Thellandria growled to herself in frustration, taking an angry bite out of a stale loaf. She glanced down at the bread, wrinkling her nose as she forced herself to swallow the piece. Immediately, she opened a canteen and took a gulp of water, desperate to nourish her rapidly drying throat. A beetle crawled out of the sand and onto her toe; normally, she would have allowed such an occurrence, but at the moment, she was extremely peeved—and so, with a flick of her foot, she sent the little insect flying.

The druid had been stuck in Silithus for days, waiting for word that the Paladin had arrived—but no such information made itself apparent. She had anticipated that she might be waiting for a handful of days, but now she was beginning to realize that he may take quite a long time—if he even comes at all. These thoughts were constantly nagging at her mind, making her more and more furious by the moment; they only added to the stress that she was feeling, given the fact that now, she also had to cut back on her money spending, in preparation for the possibility that she may she need to survive out in the desert for a long time... on stale bread, unfortunately.

With one last painful swallow, Thellandria choked down the last bite of her disappointing meal and stood up. She heaved a sigh and washed her "food," if she could call it that, down with a sip of water. As she looked around, her eyesight caught on something peculiar—something golden and, as she looked more closely, blue. A jolt went through her body as it occurred to her that these were Alliance colors. Alliance? she asked herself incredulously. Out here? There are very few things that could mean. Hope fluttered within her heart. One of which would just about make my day.

She narrowed her eyes and peered more closely at the colorful figure, and slowly, a grin began to creep its way onto her lips. It's him! she shrieked inwardly. By Elune, it's Frederic Bennet!

Quietly as she could, she crept closer and closer. Had she been paying attention, she would have noticed that Nightwind was nowhere to be seen at the stables, but of course, her thoughts were focused entirely on her prey, who was now tying his steed up nearby. After he finished, he immediately set out on the path leading away from the Cenarion Hold. Already at it? Thellandria said to herself smugly. Too greedy, prideful, and ignorant to even remove your armor before entering the desert. I suppose that will pose a bit more of a problem for me, but nothing more than I can handle.

It was hard to remain hidden once the two of them were out in the wide open sandy plains of Silithus, so she had to do her best to use what scarce contraptions the insect-like Silithid inhabitants had constructed. Most of them, if not all, were either odd hive-towers or structures that looked much like enormous insect legs sticking out of the ground, so the experience was not exactly pleasant for the druid—but nevertheless, she did what she needed to.

Eventually, Frederic seemed satisfied with his location, and he began looking around for traces of ancient items. Eagerly, Thellandria approached him with a strangely calm and pleased aura. Her feet sank silently into the sand with each step, and it was not until she spoke that her presence was made known.

"Earl Frederic Bennet," she began, causing him to nearly jump out of his skin and look up.

"Who are you? What do you want?" he demanded sourly, wiping a few beads of perspiration from his forehead, as he had already started to melt in his sweltering plate armor.

Thellandria's expression twisted into an amused smirk. "What? You don't recall me?" she taunted, reaching into her bag and pulling out a small scarab figurine—the same one that she had used to bait Frederic into Silithus in the first place. She inspected it and nonchalantly tossed it up and down in her hand for a moment, then suddenly flung it directly at the Paladin. Before he even had time to react, it collided with his plate armor and shattered. "Simple clay, crafted a couple of days prior to its purchase. This is the first time it has been on the same continent as the ancient Silithid empire here, never mind within this very desert." She waited a moment, then decided to add insult to injury by making things painfully obvious. "It's a fake," she said in a pretend whisper.

Frederic blinked a few times, clearly not understanding what was happening; he knelt down and picked up one of the fragments of the scarab figurine, then slowly but surely began to turn a bright red. With one swift (albeit clunky) movement, he rose to his feet and drew his sword, which glinted hot in the searing sun. "You've tricked me," he hisses. "You've tricked me!" he repeats, much louder this time. "Why would you do such a thing? I'll make you pay dearly, you wretched elven mongrel!"

Thellandria's smirk once again spread into a grin. "You poor, poor fool," she murmured, stepping closer to him. "You greedy, predictable bastard. I knew it would be easy to get you out here on your own." She narrowed her eyes, still slowly walking toward him. "Out here on your own," she says again, "where no one will ever think to look for you, and even if they did... the sandstorms here are fickle, and they can bury a man yards deep beneath the dunes."

