"The Warchief returns!" A scout announced atop one of the rebuilt look-out towers.

The sight of clansmen and guards swarming the walls did Zaela's heart good as they set up a rallying cry. She walked with a slight limp, the injury from Umbris in Grim Batol still bothering her. Cozwyn had done a grand job in mending her wounds, but Zaela would feel a lot better when she had some good Dragonmaw medicine on it for a few days. For now however the cheering of her people was all the medicine she needed. She felt like her old confident self, striding through the gates, head held high, and watched in satisfaction as her captains ran to meet her. They all stopped before her kneeling and saluting awaiting the word of their Warchief.

"Have the Twilight Hammer been anywhere near our port?" She asked, as she walked past them.

The captains must have noticed her limp, and scurried to follow her, but far be it from one of them to say a word, fearing Zaela not to weak enough to land a blow to the gut.

"No." Came the near unison answer of all the captains as they slowed their pace to accommodate Zaela's own.

The reply was a welcome comfort to the tired warrior, who with every step, began to notice how exhausted and hurt she was. Biting her lip to stave off the pain she nodded. "Good. Have the medicine man, Gregor, come to my quarters in the clan hall, and see what he can do about this leg."

"But…" One of the captains piped up warily.

"No buts! If the Twilight Hammer cultists haven't been around of late I don't want to hear anything else about wars or enemies, or the whole damned thing!" Zaela growled back, her tone holding every inch of threat she could muster. If the Twilight Hammer were not in the vicinity then it was time for a well earned rest.

Entering the clan hall, she didn't have the strength to make it to her chambers. Gregor would see her, when he entered and he could tend her there. Tumbling down to a sitting fur she sat upright, working away the make shift bandage Cozwyn had placed over her leg. Her leg was still red and swollen, but more or less fully mended up, her hands massaged the aching limb and she hissed against the pain. She would have a mighty fine scar after it had been fully healed, one any bachelor would be impressed with by his potential suitor. Zaela scoffed at her self, rolling her eyes, at the first face that had appeared in her mind at the thought. Garrosh had probably finer scars that this on his big toe! To any one else, it might seem impressive, but for him, he'd probably snort at such a wound.

"For your sake, Zaela, I hope the information I was given about you changing the treaty with the Alliance was a figment of some over worked messengers imagination!" Garrosh roared, stomping into the clan hall.

This was probably what the captains wanted to tell her, Garrosh was here, and had obviously not taken the news of her change of plans very well. Why did it always seem like they met when he, she, or both were in an uproarious fury, could they never meet on peaceful terms? Zaela wondered about this for a few moments after the initial shock of suddenly seeing the huge orc come charging into her clan hall. His sudden presence had surprised Zaela for all of two seconds, before she reacted in kind. Striving to rise, she found her leg would have none of it and sank back down to the sitting fur, though her tone no less, outraged.

"Get out!" She growled, her eyes blazing. "You are not Warchief of this clan hall. I have grown sick of your fits of rage, and bursting in here as if you owned the place! Get out and come in here, as one Warchief to another, or I will ignore you presence."

"You shall do no such thing!" He snarled at her gripping his axe in his huge hands.

Zaela however didn't so much a grab for her axe; she tilted her head down, to continue massaging her aching leg.

He made no move to attack her, knowing his body would not reply to the command even if his brain had screamed it. Here she was ordering him about again. Garrosh stared at her trembling, looking as if he was about to burst like a balloon.

With a cry to the ancestors, tacked on with a black curse, he stomped out of the clan hall cursing all women. After taking a deep breath to steady himself, he stomped back in a few seconds later, no less, furious but more in control of his demeanor.

"You wanted to see me about something?" Zaela asked in furious calm, and any control Garrosh had previously regained flew out the window.

"Did you change the fel damned treaty?" He roared enough to shake the rafters it seemed.

"I did and it was in every bit of my right to do so!" Zaela replied, throwing any control to the wind as well, she was tired, and heart sick, and only wanted a few hours of merciful dreamless sleep.

He pointed a thick finger to her snarling. "You are under the Horde banner now, Zaela, I put up with your first little stint of stubbornness, allowing to the fact that you were new to having others to fight along side you. But you no better now and I will tell you what to do and when to do it!"

