March 12, year 24

Drowsiness pricked at Tirith's eyes as she fought to stay awake in the clearing. For the longest time she preoccupied herself in the bloodied clearing that was her shared campsite with the stranger, performing the usual chores she'd grown used to when out on patrols with her shield sisters. There was only so much she could do, however, during the long hours in which her unlikely comrade slumbered.

As the hours ticked by, she found herself forcibly questioning what she was doing, as well as what he was doing. She didn't know the man aside from a humorous gesture shared at an unfamiliar settlement months before; he had no reason to help her, nor did she have any reason to trust him. And yet he did help, she did trust, and vice versa. After helping her slay the wild predators that may very well have ended her life, he could have pushed her into fighting for survival once more. Given her nearly rabid state at the time, she couldn't have faulted him for assuming it the safer, more logical choice for his own wellbeing. Even some members of her own race might not have intervened, and Tirith knew full well that not all of them were trustworthy enough to share a camp with.

By all measures, she shouldn't have dropped her spear. She shouldn't have responded when he spoke to her. She shouldn't have believed his claim that he'd help her for the sake of helping, and she sure as hell shouldn't have eaten a glowing piece of fungus that he warned her in advance would cause her to pass out and become completely dependent on him.

Was it desperation pushing her to make choices under duress? Was it intuition for seeing that the big blue man was genuine?

Both questions were forced. Inside, a feeling she couldn't explain refused to entertain them; in spite of all facts and reason, her heart bore no suspicion toward the warrior from a tribe so savage that not even the Horde would accept them.

When he'd finally woken her up, her Kaldorei awareness led her to run a safety check. During her sleep, he could have done other things not so horrible as killing her, yet her tracking skills told her that he hadn't even approached her resting body during the half day or so that she'd been unconscious. All the tigers had been skinned, food prepared and the camp secured. Aside from the crudeness of the shelter and the food preparation, it wasn't any different from patrolling the forests of Kalimdor with her fellow night elves. While she didn't question it naturally, it did confuse her.

He had claimed that his tribe might execute him for fraternizing with outsiders...he did not appear to be exaggerating. His were obviously a vicious, xenophobic people. Even if he was an individual and not a tribe...it was just so strange.

The cuts in her legs and arm began to sting again, though not like before. The pain held her attention briefly, and she refused to resort to the lightly narcotic leaves he'd shown her for fear that the relaxation they brought would cause her to sleep. Whatever Oacaxo's intentions were, she was not in a position to renege on her deal to watch him as they slept in shifts. At the minimum, she was honor bound to at least return the favor before parting ways; beyond that, she was technically lost, still injured and possessed only a pointy stick as a weapon in unfamiliar territory. She had to remain awake. She...

...fell asleep. Mild panic overtook her as her eyes shot open. Night had fallen, and under normal circumstances she would have been more alert. Her sleep schedule had been ruined over the past four days, but giving in would endanger her and the person she still owed a debt to. Weighing her options, she crawled on aching legs over toward his makeshift tent and tried to rouse him from his sleep.

"Wachaho," she whispered at first, garnering only a mild twitch of all the muscle mass beneath the blue hide. When he didn't stir, she swallowed her guilt and spoke a little louder. "Wachaho," she said out loud, surprising herself by the volume and by how still and calm the area around the clearing was.

"Hmm...I am awake," he hummed, displaying nine of the infantile reluctance to rise from sleep that she'd grown used to in other outlanders. Blinking his drowsy eyes, he looked up to see the night sky before looking up at her without rising. "How much time was my sleep?"

"Ten and a half hours; I counted," she replied. "I am very sorry...but I am not well yet. I am thirsty, my limbs are still injured, and my body still isn't fully rested. I only woke you because I feared falling asleep."

Though he didn't look upset, he didn't rush to reassure her that everything would be find; his reaction was very mild and understated. "That is not a surprise; you looked very tired yesterday. Your fever was bad, and you talked in your sleep. You are not ready to walk all the way to the camp of Nesingwary."

