Black! Like night's darkest dream, the velvety stillness of midnight's shadow spread out over the face of the dry and dusty land, shrouding everything with its veil of secrecy. Silhouetted against the moon, the hawk hovered steadily over the Barren landscape, steeling itself against the chill of the midnight air. Somewhere down in the dense scrubland, its prey lay, waiting; biding its time until it chose to approach the still and inviting waterhole near the caverns. The hawk had learned to wait, becoming yet another patch of darkness in the night sky, and he knew that his patience would reward him.
A brisk wind whipped up the dust of the Barrens, threatening to dislodge the hawk from the thermal it had secured itself in, but to no avail. The hawk steadied itself and returned to its statue-like hover. It had ridden these airwaves since a hatchling, and knew every warm summer breeze, every gust from the chilly mountain passes and every lull of the deep valleys. What it did not expect, however, was the arrow.
Arrows, in the hawk's limited experience usually travelled horizontally from bent sticks and lodged themselves in animals and birds like gazelles and boars and chickens; creatures whose limited intelligence had earned them the evolutionary dunce cap of life in the survivability stakes. Arrows in general did not travel up from the ground. Maybe this one had lost its way? The hawk's decision to let the arrow carry on being lost (and in this remarkable turn of intellect, duck out of the way) was marred by one minor point: the arrow had seemed to have stopped. A closer inspection however, found that it had found lodgings in his stomach, his heart and his lungs. YOU APPEAR TO BE HAVING AN OUT OF BODY EXPERIENCE. The hawk turned around to note the dark figure hovering directly next to him. Squawk? THAT WAS A JOKE. MY GRAND-DAUGHTER SAYS I SHOULD HELP PEOPLE LOOK ON THE BRIGHTER SIDE OF DEATH. DO YOU FEEL BRIGHT? Squawk! WELL, LAUGHING NOW RATHER DEFEATS THE POINT OF THE JOKE. Squawk?! YES, YOU ARE DEAD. I WOULD HAVE THOUGHT THE ARROW WOULD HAVE GIVEN IT AWAY. Squawk? THAT WAS SARCASM, ANOTHER OF MY DAUGHTER'S SUGGESTIONS. WELL, MOST BIRDS CHOOSE TO COME BACK AS HUMANS. QUITE WHY, I'LL NEVER UNDERSTAND. BIRDS' LIVES SEEM SO MUCH MORE INVITING, THE BENEFITS OF WINGS FOR ONE THING, NOT TO MENTION THE LACK OF UNSIGHTLY BODY HAIR. Squawk? Death turned to follow the ex-bird's gaze. A figure was walking past the wailing caverns. THAT IS A TAUREN. BUT IF UNSIGHTLY BODY HAIR IS A PROBLEM, I'D RECOMMEND YOU CHOOSE A...MORE BALDING SPECIES. HUMANS SEEM POPULAR, THOUGH THEIR LEET SPEAK DOES GIVE ME A HEADACHE. Squawk? BLOOD-ELF? YES, A FAIR CHOICE.
As the hawk's spirit faded away, Death watched the hairy figure of the Tauren wander across the Barren towards Ratchet followed loyally by a blue raptor, who was enjoying what was left of the hawk. While keeping an eye socket on the tauren, he reached into his robes and pulled out a golden hour-glass engraved with the letters 'RHAKIN'. Much time remained, so it seemed, for this Tauren to make an impact on this world. He would continue to watch with interest as he returned over the seas to Celeste. A second hourglass with 'TORNHOOF' engraved on it appeared, showing only a few grains remained in its head. This pupil of the aged Tauren could indeed make a suitable successor for him. But would he take up the mantle of responsibility? This question always made Death curious – for if there was a responsibility, why would a creature not take it up? As he stowed his scythe he reflected that that was one of the things he greatly enjoyed about sentient creatures such as Taurens, Elves, Goblins and (to a lesser extent) Humans – the element of uncertainty intrigued him.
Reflections would need to wait however, as there were those who would be needing him in Arathi Basin; the alliance had lost.
Again.