Garrosh knew that wasn't the truth by any means of the imagination, she ordered him around every time they met, but if he had revealed that then the conversation, which he should have well known in the first place, would have been pointless.

"The Dragonmaw have survived with out the Horde before; don't think we are mewling children clinging to our parents sword belts." Zaela replied angrily.

"Tread carefully Zaela; be wary of your next words." Garrosh growled dangerously, his tone low like far away thunder. "You speak of desertion."

"I speak of our alliance being no more beneficial if you choose to rule over us no differently than the fel orcs." She replied as a matter of fact.

That struck a hard raw nerve in Garrosh; it made his jaw clench and his muscles tense in rage. Fel orcs were those succumbed to the demon blood, which had technically made his father a fel orc before regaining his freedom. It was not something Garrosh desired to be compared to. Anyone else who would have had the nerve to say it would be lying dead at that moment but he knew, and so did she, that wasn't going to happen between them.

"Zaela, I will give you an ultimatum. Either continue the treaty as I have commanded, or when you choose to go to war with the Red-fist stand alone." Garrosh stated in a deadly calm, like a quiet before a storm.

A bit of him was laughing at himself, an ultimatum? An axe to the back of the head would have been better, seize the port, and keep it under heavy guard, but that would hurt Zaela and even in this state of rage he found himself in he did not desire to see that happen. Still, she would not be foolish enough to continue with her plan, which would be sheer suicide, going against the Red-fist with out the Hordes mighty army to back her up.

"Has Hellscream spoken his will?" She asked, with a slow deep breath.

He only replied with a nod.

"Then Dragonmaw stand alone." She declared quietly her eyes staring strait into his, fearless and stubborn clearly displaying her warrior's spirit.

Garrosh knelt down in front her, his body practically radiating anger, a part of him knew that would have been her answer, yet in his fury he had ignored that bit of common sense. He spoke in a low tone, holing all the rage he felt. "When your people are demolished once more, I will not be there for you to cling to and cry on, as with your first act of weakness. As I remember, only weeks ago, you were a pathetic girl hiding away in a destroyed clan hall."

She had struck a nerve with her comment about the fel orcs, and he was repaying in kind, instinctively knowing how to get under her skin. However, Zaela wasn't one to hold back her rage for long. With sudden fury, like a bolt of lightening, Zaela back handed the kneeling Hellscream with all her strength. The blow she delivered to his skull set bells off in his head, he could already feel the bruise began rising on his cheek. Before he could fall back she gripped his shoulder pulling him towards her, snarling. "If that day comes, Hellscream, and the Red-Fist win the battle, then I will need no shoulder to cry on, I shall be in the warrior's hall with my kin."

With that, she let him go, her brown eye seemingly hard as diamonds, never taking their piercing gaze off Garrosh as he rose, stomping out of the clan hall and cursing her profusely under his breath.

So he had though her weakling all along, an idiot not fit to rule the Dragonmaw. Even with her leg still aching in agony, it felt like nothing to the pain that had twisted into her heart with Garrosh's words, confirming her deepest fears. Zaela turned her face away from the door as a tear slid down her cheek. She wiped away at it angrily, telling herself there was no need for tears, she was far stronger than that, to let his words bury themselves so deep into her.

"That's all they were, words, they don't mean anything." She whispered to herself quietly just as the medicine man shuffled in.

"Took you long enough." She growled to hide any hint of her quickly failing emotions.

"I was none to keen on getting my head bitten off." He replied, kneeling down beside her and opening his satchel.

The smells of Twilight Jasmine and dragon blood wafted through the air as he began mixing his supplies for a poultices and salves.

"How many people heard us screaming?" She asked as he ground herbs to prepare the salve. The smells of herbs and spices were actually soothing, helping take away Zaela's anger along with the pain.

"Everyone." He looked up to her, suddenly, his eyes holding well justified fear. "We are marching to war on in a few days with out the added protection of the Horde, what shall we do?"

For that, Zaela only had one answer; she ran a hand through her hair, giving a deep tired sigh. "We pray for a miracle."