The sentinels all waited patiently even after the satyr had finished its bizarre story. The goat man remained calm throughout despite recounting its abridged tale of blasphemy, betrayal and misery. The look on his furry face was one of someone who had relived the sins of the past so many times that even the shame and pain had dissipated in time, leaving an empty husk with very little reason to even live.

Stoic aside from Gwynneth who jittered in desire for a summary execution, the night elves all looked to their leader for guidance. Unelia remained sitting stop her nightsabre even when the big cat had crouched, both of them ready should the need to strike arise.

But it would not arise. Of that, there was no doubt. The satyr looked up at the unit's commander, shame and dejection in his eyes.

"My story is the result of choice; nothing more. We make choices...and we live with them." Nonchalant and entirely unafraid even with the glaives and arrows aimed at him, the satyr wiped his hands on the grass near his perching spot to rid his fur of the berry juice. Isurith squeezed her glaive arm a bit tighter, totally untrusting of the cursed traitor. Undaunted, he spoke in even tones as if he cared not whether he lived or died. "It is my hope that my story will serve as a warning to others against the end result of such heresies and errors. I don't know if there is redemption for my kind...but I hope my fall can save others, if you pass on the knowledge of what happened."

Cold and objective, Unelia resheathed her bow and stood at ease despite the tension of her women. "We will; our report must be circulated among the local area commanders. The way in which one may become corrupt is relevant to our sacred duty of protection." Pausing as she examined him, her eyes bore the hardened, stalwart stare befitting a squad leader, but they were empty of any aggression. "Your story will be told," she reassured the fallen Druid.

Crestfallen eyes met hers again, unmindful that the life might very soon fade from them. "What is your choice of action in the field, commmander?" he asked without any apprehension but with a good measure of curiosity. "Death? Arrest?"

Gwynneth sneered in anticipation and even Kyra looked ready - though not eager - for an execution. Isurith held even more still than a sleeping ancient, but could cut the man down before the others had a chance were her sister to give the signal. Only Madrieda remained tempered, telling Unelia much more through her eyes than she could with words.

When Unelia looked back at the red, furry figure, she did not see a demon. She saw a broken, despondent man full of remorse and regret for his crimes. Unable to end him, she waved a signal for her women to back off.

"I sense no imbalance in nature here," she stated plainly but firmly. Her comment was directed more at her fellow sentinels than the satyr. "We found a lake and nothing more; there is no disturbance."

Once their assigned officer had spoken, even surly Isurith backed off, leaving only Gwynneth to let her jaw drop open. The nightsabres even appeared unaggressive, seeing a being but not a demon due to the lack of fel corruption in the air.

One last time, the satyr looked up and spoke in a defeated tone. "Warn the people. They are no longer my people, but they are upon the truth, and do not deserve to fall into such traps. If there's one act of atonement I may perform, it's passing on my story as a warning to others." Almost showing a hint of emotion for a split second, his voice took on a pleading tone as he addressed Unelia - not for his own life, but of those who might fall to the same temptations.

"It shall be so."

A single, solemn nod was his only response to Unelia's reassurance. Glowing silver eyes shifted around slowly, unused to such disengagement from a theoretical target after living as nature's eternal soldiers for so long.

For another long pause, the group fell silent as the satyr looked down and stopped moving. Though he didn't appear to have died, something most certainly changed in the atmosphere as the sabres pricked their ears up.

Druidic magic surged throughout the area, energizing the balance in a way that should be impossible in a district with no male Kaldorei inhabitants. Ever so slowly, green swirls twirled around the satyr, orbiting his deformed figure as he sat stop his rock and curled in on himself. The snapping of wood rang out as the surface of his skin was enveloped from within. Amber tree sap leaked out of his pores like sweat and hardened into petrified wood as his skin turned to bark. His shape shifting took almost a minute to complete, but it felt like much longer as the satyr held still and didn't move. Right there in front of all five sentinels, the satyr hardened until his hooves sprouted roots which took ahold in the ground, and his arms became melded to his sides as he hugged himself in a lonely attempt to comfort himself. Twisted branches complimented a sad, melancholy expression that vaguely resembled a face.

His transformation complete, the balance burned brighter than usual as the being disappeared, leaving only nature in its wake.

At first, nobody spoke; none of them quite knew what to make of it. It seemed like a trick, yet the children of the stars would have recognized it were that the case. Impetuous as always, Gwynneth raised her glaive.

"Commander, show me where to strike so I may rend asunder this abomination!"

"Stand down," Unelia ordered softly.

Frozen in place, the greenhaired sentinel appeared unable to move or think. Her eyes grew wide and she became visibly agitated despite controlling her tone. "Commander Swiftfoot, this thing is a demon! It corrupts nature!" Gwynneth sputtered, completely out of her element and confused as all hell.

"Do you sense any disruption of the balance here, Gwynn?"

Unable to answer, Gwynneth was stunned into silence. Even Isurith, Gwynneth's ardent supporter, heeded her sister's order instead. Kyra appeared confused, unsure of what had just happened.

"There is no demon here," Unelia asserted confidently while spurring her sabre to rise and lead the others away. "All I see is nature." Buckingher heels to order her sabre to rise, Unelia stalked away from the tree growing over a rock. "Sisters, assemble; we have a report to file."

Across the long, grassy fields, the five riders left, heading for the village where they'd been posted in order to report that no corruption had been found. Confused by the sight of an uncorrupted satyr, the five would remember the bizarre experience for centuries to come, never quite able to explain how the betrayer had been forgiven without even realizing it himself.

Near awake in a mile wide clearing, an earthen awning covered a sad, lonely tree. Twisted and contorted, its roots spread across a rock and sank into the soft soil, blending in with the scenery aside from the fact that there were no other trees around.

Thousands of years later, locals would say that on some nights, a faint amber glow could be seen from the two indentations on the twisted face that resembled eyes. Though twisted and disfigured, the face seemed a little less sad on those nights as it patiently waited for the right time to come, when it would finally be woken to prove it deserved a second chance. Because no matter what it had done, it still bore some measure of warmth in its heart; and the balance would not deny it a fair chance at the redemption it desired so much.

A/N: e-cookie for anyone who can guess the identity of the satyr.