The day that Cenahria had left the Night Elves, Cenahria had felt conflicted. Risk everything she had ever known, abandon her family, all in the pursuit of knowledge? Or remain with her kin, unhappy in herself, with a perpetuating sense that she was only a fraction of the Druid she could be. One conversation with Malfurion had decided her path. Havishna had rushed Cenahria to their lesson that evening, and she had scolded her for refusing to braid her hair. As the students had knelt with Malfurion in their nightly ritual of listening to the trees, Cenahria had refused to kneel. "Is something wrong, Cenahria?" Malfurion's voice had been soft, at first. "Why do we always meditate in the light of the moon? I have read that sunlight can grant enhanced Druidic abilities, it can even aid in healing!" Malfurion's eyes had tightened, and Havishna had whispered hurriedly for her to be quiet. Ignoring her friend, Cenahria had walked to her Mentor imploringly. "Shan'do, there is so much more we can learn – there are even other races that follow our path. Surely, we should reach out to them, share our collective knowledge? It could only make us stronger."

At that, Malfurion had stood, body shaking, backing away from her. He had raised a finger and pointed at her, as if in accusation. "You would have us welcome monsters into our ranks? Vile creatures who would sooner stab you in the back than aid us?" Her fellow students had also stood, standing either side of Malfurion, some angry, some confused but siding with their Shan'do nonetheless. "I'm simply asking why we do not share knowledge with those who follow our path, who share our vision!" Cenahria's eyes filled with tears as Havishna had slowly taken her place by Malfurion's side. "No, Cenahria. You are suggesting we befriend the Horde. That is nothing short of traitorous to our King, and to Tyrande and our Shan'do." Malfurion has placed a hand on Havishna's shoulder, and Cenahria had been forced to make her choice. "I only wish to learn…" Cenahria had begun to cry. Not one of her fellow students made any movement to comfort her, instead staring past her, as if she were one of the ethereal wisps floating between the trees. "If you wish to learn from those Horde dogs, I suggest you leave Teldrassil and seek them out. But be warned. You will not be welcome back amongst our kind." And with that, Malfurion had turned and walked away. Havishna and the others had followed.

Cenahria spent her first few weeks back in Teldrassil going over her memories of what she thought would be her final day there. After her brother's confrontation with Vol'jin, Cenahria had returned to her people. Her parents had cried with happiness that she had returned. Cenahria herself had merely allowed her body to go numb, not returning the hugs and embraces, keeping herself rigid, and unfeeling. She had been torn from the only place she had ever felt at home, torn from her love and her heart's family. She had refused absolutely to speak to anyone and had spent her time shut in her bedroom. At first, her parents had tried to get her to eat. However, the smell of food, any food, made her hurt. She would instinctively search for the familiar apple scent that would tell her Jungle Stew was coming, and the absence of it just deepened the cracks in her heart. After a while, her parents stopped trying.

Cenahria continued her Druidic training, but during the day. Despite it reminding her of Zaria, Cenahria persevered, needing to feel closer to the home, and the friends, she had lost. Whilst her people slept, Cenahria chose to wander outside, feeling the energy of the Sun, and allowing it to enhance her abilities. A short while after she had left the Isles, Cenahria had used her new abilities to grow a small patch of the white flowers that had always reminded her of Zaria, right underneath her bedroom window. Every day when she woke, Cenahria's room would be filled with their perfume, and she would spend several happy moments pretending she was still in the Isles, that Zanda would come bounding in, teasing her, before walking with her to their lessons. Cenahria constantly kept the memories of the Isles in her mind, keeping them alive. All save for one. Vol'jin kept creeping into her thoughts, and it was just too much for her to bear. Continuing her druid training served two purposes; it made her feel closer to Zanda and Zaria, it honoured Zaria's memory. But it also remained a distraction from Vol'jin. Cenahria felt fragile, as if a breeze would shatter her entirely. She was glad he was safe, that she could save his life from her brother. But she simply could not live without her Chieftain.

