Tar'ash spent the next day sleeping as often as her body would allow, burying herself in the heat and scent of her bedfurs, isolated in her temporary room at Grommash Hold. Her mother brought her meals, pulling her out of sleep and hovering over her until her food was eaten, dragging her out of bed to zombie-walk around the dark-lit halls of Grommash hold.
Tar'ash's dull expression caught her muttered reprimands from her mother. She would touch Tari's back with the pads of her fingers to keep her from slouching, herself shoulders back, walking too-quickly through the short hallways. When this caused her to nearly run into other denizens of the keep, Aggra's thumb and forefinger would pinch Tari's neck hard and make her look up. Anyone they met would offer condolences, and when they did Aggra's chest would puff out farther and her grip on Tari's neck would tighten painfully. She thanked them through clenched teeth.
Once they'd walked past, Aggra's fingers loosened, and she grumbled at how Tar'ash's sullen attitude would reflect on her father as she massaged the pinching pressure away. Marching briskly down one hallway, Tari heard her father's voice buzzing, then bellowing for blood and vengeance, a geist of the tranquil peacemaker that had raised her. Aggra stopped, dug her claws into Tari's back, told her to stand up straight, and turned them around.
When they returned to her room, Tari fell into the sweat-soaked furs, her crutch clattering to the ground, as Aggra snarled at her from the doorway to stop acting like a baby and do something with herself. When Tari asked her what, her mother's face contorted into a hideous mask of rage, her eyes becoming glassy, glinting ghoulishly in the brazier light.
"You should know what!" she said in cracked snarl, then slammed the door behind her. Tari buried her face into her furs and wept, whispering to herself that she wanted to go home, not knowing where such a home was. When the tears ran out she slept, hoping when she woke that it would somehow be over.
That evening, as the hot sun sunk beneath Orgrimmar's clawing skyline, she dreamt that she was in Alterac, wrapped in layers of fur and leather, digging the foot of her crutch into the fresh snow as she ran. Around her were the tall, flat palms of cliffs reaching up to the overcast sky, and trees like spikes lancing up from the white ground. Before her was a broad lake, its icy surface dusted with snow and veined with white. She called out for Garad, and his name echoed out among the stone. She thought she heard him answer, far out ahead of her, but his voice was hollow; muffled somehow. She called out again, and followed the sound out onto the lake's surface.
She moved carefully, her crutch slipping some with each wary step she took. Somehow, she knew the ice beneath was solid; thick; implacable. She called again to Garad, and heard his voice just ahead of her, in the center of the wide lake, but she didn't see him. Was he playing a trick on her? Hiding somewhere she couldn't see? She called out again, annoyed.
"That's not funny, Garad! Where are you?" she huffed, turning around and searching the empty landscape. She heard, feeling both far-off and close to her, her name in her brother's voice, her feet buzzing. Something clenched at her heart then, and, lip quivering, she looked down. Garad's face, mouth and eyes wide and wild with fear, was there beneath her feet, distorted by the thick, pale ice. His throat was split open, wide and black and empty. A mighty crack roared out in the quiet landscape and Tari lurched down, waving an arm for balance. The ice began to split apart beneath her feet, tilting and sinking. Another mighty snap sounded loud in her ears and then Garad's icy tomb bobbed under her weight, spilling her into the freezing water. The shock of the cold made her try to scream, but the water silenced her. Thrashing, she sank slowly down into the black depths, Garad's silhouette floating above her, getting farther and farther away.
She woke with a start and reached out, grasping the arms that had been trying to wake her. Her mother looked surprised for a moment, then annoyed, holding her by the wrists. Tari gulped in the hot, stale air of the room, and when she had steadied enough to really examine her mother's expression, she realized something was wrong. Aggra took her daughter's hand and gripped tight, trying and failing to make her voice calm.
"We have to go to the Valley of Honor, Tar'ash," she whispered, and her throat undulated as she swallowed, eyes sunken and lips tight, folding down, "Your father has challenged the Warchief to Mak'gora."