There was no resentment in his voice, but her Kaldorei pride stung at how quickly he'd read her condition, pushing her to save face. "You were not required to help, and you have my eternal thanks. If you leave to the camp to tend to your business, then it's your right."

"No. I say...said you, I will help. So I will help." He sat up and rubbed his face, exhaling into the palm of his hand. "I also need water. There is a stream; we can not stay there. Crockolisks are even worse than raptors. This place is marked by blood; it is much better."

"You are not obligated to help me find water-"

"Stop. Your way is annoying," he told her bluntly and without sarcasm. "I want to help; even if I am tired. Not for you to tell me what I should or should not do."

"I apologize; but I don't want to be pompous." When he glanced at her in confusion, she realized he didn't understand the word. "Arrogant," she told him, and he nodded. "Why are you helping me?"

At that, he did almost smile as if he found her words amusing. "Your question is sad. People should help people."

"The world is a sad place," she mumbled, still not understanding his motivation.

After a moment of silence, he rose. "Your cuts are not healed; use more leaves. I will bring water. Then you sleep; you need rest before we can leave."

"Thank you, Wachaho," she told him as he left, too shy to ask how he'd transport the water.

"Oacaxo," he corrected her over his shoulder.

Alone again, she realized she was no closer to understanding her potentially dangerous companion than she'd been before waking him up. At least she knew he was willing to delay his trip to Nesingwary's until she was healthier, and a part of her felt comfortable believing he was sincere. Since traveling the world, she'd met people of different races; closing her eyes and attempting to relax, she tried telling herself to view him as an individual and not his tribe.

By the time she heard his plodding footsteps returning, she'd already filled her cuts with the unpleasant mush from her own mouth again and had reclined into the crude tent she'd built across from his. Drowsiness occasionally came back to her, though the sound of sloshing water woke her up right away.

Squatting in the space between the two low hanging tents, he set down what appeared to be several hollow, hardened gourds, nearly translucent and revealing the liquid inside. He must have drank his fill, as he pushed one toward her and the others off to the side after seating himself. "Thanks," was all she managed to tell him before sipping on the natural water container, marveling at the similarity to some of the hollow gourds that grew at her ancestral grove. Bit by bit, she drank as slowly as possible so as to avoid any sort of dizziness after having been parched for so long. Oacaxo sat patiently and waited for her to finish before speaking.

"You should sleep now; we can sleep in shifts until the morning. Then we find food."

"I would like to find my armor," she replied. Now that her base needs had been sated, the issue of her lost gear popped into her head. "I threw my armor at the tigers when I retreated; I need it back."

"After sleep," he told her politely, "we can go find it. But if I help you with that, then I will keep the tiger skins. I need them."

"Deal." They sat in silence a little while longer; he was by far the quietest outlander she'd lived in close quarters with. Though never chatty herself, curiosity held her awake a little while longer as she felt herself drift. "Why don't you have a thick accent when you speak Common?"

His brow furrowed in confusion. "People not have accents in their own language," he replied, looking at her as if she were simple.

"Own...?" she asked in confusion. "Your people speak Zandali."

"No."

"No?"

"No."

"How?"

For a second, he just pursed his lips and she wondered if she'd said something wrong. When he spoke, however, there was a source of resentment that she somehow knew wasn't directed at her. "Big tribes speak Zandali; tribes that have cities. Cities have stone. Stone means writing. Amani, Gurubashi, Drakkari, Farraki. Small tribes speak Common, because we trade with foreigners. We kill them, but we also trade with them."

"So you speak a language of your enemies?"

Sighing through his nose, he nodded slowly. "The colonized truly lose when they identify with the colonizer."

Drooping eyelids couldn't prevent the odd tingle up her spine. "Unfortunately...I know exactly what you mean," she murmured as she felt herself drift off.