Several weeks following her return, Liacus appeared in Cenahria's room, and gestured for her to follow him. Whilst she had refused to talk to him, he also had ignored her, which suited her fine. Gone were the days when they would frolic as children, running through the forest, helping to tend to the animals and the sacred groves. She had been surprised, then, to find Liacus in her room, and that surprise had spurred her into following him. They walked through the trees, in silence, listening to the sounds of nature. After a while, Cenahria began to remember the familiar route, and a suspicion began to form. 10 minutes later, that suspicion was confirmed. When they were children, Liacus and Cenahria had frequently visited Lelanai, who bred the Sabres which formed the mounts for their Night Elven people. She had a small shop in Darnassus where she would sell them, but she bred them on her farm in Teldrassil. The siblings had frequently helped her raise the cubs. It had been their favourite past-time as children.

Liacus led the way to the farm, Cenahria curious as to why he would bring her back here. Lelanai opened the door, warm smile on her face, and greeted them both. As always, she led them both to the back of the house, where a small barn nestled in the trees. There was a small fenced enclosure in the front of the barn, and several cubs were playing. Part of the enclosure was shrouded in shadow, and Cenahria could sense tiny movement, but Lelanai ignored it, and left the siblings there. "I know you are angry with me for bringing you home. Truly, I did not know what had happened. Malfurion told me he had been sent word that the Horde had captured you, and I was to lead a small group to bring you back. I was told the Troll you killed was to be our guide to where you were being kept. You haven't spoken, or eaten, in weeks. If you don't want to talk to me, fine. But Lelanai asked me to visit last week, to show me the new cubs, and I think there is one you will find interesting."

Puzzled, and a little surprised at this display of understanding from her brother, Cenahria watched as Liacus moved to the shadowed part of the enclosure, scooping something up, and bringing it back to her. The cub was tiny, smaller than the rest, and a brilliant shade of blue. The cub mewed in terror as Liacus set it down, and immediately the other cubs turned on it, biting and clawing at the beast, causing it to squeal and run away. Startled by the display of aggression, Cenahria instinctively ran to where the others had chased the blue cub, and picked it up off the ground, sheltering it from the others. The other cubs viciously bit at her legs, jumping in the air to try to get to the tiny creature. The poor thing was shaking and covered in scratches and bite marks. Without a word, Liacus swiftly opened the gate, allowing Cenahria and the cub through, and shutting the other sabre cubs inside. He brought Cenahria and the cub back to the front of the house, were Lelanai was waiting. "Yes, he is a very unusual specimen. Whilst the blue is a normal shade for the spots you see on the frost sabres, I've never had a cub come out in a uniform colour before. The rest of the litter seem to pick on him because he is different, and I am afraid that if I leave him in the enclosure, they may well attack him and kill him. He is so much smaller than the rest."

Shocked, Cenahria hugged the cub tightly to her chest, and he stopped shaking. Burrowing into her, the cub snuggled into her arms, and Cenahria felt a soft warmth in her heart, as if one of the many cracks was beginning to heal. She lifted the cub, so she could study him. The blue was startling, much brighter than the usual muted darkness of the other sabres. It was a striking colour, and with a fierce jolt of electricity, Cenahria had a vision of another time when a similar blue had filled her with such wonder. That forbidden thought wound its way into her brain, and she knew she could not let a cub, whose fur so closely resembled Vol'jin, die. "I will take him, and I will keep him safe." The first words Cenahria spoke since leaving the Isles were a promise. Not to her brother, and not to the Sabre breeder. A promise to herself, and to this tiny bundle that was meant to be her salvation.

For a few days, Cenahria's world was filled with taking care of the cub. She named him Zar'jin – for both the friend and the love that she had lost. However, the memories of Vol'jin began to become too much. She started to dream of all the memories she had so desperately tried to forget, and not even the warmth of Zar'jin cuddling into her was enough to dispel the darkness. She spent her days in a bubble, caring for the cub automatically, not wanting to let any single part of her out from the iron grip she was holding herself in. The bubble was her safe place – if she kept herself in a tight enough hold, she could not fall apart.

