Disclaimer: I don't own Warcraft, but obviously someone does…. It's just not me…. Damn.

((A/N)): Okay, so once again here I am. Writing late at night because I don't have much else to do. Yay for me. I'd like to thank everyone who left reviews for the second chapter, the super angst one. Once again, I apologize for the fact that the chapter was depressing. You can blame Trigun for that, because the original thought for the chapter was much nicer before the last ten episodes of that Anime. Bolo's death was a product of an amazing Anime… lucky bull.

Chapter Three: Hate Divine

Yawna felt the cold. It was not a physical freeze, for long ago her body had numbed to the shock of the cold plains. But it was a mental chill, one accompanied by hours of pain that was not only her own but also belonged to the plains which seemed to cry themselves. Dew drops were tears that night and the grasses wept as blood soaked their roots.

At first Yawna took steps that stumbled and shook. She could feel the distress of the five tauren that had lived. It ran through her like the tip of a pike, but something else nagged at her. It was a warm sensation, one on the side of her leg and the other close to her stomach.

Yawna knew the first was from her father's axe handle. Ever since she had fallen it had been radiating heat that had given her comfort. It was her father's spirit, a guide to her in this dark time. But the second puzzled her until she found the source.

It had been lying in her pocket since the day before her Rite. Her mother had given it to her as a symbol of luck and to help her connect with her father's spirit and maybe receive his aide. The horn band that was sunset-hued had belonged to Makar, but now it belonged to Yawna.

Her fingers shook from cold and blood loss as she reached into her pocket. Fixing the horn band over the stub of her now severed left horn she felt something in her Awareness stir. It was unlike anything she had touched before, but she was sure it meant well. The warmth spread over Yawna's body and she slept.

It was two days before Yawna awoke. To her it seemed as if it had always been night, but she knew somehow that the sun had come and gone. The villagers had not even touched her body, for they were still not sane enough to move. Only Baine, his brain running just as quick as it always had, was beginning to formulate a plan to return the former glory to what was now Bloodhoof Village.

"It's cold." Yawna announced to the trees, "Is it always cold or has my spirit just froze?" The trees nodded slowly and Yawna's Awareness sensed something very delicate moving amongst the grasses. She had felt this particular feeling before and even before the creature was in her sight she smiled for the first time in three days.

"You are back, dear wolf." she whispered softly as the creature came to her side once more. It was the wolf from before, the old gray wolf from the night of the battle. She could still remember his weariness, but now her Awareness and brain were so shot that she could only register the fact that the wolf had returned.

The elderly creature rested beside her, his body a source of warmth and trust that Yawna suddenly realized she needed. Her body leaned against his and her Awareness stretched out to comfort and reach the wolf. She suffered the pain of leaving his pack, savored the victory of every kill he had made on his own, and felt in her own hooves the steps that he had taken through his years.

"Do not worry now, Weary Traveler, I will take care of you now." Yawna hissed to the wolf, the night air, and the dead lying in the Village. She wanted to lay there forever, to feel the world grow and die around her as she slept soundly. But she could also feel the pull of the prophecy that had hung over her head as a small calf. Things were becoming clearer to her, and it was only a matter of time until the enemy fully presented itself. She knew that Two-Moons was dead, more than anything she had felt the death of Bolo, her mother, and the kindly oracle that had taught her more than her family might ever have been able to.

"Come now, Weary Traveler, surely you aren't tired now?" Yawna called softly. It was daylight again, but it had become clear that she could not sit like this forever. Yawna would head east, east where she could escape the pain that lay in the Village. She took nothing from her homeland, only the femur bone of the demon wolf that had burnt down her home.

"We have to get away from the Village so that I may breath again," Yawna chided Weary Traveler, the wolf who had comforted her last night. He was stumbling after her, his tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth after only an hour of walking.

The Rolling Plains stretched before Yawna. She felt the vitality in them, the new start that was available to her. But something else was itching the back of her mind, something deadly and cunning that swept up her heart and squeezed it for a second before releasing her.

"I will begin anew." she said softly, half to herself and half to Weary Traveler who limped behind her. The tallest hill beckoned her with warm sun and soft grass. From this peak the Tauren mistress could see most of her home stretched before her.

