#baenhoof

The Legion closed in from all sides, felhounds snapping at limbs with imps swarming over them like clouds of screeching, cackling locusts. She watched as three massive felhounds circled Kamiane, too far for her to intervene, and pounced. The troll was ripped apart, screaming, as their tendrils clamped to her blue skin.

The tauren tried to dash in to shield an ally, only to see him go down. She wasn’t fast enough...she couldn’t even move. Baenhoof strained as hard as she could but went nowhere.

Dar’kran whirled into the many-bladed arms of a shivarra, slashing and snarling. He was impaled once, twice, six times, and hoisted up as a trophy while the bitch laughed.

Helplessly, Baenhoof watched as the Kor’kron were slaughtered, one by one.

And once her Warlord fell, his head rolling to rest at her hooves, they turned to her. All at once, blades and felfire rushed at her unprotected form, and she cried out in fear.

Baenhoof burst up from her sleeping mat with a panicked yell, the knife brandished in a hand and her fur damp with sweat. Her heart beat madly as she whirled, sitting up and panting for breath and looking for the hordes of demons that were still all too fresh in her mind.  The tent was empty and silent. 

“It’s fine, Nhuala. Go back to sleep.” muttered a groggy, half-concious voice. Rodakar, still asleep on the mat next to her.

Baenhoof took a breath and fell back.  She counted between each breath, forcing herself to calm, and sheathed the knife again, dropping it at her side. There were no demons, she reassured herself. They were in Skullgrin, and they were safe. She repeated it like a mantra, forcing her eyes shut and ignoring the lingering feeling of panic that pulled at every nerve.

The camp was silent. For the most part. As she lay awake, temple rested against her upper arm, Baenhoof listened to Gorgrond at night. It had almost become familiar, at this point. Exotic birds squawked in the trees, frogs croaked. There was even the occasional bellow of a riverhide. It was mixed in with the gentle breathing of the huge bull curled up at her back, with his own arm stretched out above hers and his nose rested between her neck and shoulder. Rodakar always turned away at night--he knew she liked her space when sleeping. But every night, without fail, he would roll over once asleep and cuddle up against her back. Truth be told she didn’t mind. It wasn’t as if she was sleeping anyhow, but his steady breathing sometimes lulled her to sleep anyway. At least he was here. He was safe, and they were together, and that was all that mattered. 

A breeze rustled at the tent hides, and she tensed before sighing. It was nothing, the tauren reassured herself. There were guards on watch all throughout the camp, both Kor’kron and Laughing Skull. They’d upped security tenfold since the attempt on the Warlord’s life. She was just being jumpy.

But the moonlight was blocked out as a form moved past their tent, too close to be a patrol, and Baenhoof tensed again. Panic pulled harder at her, and her mind settled on one possible threat: another troll assassin. Motionless and stiff on the sleeping mat, she watched as the form moved around to the tentflap and reached out to open it. Baenhoof’s hackles began to raise as she pulled the knife from it’s sheath and slowly rose, crouched on the mat as it was slowly pulled aside. Her grip on the knife reaffirmed, she readied herself to strike. 

Someone stepped in, and Baenhoof threw herself forward. There was a grunt as she knocked the invader to the ground. and at once, she realized something was wrong. They were too small. Large, shining fearful eyes stared up from the ground as the woman brandished the knife, gripped for a downward stabbing motion, her other hand curled around a tiny neck. 

“Mama?”

Baenhoof went numb as she kneeled over the tiny tauren child, her fur as black as her own with rounded peachfuzz nubs for horns and the same blue-grey eyes Rodakar had. The big blue eyes began to tear up.

A hand on her shoulder yanked her back, and there was a mess of panicked voices all at once.  Baenhoof blinked, and it was daylight. The sun shone through the tentflap, and her eyes struggled to adjust. Rodakar’s voice was laced with concern as he spoke, and as her vision cleared, Baenhoof looked down to see a small goblin woman laid out on the ground, coughing and clutching at her throat.  An orcish guard, one of their own, was heatedly arguing with Rodakar, the bull’s large hands gripping her shoulders. The knife was halfway across the room. What was going on?

“--never happen again, she’s just--” Rodakar squeezed her shoulder as she looked up in confusion at him. 

“What happened?” She burbled.

“Are you kidding me?!” The goblin wheezed, glaring. “You nearly frickin’ killed me!”

Baenhoof looked at her, bewildered. “What?”

“I’m so sorry,” Rodakar sighed, hoisting his mate to her hooves as best he could. “She’s...she’s seen a lot. These kinds of nights are rare, I assure you.”

“Yeah whatever,” the goblin coughed, and left the tent, throwing the tentflap shut as hard as she could.

Baenhoof looked at her mate with a growing suspicion and a dread that welled in the pit of her stomach. “Did I...attack her?”

“You did,” he sighed, scratching at his beard, and smiled a little when she tenatively pulled her arms around his waist for a hug.  “What happened? This is uncommon for you.”

“I don’t know. I was dreaming, and then I thought I saw something, but it wasn’t... It’s nothing.”

“Nhuala.”

“Really.”

“You suck at lying.”

Her fingers drummed against his back as she debated whether to tell him. He’d find out soon enough, to be sure...they all would.

Baenhoof sighed, and began to explain with grim sobriety. “The Legion is coming. Gul’dan leads the Iron Horde and they’ve consolidated their forces in Tanaan.”

Rodakar’s smile fell. “How do you know...?”

“Scouts. Not just ours, but from other militias as well. That thing I went to the other day was a war council,” she sighed, pulling away to rub at her face and look at the suit of armour against the tent wall.  “Don’t tell anyone. Not yet.”

“What about...the eredar. Archimonde.”