orcs would release her. The chance that he wasn't lying seemed frighteningly slim.

What were they but mindless savages? Hadn't her father fought against Trolls for hundreds of years? Savages and deceitful liars, all of them. Foul of tongue and foul of thought. And here she was being put at the mercy of one.

Was this penance from Elune, then? Had her negligence of the goddess while miming the ways of the priesthood finally come back to haunt her? Minara suddenly felt as though the weighty parental glare of the angry goddess had just focused upon her, and she shrunk against the tent wall.

"Still think you should keep a muzzle on her," Tarkan pointed out as Roznik resupplied with the quartermaster. "You said she's been following you; any idea why?"

Daznik shrugged. "Didn' ask. Don' need tuh. Ah know why she done it."

Tarkan waited a moment for the Troll to continue, then finally sighed impatiently, "All right, why?"

Grinning, Daznik replied, "Cause she wanna kill meh."

"I see," the Captain replied. "Makes perfect sense, you offering her help and guidance with that hanging over your head." He nodded. "Yeah. I think I'd do the same." Then his bemused look was replaced with exasperation. "Cutter, you've lost your damn mind. Why the hell would you join up with someone out for your blood? Is this some kind of Druid thing?"

"Nah, mon," Daznik said, waving dismissively. "Look at it dis way: she need meh. Dere be dange'uh all duh way tuh Moonglade. She can' sneak past none'uh it. Ah help'er, an' mebbe she return duh favuh, ya? Mebbe dere be 'lliance 'tween here and dere she can help wit'."

"Son, you're an idiot."

"Ah be charmin'," Daznik smiled, waggling his eyebrows. "She won' resis' muh ways."

Tarkan gave him a sidelong look. "You're not thinking..."

Daznik snorted and rolled his eyes. "Nah, mon. All ah wan' is tuh keep'er from t'inkin' ah be wort' killin'. Ah can do dat wit' mah eyes close'. She uh Druid, bu' she ain' a good one. Mebbe ah help'er dere, too. Befo' she make it tuh Moonglade and everybody know it."

Eyeing the Captain curiously, he gestured to the bulging pack the Orc was carrying. "Whose dat be, eh?"

Huffing sullenly, Tarkan growled, "Hers. My boys took it off her when they brought her in. Thought I might... you know... put some stuff... She didn't have much. How the hell she expects to get to Felwood without... And no damn map, either. If she's going all the way to Moonglade, how did she think she'd make it without...?"

Daznik chuckled and patted the Captain's shoulder. "You uh good dad, Tark."

"Shut up," Tarkan grumbled.

Minara stared into her pack at the wrapped packages, blinking uncomprehendingly. Among the Horde-labeled rations were two skins of water and a med kit. There was even a neatly rolled map inside. She gave a bewildered look to the Orc Captain who just handed it over.

"He didn' have tuh do dat," Daznik pointed out quietly. "Didn' wanna send yuh from his base wantin' fuh nuttin'."

"But... he's... and I'm...," Minara stammered, too shocked by the Orc's unexpected generosity to finish the thought. Daznik shrugged.

"He got kids he ain' seen in mont's," the Troll explained. "Mebbe yuh be a hunn'uhd years old, but yuh look like yuh could be 'is chile. So..." Gesturing to the pack, Daz grinned. "Bettuh t'ank'im and we go, befo' he knit yuh a sweatuh."

She didn't know how to deal with this entirely unexpected view of Orcs. Meng's words about them being little better than beasts with regards to... family matters seemed in direct opposition to the Troll's description of the Orc as a concerned father. Just the fact that she was held in Orc custody for the better part of a day without being molested in any way was also outside the realm of her understanding. Add to that a Troll in their midst, and making it an hour without being raped and eaten must amount to an unprecedented event.

Muttering her automatic thanks, she listened to the Troll translate to the Orc and watched their expressions. The Orc seemed genuinely embarrassed to be receiving thanks, and waved him off.

"Aw right, we go now," Daznik told her with an amused chuckle, gesturing up the path leading to the main road. "Don' shif' til we get dere, doh."

Falling into step beside the Troll, whose gait seemed to roll like an ocean wave, she asked, "Why not? Would it offend them?"

"Nah, mon," he replied. "It jus' ain' polite. Mah mata alway say, 'don' hide wha' yuh ah to uh frien',' so ah don'."

Sniffing haughtily, she lifted her chin. "We are not friends, Troll. This... arrangement is for convenience only." She glared at him and he just shrugged. Scowling, she added, "And I'm not a hundred years old."