Unlike the fungus induced visions, Tirith's dreams from natural sleep were mundane. Trees both real and imagined surrounded an odd game of ball played with her shield sisters and the two stalwart dwarves that had fallen to the bandits. Revisiting her in her dreams as so many fallen comrades had done before, they talked more than they ever had in life, smiling and flashing perfect sets of small, peg like teeth as they shared in a game with friends of hers they'd never met between trees that never existed. Every tree in her region of Ashenvale had been named by the residents of her village; they monitored growth yearly and have even named every indentation in the soil from natural erosion. Love of nature and a complete focus on it was spoiled by technology and luxury, and even in her own dream she found herself forgetting the names of some of the beloved trees she'd spent millennia surveying. Images faded to black as a deep, dreamless sleep overtook her, leaving her almost fully healed by the time she woke up.

The caw of a tropical bird pulled her out slowly, and the light of the sun beating against her low hanging tent at least made her feel at home, even if she was so far away. Her connection to the balance told her that there were no predators around, and the presence of her new comrade a few yards behind her was a reassuring one.

Not wanting to appear exploitative of his help, she forced herself to sit up. "I'm awake," she announced as she stirred, peering around to find him ripping the skin from a rather heavy looking fruit.

"I not need to sleep," he said while using his tusks to open the particularly thick, spiky peel. "Now is a good time to finding your armor."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I am not tired; there is not reason to wait." Picking up the tiger skins, he strapped them to his back with wrapped vines along with some of the water carrying gourds and a wooden spear of his own. It only took Tirith a moment to follow his lead and retrieve her own, leaving the bones and branches at their campsite to be reclaimed by nature. "You must lead; I not saw where you came from," he said while waiting for her to begin walking.

"I ran for more than an hour in between throwing my weapon and my armor; this will take time," she warned.

Grunting but saying nothing, he followed as she retraced her desperate footsteps from four and a half days prior. Even in the light of day, the forest floor was sufficiently dark and her eyes served her well. They were at a high enough elevation that her ears popped as they descended, walking carefully over uneven terrain she'd had an easier time traversing when at full sprint. Without hostiles on her trail, she and her companion were able to take their time, inspecting the path carefully.

As one would expect, they had little else to do to pass the time than to talk; even for two quiet individuals, she found their conversation an engaging distraction from the humidity, the terrain and the lingering worry over the sort of welcome she'd receive at Camp Freedom.

"Wachaho...you mentioned yesterday that your people kill foreigners, but you dislike fighting. Why are the others fighting?"

"Land and pride. So much fighting for land and pride," he offered immediately and almost eagerly. "We fight Bloodscalp for ruined towns, because a ruined town is easier than building a new town. We fight Gurubashi to avoid women and children being steal adopted."

"Adopted by force?"

"By force. We fight Alliance and Horde because they are new, and also want land; land that jungle trolls already fight for, before they came. Only Steamwheedle, Venture and mister Nesingwary not fight us."

"But you don't want to fight; why can't you tell them?"

"No...no, no. We are not Darkspear; we not let any stupid people talk public. We have a system, from the long, long ago. Berserker defends; headhunter attacks; doctor cures; priest leads; others labor. Everybody has a job. The system not work if not everybody follows."

"You are a berserker...so you can't talk in public?"

"Yes; why will I talk? I can not control the system. The system is outside me."

Humming as they began descending an even steeper slope, she felt a different cut from the ones on her limbs. "I know that feeling...all too well. I lost my home to..." Her voice trailed off as she realized she was rambling about her personal troubles. She shook her head as she walked, wondering what had gotten into her to cause her to drop her guard so easily, but she'd already opened the door.

"I not lose my home," he tried to correct her, misunderstanding what she'd meant.

"No, I meant, tee oh...not tee oh oh."

"What you lost your home to?"

"It's nothing, but...you know." For a second she reconsidered opening up to him; it was not an aspect of her personality, not in a thousand years. But the way he leaned closer as they walked signaled that he expected an answer; considering how easily he spoke of his own background when asked, it almost felt rude not to reciprocate. "My people were not a part of the Alliance; we fought them, and the Horde as well. We were independent, but our leaders picked a side."

"For land?"