The Windfury Harpies that flew in their nests nearby gave her heart a slight tinge, her Awareness sensing their desire for squirming meat. But unlike other Tauren Yawna could not feel the burning desire to kill these ancient nemesis of her kind. She only felt the desire to rest and repair her fathers axe.

The femur bone she had taken from the wolf lay across her lap. It was heavy and thick, strong against whatever she had thrown it to, whether rock or tree. Miraculously the bone did scrape off to a wetting stone and even with no experience in weapon making the young Huntress soon had a good sharp edge on the blade of the bone. It was forming slowly into a battle axe head, Yawna's Awareness leaked slowly into the stone and bone and she began to feel the exact curve of how she must move the sharpening whetting tool to maximize the axe's ability. Polishing its deadliness.

When the bone had been fastened into an axe head, sharp as a lion's tooth and twice as deadly, Yawna began to fasten it to her Father's axe handle with a piece of leather cord. The result was a strong axe, the head at least the size of a Plainstrider's head and the handle as strong as it had ever been.

Yet even though Yawna had constructed it herself she could still only bare to touch it, a deep ache that she knew was the product of the violence in which the Demon Wolf had laid away its bone. She could also feel the pain that would yet come from this axe and she prayed to the Earthmother that it could be altered, this future consisting of blood on her weapon.

"What do you think, Weary Traveler? Where do we turn now?" she turned to the wolf, who had been so recently sniffing nonchalantly at a tuft of grass. But now the lupine creature was growling softly, his muzzle pointed north to a hill Yawna could not see over. His hackles were raised, the hair along his back sticking up like that of a Quillboar's.

Yawna laid aside her new weapon for but a moment. Even though her hands had left the hilt of the axe she could still feel a deep murderous feeling that troubled her heart and made her chest tinge slightly.

"I wonder-" she began, but a sudden burst of pain blossomed from her shoulder and her soft musings turned into a bellow of pain. There was no blood, and the feeling faded away quickly, but now she could hear the guttural yells of something approaching and a cry of pain that was like her own but so different.

"Let's see what's going on." Yawna offered after she recovered. There was still something vicious and just plain wrong hanging in the air. Yawna could feel the ground flinch away from something over the hills, and her hooves sensed blood far before she actually crested the knoll.

There were marauders. Alliance marauders to be exact. To call them evil would have been wrong, because that would have made the Horde evil as well. Both sides had done their fair share of violent acts against each other, but the truth was that they were very much alike. Yawna herself had been on the wrong end of one of these attacks and even now her hands flew to the wounded stump of her horn, the sunset horn band brushing its feathers against her skin.

Mostly they were dwarves and humans, but Yawna spotted a few gnomes and one lanky night elf. Their party was ten men strong in all, and their murderous intent was directed at something in the middle of their circle that was screeching with fury and scything about hands that did not match any of its surroundings.

It was a troll. His long ears were poking through a plum mane of hair, ears so like those of the night elves and yet so very different. His skin had taken on a greenish tinge, his clothes battered linen and leather. There was no doubt that he was a warrior, for his weapon that was lying not long off, a dangerous broadsword, spoke of the battered legacy of warriors. But now the troll was a step for the legacy of the group now about to overpower him.

Unlike the merciful yet cruel night elf who had stopped his dwarf companion from killing Yawna these Alliance members were not in the mood for mercy. They were probably part of a group or guild, their own threatening intent feeding off those around them and they were prepared to kill a defenseless creature in cold blood. Their eyes were glaring and Yawna took an involuntary step backwards.

Weary Traveler was still growling, his fangs dripping saliva and his lips curled upwards to bear the glinting canines. He was staring in their direction, his ears pressed back onto his head and trying to block out the sounds of the Alliance. They were yelling loudly though and so intent on their murdering that they did not notice Yawna standing on the hummock.

The troll growled loudly, his lips twisting softly. But these Alliance members had not even bothered to learn the Hordes languages (though Yawna had been taught them by Two-Moons) and they only laughed as the troll screeched out his death threats.

"Rope him," one of the humans offered already removing a few coils of rope from his bag. The troll caught on quickly, trying to back away from the human and in turn running into a wall of pikes, swords, and staves behind him.

