Warm Trail, A

The dark worg paced back and forth, kicking herself for losing track of the beast.

Serves me right for leaving such a task to a pup, she growled softly in her mind, then stopped short, the sound of pawfalls catching her attention and causing Splyttfang to perk her ears hopefully. The young grey timber wolf bounded into the Felwood thicket, panting slightly from the run.

“Hesphestus and Silence caught her scent at the edge of the Blasted Lands, Elder. There was only a trail leading into the wastes,” Jayse reported, lowering his head respectfully to the femme of rank. The worg flicked her ear slightly, pondering this information, then looked over her shoulder at the Ghostpaw who sat nearby.

“I must go,” she chuffed softly to him, and Sterling shook his head slightly in dispute.

“You can stay,” he barely whispered. He was answered with a shake of the ancient femme’s tattered, shaggy head.

“You are my mate, but she is my daughter, and the last of the Stonetalon Pack. I must go to her…” Splyttfang sighed and looked off to the east, “…And accompany her to the end of this life.” The Ghostpaw closed his eyes tightly, and then got to his paws to nudge her cheek softly.

“I knew you would say that, my love. Go to her, and see her to the end of her torment. I shall be here when you return.” The dark worg nodded once, then got to her paws.

“Come, Jayse. Let’s find my daughter.” The two lupine turned and raced towards Orgrimmar…towards the zeppelin.

…Or what’s left of her...thought the old worg to herself, biting back the worry and sadness she had felt for some time now.

-Three Days Prior-

The beast paced back and forth before the swirling wall before her, a low growl rumbling from her throat as she expressed her uncertainty to the oddly charged air about her. She paid little attention to the signs of battle all about her, but stopped short once more at the trail of blood that ended at the portal before her. It was fresh, for the most part…though it has already soaked into the burnt red sands of the region, staining it a deeper crimson as it dried. Dry as it was, the scent that rose in silence from it was driving the beast mad. Her muzzle worked its fangs together until a thick lather dripped from the corners of her mouth, and her hooves cut into the ground angrily. Her head snapped up once more towards the portal, and once more, her fangs parted in a screaming, hateful howl, as if to call her prey back to her grasp.

She had wounded the Grimtotem Hunter two days before, when the two had fairly stumbled onto each other. For a moment, they had stood there, blinking dumbly at each other; one, trying to determine if the entity before him was Tauren or beast, the other, tasting the air to determine if she was to feast that night.

The senses of the one proved faster than the other, and the tiger at the Grim’s side was quickly targeted and charged. With a growl, the cat had leapt at the foe, only to feel fangs against its throat and the warmth of blood spilling upon its pelt. The beast tore out the jugular and spit out the mound of flesh from her muzzle…she had no taste for it. Golden eyes turned towards her true prey; hands and hooves stepping over the tiger as it kicked its last.

A mighty bellow, and the black bull lifted his axe and brought it down deftly as the beast snarled and dodged, leaving only a thin line of dark blood dripping from the sharpened edge of the blade. Ignoring the superficial wound and dancing from one hoof to the next, the beast sprung at him once more before he had time to lift his weapon once more. His reflexes were sharp, however, and a thick arm was brought up just in time to slap her away, her fangs leaving twin red tears on his forearm before her body slammed against the rocky ground with a hollow thump, knocking the breath out of her.

The force brought down upon the clearly smaller of the two was great, yet even as a snarling wheeze struggled to refill her lungs, she was back upon all fours, her mane bristling with hate. She had tasted his blood, and her hunger was driving the strength back into the tattered body with refreshed rage. Muzzled opened wide towards her prey, brandishing unnatural fangs with a screaming howl.

Dizzy from the vision in front of him, the Grimtotem froze, though his wide hooves shuffled to back away from the beast. As one ear pressed forward…the other hung limply to the side, tattered and indifferent…the femme stalked forward, muzzle twitching as she eyes the side of his throat with a growing satisfaction.