"Well, for safety...for allies. I don't know. But big cities benefitted from the Alliance; we have a capitol, Darnassus, and it became a great city because of trade and influence. Medium cities, like one called Astranaar, also did very well. But I am from a village; villages could not resist the social change. We became a minority in our own home; new rules were out on us and land we'd hunted on for..." She paused before mentioning periods of time; Oacaxo appeared more intelligent than the rest of his kind, but he was still a product of his culture. How could he comprehend the fact that she'd been mortal, then immortal, then mortal again? "...we used to hunt on our own land, but people from the outside almost wiped our the animals. None of us wanted to be a part of them, but the choice was not ours to make. The...system is outside of us."

"I am very sorry for what you lost. Sounds like Skullsplitter...I am not sad now, but I remember the sad from this."

"How is it similar?"

"We have big city, Zul'mamwe. Works with Venture Company sometimes, Gurubashi other times; deals with other people. But my village is Xlatl-"

"What?"

"Xlatl." Tirith tried to imagine how she'd pronounce the name of his village before simply giving up and allowing him to continue. "Xlatl is small; poor defenses. When the tribe chief in Zul'mamwe declares war, his city is protected deep in the forest; Xlatl is on the borders; we suffer consequences they not suffer. But these choices are made before we even hear about them."

As they continued to search the almost comically thick underbrush, she tried to look back at him, her usual propriety and reserved nature receding too slowly for her to notice. He had an aura of mild disappointment about him when retelling similar misgivings to her, yet he entirely lacked her bitterness. "Your situation has...some similarities to mine, but you aren't angry or sad."

"Never. Not now. Not anymore. Nothing will make me sad; not when I find real control."

He spoke with such a surety that she almost felt a tinge of jealousy for the ease at which he talked about the lack of control over his own village's fate. Perhaps it was because he was a simpler being; or perhaps she did just make her life too complicated, as he'd accused her of previously.

"So how, then, did you find real control in a sad world where leaders decide our future for us?" she asked while slowing down to catch her breath in the dense jungle air.

Before he could reply, the two of them stopped dead in their tracks. Four long ears rotated in the moist air as heads remained still and eyes scanned the surroundings. For too long, they'd been scouring the area where Tirith remembered finally dumping her glaive and right bracer previously; its absence, coupled with the very faint rustle of leaves, was enough of a sign that something was wrong.

Following her lead to the tee, Oacaxo gripped his spear but didn't aim it or shift his weight. Tirith listened again, waiting for whoever was watching them to grow impatient. They were being watched by...two people. Not animals; she would have sensed their presence even more strongly were that the case.

A waiting game played itself out as she let her throwing wrist lay limp. As long as Oacaxo didn't grow impatient, she'd have no problem detecting whoever it was that thought of themselves as some master of stealth. Breathing alone helped her to move her glowing eyes in the right direction, her pupils and thus the direction of her gaze difficult for others to discern in broad daylight. Direction was followed by distance as she remembered the mass of her spear when stabbing a tiger with it previously, and the angle at which she'd need to throw wasn't too difficult thereafter-

"Argh!" cried out the human as a sharp point he probably hadn't even been able to see hit him in the leg.

In a flash, Tirith had acted when she heard an exceptionally harsh exhalation, launching her spear in the right direction and hitting the hidden bandit despite the soft cover of the underbrush. The spear bounced off of a target unseen and failed to penetrate deeply, but it was obvious that some damage had been done given the odor of blood that reached her nostrils almost immediately.

Saving his spear, Oacaxo watched the human flee with keen eyes, a second joining him as moon blessed metal clanked on the ground. Tirith bolted over to where the sound had come from, finding the prize behind the bushes, much as had been expected. Attaching her glaive bracer in record time, she began to pursue the humans instinctively, knowing that the scavengers might have more of her armor.

As her similarly fit but slower companion tried to keep up with her, she glanced over her shoulder. "They might have the rest of my gear!" she shouted across the wind.

"We will find out now."

Hanging back cautiously, Tirith followed both the sound of running and the trail of blood, weaving in an out of the trees and sliding part of the way down the jungle slope. Nesingwary's camp might end up having to wait, she grumbled to herself internally.