"Ah know dat, mon," Daznik chuckled. "Yuh look moh like fohty uh fifty. Mus' be tuh be doin' yuh trainin' in Moonglade."

"I'm not...," Minara began, then pressed her limps firmly. She had to remind herself yet again that he couldn't be trusted. Obviously his manner was meant to catch her off guard. The sooner she was rid of him, the better.

But could she prevail on her own? Her best recollection of the route indicated that Felwood had several Emerald Circle posts along the main road. The Emerald Circle was a branch of the Cenarion Circle, and would be more than happy to provide her a safe rest on her journey. Once she reached the first one, she decided, she would shake loose of this Troll.

The road was deserted. Minara and Daznik both shifted to cat form and headed east toward the crossroads below Raynewood Tower. True to the Orc Captain's word, the fighting had moved away from the road, and the two Druids were able to travel at full speed past the Retreat without being spotted by either side of the conflict. Minara breathed a sigh of relief.

The various shapeshifting forms provided a plethora of special abilities to a Druid, but robbed him of one thing: speech. Their muzzles and beaks were poorly equipped to form words, so communication was only managed in their natural forms. This shortcoming suited Minara well; she was almost as disturbed by the Troll's benign, superficially non-threatening conversation as she had been by Meng's vile descriptions. Almost.

At least Meng was clearly a dangerous sort with a sick mind. The Troll, by virtue of being a Troll, was assuredly worse, but was apparently far more skilled at hiding it.

They kept a steady pace with brief rests, but night came well before they reached the border with Felwood. Roznik angled off the road and used his feline senses to scout out a safe campsite. The Night Elf hesitated before following, and he wondered if she still sought his death.

Better make myself worth keeping around, he reminded himself, and shifted. He busied himself preparing a firepit, gathering large stones to form the ring and ensuring no grass or undergrowth was near enough to catch. Leaving Minara in the camp, he ranged out a short distance and picked up dry, dead branches, collecting enough to make a decent little fire and keep it burning all night. All the while he arranged the wood and nurtured the sparks into a flame, he could feel the Night Elf's glowing eyes on his back, watching his every move.

"Yuh know," he commented quietly without turning around, "it no' be polite tuh stare."

Narrowing her eyes, Minara said coldly, "I'm not staring. I've better things to look at than you, I assure you."

"Mah mata say," he went on as if she hadn't said a thing, "yuh look at somet'in' long enough, it don' seem so bad." Smirking over his shoulder at the indignant Night Elf, he added, "Yuh keep lookin' at mah backside like'at, yuh gonna fall in love wit'it."

Minara's jaw fell open for a moment before she could rally. "How dare you?" she hissed. It was all she could muster, and turned away from him entirely.

Chuckling, Daznik offered, "It be aw right if yuh don' hate meh in duh mornin', Minara. Ah won' hol' it against yuh."

She shot him another thoroughly offended look which only seemed to amuse him more. "I promise you, Troll, I will hate you... twice as much by morning," she hissed.

"Well, ah guess dat's somet'in'," he replied good-naturedly as he unrolled a sleeping pallet. "Do yuhself a favuh, doh. Listen to duh land."

Startled, Minara stared at him. "What do you mean by that?"

Daznik settled himself on the pallet and shifted around a bit seeking a comfortable lie. "Ah mean, feel duh pulse, hear duh heartbeat. Ashenvale be livin' and breathin'. Mebbe duh Horde be hurtin' it, and it cryin' out sometimes, but mostly it be a comfortable land." Closing his eyes, he wrapped a long arm around his head and settled in.

For the first time, likely because she hadn't wanted to look too closely at the Troll before now, Minara noticed his tusks bore many carved symbols. His long pink braids also sported trinkets clearly carved from bone. She now recalled hearing them clink together as he walked.

"What... what should I be... listening for?" she found herself asking.

"We gonna hear a land cryin' foh help when we cross intuh Felwood," he murmured softly. "Open yuh ears now tuh what a land sound like when it ain' corrupted. Den when yuh hear Felwood, yuh know it."

Minara looked away. She was loathe to admit it, especially to him, but she couldn't hear a thing beyond the crackling of their campfire. She didn't even know how to listen.

Don't be stupid, she scolded herself. He's trying to lower your defenses. Don't believe a word of what he says.

Taking a blanket from her pack, she wrapped herself up and remained awake for several hours before sheer exhaustion claimed her.