At that moment, a noise made three ears perk, one side to breath a deep, relieved sigh, and the other to swear hatefully in a growling dialect before slipping into the shadow like a mist. From the thickets, the beast watched as a dark Tauren warrior rode up on the back of his ambling kodo, accompanied by a horned cat at his right side. In a swirl of mist, the cat contorted its shape and rose to its hooves, the druid pulling his comrade closer to inspect his wounds.

Once the two newcomers were satisfied the hunter was shaken but only had minor injuries, the druid shifted back and sniffed here and there, looking for the scent of the beast that the bull was so fervently trying to describe. The beast kept hidden, trying to decipher the dialect spoken, but she had never spoken fluent Taurahe, and these days, had pushed what she did know far from her mind.

The druid searched though roughly, but found no trail. The beast had not carried a scent for some time now.

Together the three moved towards the sundered plains of the Blasted Lands. At first, their minds were eased that the menace had given up her prey and left back into the wild. Yet, on their first night camped, those golden eyes glowed dimly outside the cast of the campfire, staring intently at her target as his own eyes stared back. The three Grimtotems lingered close to their fire that night.

The next day, hints of disappearing shadow kept haunting the corners of their vision, and through one more night the eyes hovered and paced in the darkness, waiting for the moment that all three would fall asleep…and she would have her opportunity to drag the hunter off into the night. Taking such a large kill would fill her hunger for at least a couple of nights, alternating between feasting and sleeping atop the corpse to deter any would-be scavengers.

She had followed them carefully, right up to the gates of the portal, then stopped with much uncertainty. The beast had no clue of what lay on the other side…other than a prime Grimtotem who was wounded, tired…and slipping from her fangs with each passing moment.

And here she had paced back and forth, pondering what to do. Pausing for a moment from her snarling wrath, she looked over a shoulder, to the direction she had come from. Somewhere, off to the west, somewhere under the dirt of the charred vale, lay the final remnants of the one who had calved her…bones scattered over two decades before from the lack of a proper burial and harpy scavengers. Overlooking the Shadowprey shoreline were the silent graves of her Trollish stepfather and fiancé; at the foot of a tree, deep in the Feralas wilds, a rat made its home in the skull of one of the ill-fated Stonetalon pack.

The flashes of reason broke through her tired, numbed mind long enough to dwell upon the faces of the past for only brief, spastic moments Where are they buried, she wondered darkly…where is he buried. A past full of pain and disappointment, yet still…her past was here. A hand picked up from the ground momentarily, as she began to move away from the portal before her.

…Then she remembered him.

“Ju ‘ave responsibilities now, Ptesan-Wi,” the rogue had growled at her. She had done nothing more than glare at him, and turn away. Best he had nothing to do with her…best he think she was dead….best he never hear the rumors…

Ptesan-Wi turned and leapt though the rippling wall without another moment’s hesitation, welcoming whatever may lay at the other side, whether it be death or no return otherwise. Best he never know the atrocity that had birthed him.

She tumbled head over hocks and then shrunk back at the unnatural cry of the Fel Reaver. Taking a spilt second to gather herself, her prey…and the hunger that raged within her, were forgotten for the time being. Memories faded, and raw instinct took over once more. Ptesan-Wi slipped back into the tortured numbness of the beast's mind, and the atrocity slipped into the shadows and disappeared.

---

Splyttfang stood before the portal, the slender grey at one side, the brutish red at the other. With a sigh, she looked back to the mammoth dire wolf, and the two pups that lay at his feet.

“Silence, take Click and Lesha back to Ashenvale, and wait for word from me.” The ancient mute canted his head in question, but Splytt simply nodded and he got to his paws, nudging the two young ones to follow. The old worg looked back to the gateway, and stepped in, the two comrades quick on her heels. A rush of movement, and her golden eyes opened to a land not unfamiliar to her. Her muzzle snuffed the burning air for a moment, nose lifting into the breeze momentarily before head lowered and eyes opened and focused. “Home,” the femme growled softly, in a dialect usually held by demons.