The first loop caught his arm, wrenching it from his control and pulling him into a sword that nicked his shoulder and caused him anguish. The shoulder had already been gashed, and the sword point reentered and made Yawna's shoulder burn as well.

Now other loops of rope caught his arm and neck and slowly he was dragged to the ground. Yawna wanted so badly to move but her legs would not allow it, her arms unwilling to move. A spell seemed to have her, though no one had caste one.

"This begins to bore me," a gnome said loudly, his voice laced with alcohol as he stared down at the bleeding form in front of him. They had no mercy, these Alliance members with liquor on their breaths and another fire on Lakeshire fresh on their minds. They had no families left, no neighbors nor friends.

"Let's just kill him," the gnome continued as he pointed his bow down at the still form. The troll had lost too much blood, was too weak to fight now. His life was closing, Yawna could feel it draining away. It hurt.

Even though he couldn't understand their language the troll understood the face of death. "No," it was a heart wrenching cry for Yawna, "don't kill me, please. What have I done to you?" It was a final plea, the troll at a warrior's end now praying for his life. He paused a moment as the gnome tightened the bow string, and then the troll hissed so softly Yawna might have missed it if the surrounding plains were not silent.

"But who would miss me?"

Yawna snapped. With a roar so ferocious she would not have thought it hers she began to descend down the knoll at top speed. Weary Traveler was even quicker than she, his agility and prowess allowing him to reach the marauders first, his teeth finding purchase in a soft human leg.

"A tauren!" the gnome allowed his bow string to let loose, the arrow slipping past Yawna's ear. She felt no wounds, only an insane rage and the desire to kill. Her body began to shake as she hit the first wave of Alliance. They were nothing under her insane rage, their faces aghast as the new axe sliced through their shoulders and legs. But not once did she kill. A bit of Yawna was still there, a small part of the Tauren still seeking peace and the desire to strop bloodshed.

The troll had found a sword. It was dropped from someone who had already fled with a bleeding arm, dropped by someone who's life was only spared because the tauren was still slightly aware. But the troll was not as merciless as his counterpart. While the young huntress still felt the pain of every man and woman she attacked she could still fury on, the pain only feeding her frenzy.

The troll paused over the body of a human. He was breathing hard, blood oozing from every wound inflicted upon him by the group. His mind seethed with fury. How dare they? How dare they gang up upon him and make a mockery of him.

"You would not have had mercy upon me," the troll growled as he raised the sword, "And I have no mercy upon you." The sun was dying, casting a last bloody light over the battle. The Alliance had all fled from what they would soon describe as a 'demon driven tauren.' The troll had raised the sword, the light catching off his yellow eyes that burned with anger.

"No," it was loud and stained with blood, but the voice was still commanding. Something barreled into the troll from the side, something knocked him to the ground and weighed down upon him in the least painful way. When the clouds and stars cleared from his eyes the troll warrior recognized his attacker, the insane Tauren who's eyes, now clear and desperate, had just been stained with rage.

"Get off of me," roared the troll, his claws digging into the Tauren's arm. His nails went through, small drops of blood beading on the Tauren's fur that was already stained with the viscous red liquid, half of which was not her own. But the Tauren did not repent, and instead was staring at the human who had risen to her knees. He heard an angry growl from beside his ear and immediately paused.

'The Tauren is a hunter,' he thought to himself, 'If I continue this her pet will go right for my throat.' His brain was beginning to fog, and he felt the symptoms of blood loss begin to overtake him. But he had to figure out how the tauren would react and he willed himself to stay awake for a little while longer.

"Run," Yawna commanded in her strong voice. She was crying, the troll could see the tears rolling down the black and white fur on her face. "Run before I can't hold him anymore. Leave!" She coughed slightly, blood spilling from her mouth. The troll could see a stab wound in her chest, spotted her wounds more mortal than his own.

As the human took off after her friends a smile twitched on the lips of the tauren. She chuckled almost darkly to herself, shaking her head and muttering something about rain before falling sideways, her unconscious form slipping off the troll.

He stood slowly, aware of the accusing eyes of her wolf behind him. There was something about her face that made him pause, something about how she was sitting in the midst of the battle, unconscious from wounds, and still smiling.

