Watching two giraffes fight it out was interesting.
They slammed against one another with their necks, the force great enough to rock their bodies, and I wondered how they didn't dislocate their spines or something to that effect in the process. That was probably what they were trying to do to their opponent. By the larger sizes and horns of the two before me I figured they were two males battling for breeding rights in the area.
Flies buzzed around my face and the air was humid. I hid underneath a shrub, the branches so interwoven with one another I could have sworn they had been made so by careful hands. I had a feeling however that not many traveled out as far as I had. I was out in the middle of nowhere. More accurately, the Barrens. I'd slept here for the night. I was awakened by the noise of angry herbivores. My hands, callused and browned by the daylight, clutched a rifle. What was the purpose of my being out here? I was a wanderer. No face, no name.
No one would miss me if I died. My mother and father were bandits, prowling forests and taking advantage of random passersby unlucky enough to come by them. The lifestyle had cost them dearly, I lost them both when they picked the wrong traveler to prey on, at the age of eleven or ten, or so, I couldn't quite recall any longer.
The Elwynn forests may seem safe and idyllic at a glance, but that was precisely what made them so dangerous for the naïve; the closeness to Stormwind and the warmness of the citizens let peoples' guards down, perfect for a roving thief or mugger. Trust me, I knew these things. I'd survived by tooth and nail. Nobody took pity on me because I was an orphan. Perhaps if I'd tried repenting for my parents' sins…but that was ridiculous. It wasn't my fault what family I'd been born into.
Sometimes life was not fair. But the older I became the kinder I grew. I was not my father, unreliable and sadistic. I was not my mother, flighty and cunning. I did not go out of my way to cause others harm they did not deserve. I understood what it meant to be alone and to suffer. I did not wish it on anyone else. I suppose that was why I came here to the Barrens. I had little sympathy for the looters I found here...especially the ones in Taurajo.
People are not perfect, but they can be heroes. I could never dream of having the discipline of a soldier, and it was a little late anyhow to be dreaming of such things. I was twenty-eight. The skirmishes which happened here between the Alliance and Horde could very well kill me, but on the other hand they could very well be the ticket to my inner peace.
Someone anywhere always needs something done, and I'd always refused to be anyone's errand boy before. I felt differently these days. I needed a purpose. I wanted to redeem the time I'd wasted wandering about doing nothing but dwelling on the past. Through the gaps between the leaves I could still see the giraffes hitting each other. When they were done, I would leave, and embark on a...quest, yes, that was the word. A quest, of a personal nature.