One morning, Cenahria was awoken by the cub shoving his tiny cold nose into her face. As she pushed him away, someone shouting her name cut through the sleepy haze. Quickly, she dressed, and went outside. Malfurion and Tyrande were standing in the centre of the village. Cenahria moved quickly to where her parents, and Liacus, were waiting. "Citizens of Teldrassil. We come to you with dire news. Across the waters, in Darkshore, the Naga have begun to attack. Lordanel has tried to repel the invaders, but to no avail. They have asked that we send aid, to defeat this ancient enemy. The Darkshore forces have been pushed back, and the Naga are threatening to overwhelm them. We have come to ask for your help, for anyone willing and able to travel to Darkshore and help our fellow people defend their homes. We shall, of course, be asking King Varian Wrynn for additional aid, but this is a matter of urgency. All able bodies must go to Darkshore. We cannot let these fiends hold any part of Kalimdor."

Mutterings began to stir among the onlookers, as Tyrande produced a piece of parchment, for volunteers to sign, sealing their fate to the upcoming battle. Malfurion came to where Cenahria and her family stood. He ignored her completely, instead choosing to address her brother and parents. "Liacus, I would like you to be my emissary and travel to Stormwind to request aid from Varian. He is a good man, but I am not sure if he can spare any men to help us, or if they will arrive in time. Will you do this for me?" Not surprised by this, Cenahria tuned out Malfurion's words, instead focussing on the long line of men and women signing up. "Poor souls. I suspect many won't be coming back." Cenahria's mother whispered softly, but the words were like razors. The men and women fighting in Darkshore would be fighting a noble cause. Dying for a noble cause. There was no better way to vanquish the shadows that had been choking her since she arrived back in Teldrassil. No better way to silence the memories. For good.

"I would like to volunteer for the battle." For the first time, Malfurion looked at her. She met his gaze, expecting to see anger or contempt, but instead there was surprise. "Cenahria. I am glad to see you are safely home. Whilst fighting in the battle would indeed redeem you in the eyes of the Druids, your proficiency has always been more focussed on healing, of which we already have plenty of volunteers. You simply are not skilled enough in battle. It would be suicide." Liacus' head snapped up at Malfurion's words and stared at his sister intently. Looking away from him, she refused to meet her brother's eyes. Cenahria had never been able to keep a secret from him. He continued to look at her for a moment, before nodding, almost to himself, and turning to Malfurion. "I'm sorry, Malfurion. I would be honoured to travel to Stormwind, but I am afraid something has come up. I need to leave Teldrassil immediately. Cenahria can go to Stormwind for you. She is good with people. I am sure she can make King Wrynn understand our plight." With that, he quickly departed for the hippogryphs, not even taking the time to explain where he was going to their parents.

Tyrande came over to where Cenahria was standing with her parents and shared a glance with Malfurion. "Did I hear Liacus suggest Cenahria be our emissary to Stormwind?" Malfurion nodded, confusion clouding his eyes. Tyrande laid a hand on her husband's arm and turned to face Cenahria. "I heard you volunteer for the battle. It is admirable, but my husband is right. War is not where you belong. Go to Stormwind for us. If you can get aid from the King, that will undoubtedly forgive any mistakes you may have committed in the past." Cenahria opened her mouth to argue, to say that she had just as much right to fight in this battle as anyone, desperate to lie, to make them believe she wanted to help. Malfurion silenced her with a sharp look, before telling her to prepare for the journey. "I will have one of our mages create a portal to Stormwind. The King knows we are sending an emissary. He shall be expecting you. Make haste, Cenahria. The lives of our people are at stake. You leave tomorrow morning."

The next day, Cenahria was dressed in the traditional clothes of a Night Elven emissary – Robes of a deep violet and silver enveloped her body, with the traditional symbol of her people emblazoned on her chest. A circlet of silver was also placed around her head, with a tiny crescent moon dangling against her forehead. Cenahria's mother attempted to braid her hair, but Cenahria insisted she wear it down. One look at herself in the mirror, and she felt wrong. She looked… too Elven. She barely recognised herself. She said a quick goodbye to Zar'jin, who mewled softly. Feeling uncomfortable, Cenahria walked swiftly to the portal the mages had created for her, eager to get the debacle over and done with. As she stepped through the portal, Cenahria caught a brief glimpse of Malfurion watching her.

