Another hot, dry day in the Barrens and it wasn't even mid-day yet. A mag'har orc picked up a bucket of slop in each of his hands and made his way from the house to the pig pen. With each step, he wondered why everyone else had boars. Big boars, with tusks and bristling fur! But why did him and his mother, all that was left of their family, have the only pigs in the Barrens?
As he poured the slop into the trough, the pigs squealed and flocked over to gorge their paltry meal.
Rikkarg stared at them in disgust. What gross creatures, he thought. It seemed fitting to him that they were one of the human's livestock. Orcs should be ashamed of these dirty creatures.

"Rikkarg!" came his mother's voice. "When you're done, I need some help with the corner of the roof again."
Rikkarg remembered. They had pigs because they were too poor for boars. Too poor for a proper hut, too poor for a hat, too poor for much more than the dry squat they lived in. The city wasn't much more pleasant, either. Crowded, loud and the smell of the trashed stream that snakes through sometimes made the whole city stink worse. The water inside the city didn't used to be bad, but it was worse after the goblins moved in.
Rikkarg's shoulders dropped with a heavy sigh as he realized he had been generalizing all goblins. They weren't all bad… but it seemed like so many were so dismissive of the impacts on their environment. Rikkarg wished the council that lead the Horde would do something about the water. Then, maybe he could try working in the city. But no way is he going to allow his family to live by and drink from that water.
But, for now, his mother needed help with the corner of the roof… again! He went inside and, sure enough, the corner had blown free from its bindings. So much for saving that last length of rope for holding some of the pig pen together. Maybe if the pen broke, the pigs would get free and get themselves eaten by the cats that roamed the Barrens, or so Rikkarg dreamed.

"Thank you, my son," she gave him and affectionate punch on the arm, "And I know you're more than ready to go to the Crossroads. Eat some of that bread before you go? You need the energy."
Rikkarg hesitated when he looked at their last hunk of bread. It was barely a handful. His mother grunted, grabbed it and shoved it into his hand, "that wasn't a question. Get going."
Without any other option, Rikkarg and his mother hugged and he left. He headed east, to the main road that lead to the Crossroads. The road between his home and the main road was almost nonexistent. It was very rarely used, for who would want to visit a pig farm? At least the lone trail of stone markers still stood. Mostly. They were all in disrepair, knocked over or weather-beaten. Not that a pile of stones needed maintenance.

Rikkarg was glad when his worn boots finally struck the main road. There was a pair of figures ahead, walking to the Crossroads. One was a Highmountain, Rikkarg judged by the antlers on his head. The other had the hunched stature of a troll, probably one of the Darkspear. The thought of catching up to them crossed the mag'har's mind, but the sun beating down on the sizzling Barrens made him reconsider. No sense in tiring himself out so soon and the exertion would just make him thirstier. The dry bread would do that just fine.
With a sigh, the orc began the long walk, following a good distance behind the two silhouettes ahead. Most travelling was usually done very early, or late to avoid most of the worst part of the days. But Rikkarg was getting too anxious after spending so much time at home. The home that had those hungry, hungry pigs. No matter how gross he thought they were, it was still home, Rikkarg begrudgingly considered.
The Crossroads' sturdier huts and walls began jutting up in the distance. The two ahead had kept their pace, but the sight of a tavern and a mug must have helped quicken their pace.

As Rikkarg passed a scraggy bush, a whimper met his ears. He stopped and looked left, then right. He only saw the two that were disappearing into the Crossroads. The whimper sounded again, and the bush rustled.
A puppy crawled from under it, it's rusty orange fur made the small thing almost invisible against the barren earth.
"Where did you come from?" Rikkarg asked as he knelt and offered his empty hand. The puppy looked at the dry bread and gave Rikkarg the puppy eyes.
With a sigh, Rikkarg offered the hunk of bread. His heart dropped as the bread disappeared into the puppy's mouth.
The little thing groaned happily and put a paw in the massive hand. "Awoo," it declared. He crawled into his hand and Rikkarg rose with the puppy in his hands.
"Come with me," Rikkarg scritched the puppy's chin.
"Awoo!"