Weary Traveler growled softly, his teeth fastening on the troll's pant leg. He tugged impatiently, yellow eyes glimmering accusingly. The troll found he could not hold his glance for long and he shuttered away, sniffing softly with a bit of impertinence.

"Fine," the troll said, and then a little more steadily, "Fine. I'll help her. But you better not expect me to stick around. I'm not like that." He sorted to himself as he removed a few medical supplies from the tauren's pack.

"Look at me now, Mey'Ru, I'm doing something for the Horde now."

Yawna's eyes fluttered once, twice, three times before she finally awoke. Her Awareness brought her pain everywhere that was not her own and she rolled over onto her back, wounds tingeing with pain. She could feel the fire somewhere giving her warmth, hear it crackling loudly. Fire…. Fire…. Wait!

"The Village is on fire!" she screamed, her body flinging upwards. She could see the smoke, feel the warmth and hear the crackling, but it was not dangerous. Her Awareness tuned into protectiveness and a bit of surprise instead of anguish and sorrow.

"You're fine." a gruff voice assured her, its speaker moving slowly into the light of the fire. It was the troll from before, his hands offering out a steaming bowl of soup. He had bandaged himself up as well, his face such a contrast from when she had last seen him. He was smiling rather annoyingly now, tusks that poked through his lips curling upward and looking as if he was moving a lot by the way they bobbed. His wild purple mane was pushed back as best he could get it and now he had added a few plainstrider feathers to it, no doubt where he had gotten the stew meat from.

"Your wolf helped me," he told her as if sensing her question, for in his condition even a young plainstrider would have been a challenge for him. "He took care of them, all I did was follow them and take the meat."

"You helped me." Yawna said softly, staring into the bowl as if transfixed. The troll winced slightly as he saw two tear drops plummet into the soup. The crying made him uncomfortable and if it were not for the wolf he would have slipped away then and now.

"But you feel so sad," she said softly, and he blinked and tried to alter his expression thinking that she was sensing it from there. The troll could never had guessed yet that Yawna's Awareness was really probing him, sensing from him hostility and a great grief that seemed to envelope him.

"Are you aware that you are surrounded by an aura of misery. Or are you just ignoring it by now. Two-Moons made me sense everyone in the village. Baine was always surrounded by an aura of responsibility, but a sense of fear was new to him. My mother had an aura of responsibility as well, but she had a lot of grief too. She's dead now you know. You are very used to your sense of grief. It has been with you a while, has it not?" Yawna was rambling on now, her mind shot through with the events that had taken place. Her life had changes so much.

"Right," the troll said after a long pause filled with the sounds of the plains. He pushed the bowl towards her again, his fingers twitching as if he wanted to say something, but he wasn't uttering a word. "Drink the soup, I think you'll feel better."

Yawna sighed faintly, her breath catching as she slipped down the soup. Her brain was reeling, but as she got the food into her system her mind began to un-fog. She turned to the troll, this time smiling slowly and shrugging.

"Forgive me," she said, holding out her hand and placing the rest of the soup at the feet of Weary Traveler, "I was not myself earlier. I am Yawna, and I don't believe I caught your name through the mass of it all."

"Var'Jun," the troll replied, smiling as he held out his hand. This was a genuine smile, rare from Var'Jun. He chuckled as the wolf whined softly, pawing at the ground and nudging his nose into Yawna.

"Don't forget your friend here, hunter. He will be your crutch from now on." Var'Jun chuckled softly, "I had a hunter friend. Couldn't even pry himself away from a swoop that he had tamed. Took me a while to get used to the hovering creature though." The troll smiled with memory, but his face suddenly fell short and he stared at the ground hard.

"He died," Yawna asked quietly, "Didn't he?" The troll just nodded, shrugging it off as if it meant nothing. But Yawna's Awareness stretched out and sensed the pain and turmoil within. Suddenly she wanted to know what had made this writhing mass of hurt, but she dared not ask.

"Well, this is Weary Traveler. And I am Yawna." Yawna broke the silence, her thoughts buried elsewhere. She was probing farther and farther into his memory, sensing the trolls thoughts as he felt the slight tug at his mind. He looked quickly at his companion as if suspecting that she was the source, but could find nothing but fire flickering in her eyes.