The Paladin's eyes widened in fear, and he took a few hesitant steps back. "Wh-who are you?" he asked again. "I won't ask you again! I.. I demand you tell me im-immediately!" He tried to muster up as much authority as he could, but it clearly was not working.

Closer still Thellandria came. "Does the name 'Fleetsong' sound familiar?" she inquired, and she laughed inwardly as she saw him blanch visibly at the mention of his victim's name. "Yes, I suspect it does. Well," she continued quietly, pausing for only a moment, "he was my mate. The child I spoke of when we met not long ago in Stormwind City? It is his." She stopped for a few seconds, allowing the information to sink in; and sink in it did, for she could clearly see recognition and terror dawn on his arrogant face.

"You're Thellandria." He bit his lip. "What do you want from me?" he squeaked. "Name your price, and I will meet it!" His desperation entertained Thellandria, and she chuckled a bit.

"What do I want?"

"Tell me! Whatever it may be!"

"... Revenge."

Frederic's face went blank, and all color drained from it. He opened his mouth a few times, but no sound came out for some time. Eventually, his face hardened a bit, and he stood up a bit straighter. "You think you can just put me down like a scared dog?" He laughed snidely. "I slaughtered your mate like the Horde-sympathizing beast he was; your treatment will be no different. You're simply the weaker version of him. You're a Druid of the Antler, no? At least Fleetsong was a Talon—he posed a bit of a challenge. But an Antler? What are you going to do, heal me to death?"

Thellandria let out an amused huff, watching him brandish his sword at her. "You were able to bring him down because you had your men to back you up." She glanced around the desert, gesturing to it. "Do you see your men? Because I don't." She smirked in satisfaction as he grew slightly sheepish again. "Come, then," she welcomed. "Let us see how well the gallant and valorous Frederic Bennet can stand up against a druidic savage-woman." Sarcasm dripped from her tongue like venom, stinging him with each word.

The Paladin snarled and leaped forward, raising his sword as he charged. Sweat clung to his skin from the effort he had to exert just to run in his heavy plate armor. Despite his exhaustion, however, he was soon directly before Thellandria, swinging his sword down upon her with great purpose in his movements.

The druid jumped away nimbly at the last moment, then let her rage fuel her as she took the offensive. Hatred clouded her gaze; she lifted her hands up, then blindly shot a blast of natural energy at the man—but in fact, she did not.

She blinked in amazement and fear as she realized that she had only sent a small bolt, which shocked Frederic, but did little damage whatsoever. She tried to send a beam of moonfire down upon him, but yet again, her attack did nothing more than blind him for a few moments and heat up his armor a bit.

"Having issues with your filthy pagan gods and goddesses?" Frederic taunted, letting out another laugh as he once again readied himself to charge. "You're even weaker than I thought. I suppose the Fleetsong idiot never thought to teach you anything." He ran at his adversary, lifting his sword again and bringing it down upon her.

Thellandria shrieked and stumbled backward, swallowing hard as her gaze went up to meet his. She saw nothing but spite and disgust in his eyes as he prepared to end her life. Her heart began to beat faster and faster, but she closed her eyes and forced calm upon herself.

Galondel, my sweet, she thought, relishing her memories. I come for you, finally. She heard the sound of a sword swinging through the air, then felt the impact of the blade hitting her lower neck, striking hard and true.

Suddenly, she felt an explosion of power erupt from the place where his weapon had connected with her body. She heard a startled cry accompanied by the clinking of plate armor, and she looked up hesitantly. What she saw made her eyes widen and her jaw drop.

Flames spewed forth from her chest, arching upward and striking down upon the Paladin, scalding him and cooking him alive in his plate armor. His screams of agony lasted for a few seconds more, and then he fell silent.

Thellandria glanced down at her chest, feeling as if her heart was about to burst through her ribcage. Once the flames finished their job, they retracted and pulled back toward her chest. She watched, mystified, as they disappeared inside her necklace, which gave off a little twinkle before resuming its quiet, inconspicuous composure.

Breathing heavily, she stared at the amulet intently, feeling emptiness replace some of the hatred and rage she had felt earlier. "I..." she murmured quietly. ".. I defeated him. I've gotten revenge." She reached up to gently pet the orange pendant; it gave her an odd sense of calmness and security. ".. I.. have no purpose.."

"That isn't entirely true," a familiar voice said behind her. She whirled around, disbelief filling her gaze as she laid eyes upon who stood before her.

"… Rishe Clawfern?"