Cenahria's first impression of Stormwind was that it was very white. She had arrived at the top of a tower, with a guide waiting at the bottom for her. As she was led through the streets, it struck her how clean everything was. And quiet, compared to the bustle of Orgrimmar. Cenahria had heard so many times how the Alliance was more civilised that the Horde, that the Horde were brutes. Stormwind emphasised the contrast between the two perfectly, but Cenahria did not feel civilised. These people wanted for nothing. They had wealth, and time, to construct the vast, sprawling city. There were no outdoor markets, with people selling wares to make money. The Alliance had no need for such things in their Capital. The Horde may have been many things but studying Stormwind now made Cenahria realise that at least the Horde worked for what they had. She remembered the humble and simplistic way of living Vol'jin and his people had in the Isles and felt it much more fitting of the so-called natural life the Night Elves claimed to lead. How had such contempt for the Horde arisen? They struggled constantly for their very lives. To Cenahria, they were a people that the Alliance should be helping to survive, not eradicate, given the vast resources she could see so arrogantly on display in the Capital. There was no need for the violence and hatred that permeated both factions.

Cenahria's unease at being in Stormwind grew as they reached the Keep. A gigantic statue dominated the front, with large, sweeping stairs either side. She walked quickly, no longer needing her guide. All she had to do was follow the opulence. The Keep loomed above her, and as she entered, she could see the King seated on an extravagant throne up ahead. She slowed her walk, remembering the basic etiquette her Mother had briefly explained as she had been getting ready to leave. She stopped in the centre of the throne room and failed to forget the last time she had knelt in the room of a Leader. She tightened the iron around her heart and curtsied to the King. He was a strong man, imposing, but with a kindness to his eyes. This may be easier than she thought.

"Malfurion said he would be sending an emissary. Please, tell me your name." The King's voice was deep, a rumble in the cavernous room. After telling the King her name, Cenahria briefly explained the plight of the Elves. "The Naga are threatening to overwhelm the forces already in place. Malfurion is concerned that if we lose this battle, the Naga could assault other parts of Kalimdor, perhaps even gain a hold on the continent. Many will die, unless we have aid. Assistance." Cenahria lowered her head solemnly, in an attempt to sell her despair. Raising her eyes briefly, she saw the King consider her words. "It is indeed an unfortunate situation. The battle will be going ahead in 3 days, you say? I could send a few ships, attack the Naga from the sea whilst you engage them on the beach, but it is not a lot of time to work with… What is the meaning of this?!" Startled, Cenahria heard running footsteps behind her, coming up the long corridor to the throne room. She didn't particularly care for whatever emergency the King was being interrupted for. She just wanted her answer, so she could leave. She began to plan how she would get into the battle, when a voice stopped her.

"My King, I am sorry to impose on you like this, but I do not believe your aid will be necessary." What in Elune was her brother doing here? "You better have a good reason for bringing that brute into my Keep, boy." Varian's voice was a growl, and Cenahria actually shrank back. She didn't want to look at her brother, who was once again meddling where he shouldn't. Hadn't he been the one to actually suggest Cenahria do this?

"I may be a brute to ya, Wrynn, but I be da only ting that can help ya Elves, without da need for ya precious ships."

The voice who responded to Varian was the last voice Cenahria ever expected to hear. It was a voice that simultaneously ripped her apart and mended her again. It melted the iron grip around her heart and burned through her veins. As he spoke, Cenahria turned to face him, fighting the urge to go to him, to hold him and never let him go. He obviously had not recognised her from behind, so Elven were her clothes, but as she turned, the defiant expression in his eyes extinguished, to be replaced by a fire she knew had only ever burned for her.

"Vol'jin."