"He died in a fire," Var'Jun interrupted her suddenly and the connection snapped, Yawna's mind recoiling from the trolls. He was resolute though, as if his mind was set on telling her. He had waited days to get this off his chest. Yawna fell silent and allowed him to speak.

"One of those fires that keep cropping up. It was a small camp, a nomadic camp. But anywhere it was Yawna, it was my home. They burnt it to the ground, those Alliance bastards, during an attack under the pretense that the Horde was burning their towns." Var'Jun paused, his tusks stopped their bobbing and his eyes seemed to click into the past.

"They all died you know. All of them. My friend, my family, and even Mey'Ru. A while ago I would have been happy if he died, he was always yelling at me. But now I don't want him to be gone, don't want any of them to be gone." Var'Jun closed his eyes and Yawna winced as a blast of mental pain howled through her.

"I helped one of them once," Var'Jun hissed softly. His eyes were open now, and his lips were drawn back in a snarl. "One of their little ones. I was young too, just a new warrior. And it was real little, maybe only five or six. A human. He had stayed too far from his home and got lost on the border. I helped him, I guided him back." Var'Jun spit into the fire, eyes unsettling and claws shaking as if seeking the human.

"But you didn't kill it." Yawna said confidently. "Nothing should ever die unnaturally. That was not the way the earth meant it to be. That was why I didn't let you kill the Alliance member. You would be just like them. A monster. They don't know their own cruelty because they see only blind hatred."

"Divine hatred," Var'Jun spit softly, "I relish in it. It is our differences that allow us to hate. Hatred is what keeps us apart, and it is just to be so." The troll giggled to himself almost madly, nodding his way to the north. "They hate us too. They are just as cruel and different."

Yawna looked towards the north, the Alliance. ((A/N: No idea which direction. I like north though. Forgive me.)) She then looked at her companion, her eyebrows knitted together with worry. Shaking her head doggedly she reached out, catching a firefly as it sputtered towards the flames. She turned and let it go into the cool plain night, allowing the fly to once more fly freely without the worry.

"No," she repeated staunchly, "Blind hatred. Our differences are nonexistent." She held up her hand in front of the brooding troll. "We are not different. Our hearts beat, our blood flows, are minds work, and thus we all stay alive. Weary Traveler's heart beats too. The child that you saved on the border, his heart beats. And soon your children's heart will beat, and your family's."

Var'Jun grimaced, looking at the huntress. He blinked as he saw something else in her eyes. It was not the reflection of the fire again, but something different. He peered closer, past the blackness of the bovine speaker's eyes and gasped, recoiling a few inches and looking down at the ground.

The reflections of rain had been in her eyes.

"Where are you headed?" Yawna asked carefully. She had taken his surprise as anger, her Awareness desperate to shut down from the pain the troll always seemed to be feeling. She could not have guessed what he could have possibly seen.

"To investigate the burnings." The troll replied quickly, obviously already considering this. "I want to see what killed my family, ravaged my home. I want to see if the Horde really is burning the Alliance towns too. And if they are I want to stop them. They are going to bring pain to both sides. And… And… And…." The troll fumbled for words, his hands pulling up blades of grass by his sides.

"And no one deserves that pain." Yawna said softly, her eyes closed now. She was breathing in the air, another sense that Two-Moons had taught her. She sniffed again and recalled the seer's words.

"You can smell the future on the wind." he had said into the smoky fire, chuckling as Yawna's young nose only caught the strong burning pine smell. Yawna missed him desperately. Him and her mother and Bolo and all the Village.

The air smelt of fire, rain, and a coming storm.

"Would you like to come with me?" Var'Jun asked at last. "You smell like smoke and blood, so I can only infer your village met the same fate. We could stop them better as two than as one. My mother said that trust was key in battling this sort of thing." The troll snorted softly, his words sounding bitter after his mother's own burning death.

"I would like that very much." Yawna smiled, choosing not to reveal what the wind had told her. There was a painful future on the air.

Weary Traveler yipped softly, his voice added to theirs. Something was forming.

A:NThere you have it. Now I have to go. Art lessons. runs! REVIEW PLEASE!