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his attendant, who had been so diligent about alerting him when Thrall had awakened, ladled up the stew
and gently pressed the warm wooden bowl into Drek thar s hands.
The orc ate his stew, delaying speaking. Palkar sat quietly. The only sound was the crackle of the fire
and the slow, deep breathing of Wise-ear, Drek thar s wolf companion. It was a difficult story for
Drek Thar, one he had never imagined he would need to speak of ever again.
Your parents were the most honored of all the Frostwolves. They left us on a dire errand many winters
past, never to return. We did not know what had happened to them . . . until now. He gestured in the
direction of the cloth. The fibers in the cloth have told me. They were slain, and you survived, to be
raised by humans.
The cloth was not living, but it had been made of the fur of the white goats that braved the mountains.
Because the wool had once belonged to a living being, it had a certain sentience of its own. It could not
give details, but it spoke of blood being shed, spattering it with dark red droplets. It also told Drek Thar
a bit about Thrall as well, validating the young orc s story and giving it a sense of truth that Drek Thar
could believe.
He could sense Thrall s doubt that the blanket remnant had spoken to him freely. What was the
errand that cost my parents their lives? the young orc wanted to know.
But that was information Drek Thar was not ready to share. I will tell you in time, perhaps. But now,
you have put me in a difficult position, Thrall. You come during the winter, the harshest season of all, and
as your clan members we must take you in. That does not mean that you will be kept warm, fed, and
sheltered without recompense.
I did not expect to be so treated, said Thrall. I am strong. I can work hard, help you hunt. I can teach
you some of the ways of humankind, that you will better be prepared to fight them. I can
Drek Thar held up a commanding hand, silencing Thrall s eager babble. He listened. The fire was
speaking to him. He leaned in to it, to hear its words better.
Drek Thar was stunned. Fire was the most undisciplined of the elements. It barely would deign to reply
when he addressed it after following all the rituals to appease it. And now, Fire was speaking to him . . .
about Thrall!
He saw in his mind images of brave Durotan, beautiful and fierce Draka.I miss you yet, my old friends ,
he thought.And yet your blood returns to me, in the form of your son. A son of whom even the
Spirit of Fire speaks well. But I cannot just give him the mantle of leadership, not as young as he
is, as untested . . . as human-tainted!
Since your father left, I have been the leader of the Frostwolves, said Drek Thar. I accept your offer
of aid to the clan, Thrall, son of Durotan. But you will have to earn your rank.
Six days later, as Thrall battled his way through a snowstorm back to the clan encampment with a large,
furry animal he and the frost wolves had brought down slung over his back, he wondered if perhaps
slavery hadn t been easier.
As soon as the thought struck, he banished it. He was with his own people now, although they continued
to regard him with hostility and grudging hospitality. He was always the last to eat. Even the wolves ate
their fill before Thrall. He was given the coldest place to sleep, the thinnest cloak, the poorest weapons,
the most onerous chores and tasks. He accepted this humbly, recognizing it for what it was: an attempt to
test him, to make sure that he had not come to the Frostwolves expecting to be waited on like a king . . .
like Blackmoore.
So he covered the refuse pits, skinned the animals, fetched the firewood, and did everything that was
asked of him without a word. At least he had the frost wolves to keep him company in the blizzard this
time.
One evening, he had asked Drek Thar about the link between the wolves and the orcs. He was familiar
with the concept of domesticating animals, of course, but this seemed different, deeper.
It is, Drek Thar replied. The wolves are not tamed, not as you understand the word. They have come
to be our friends because I invited them. It is part of being a shaman. We have a bond with the things of
the natural world, and strive always to work in harmony with them. It would be helpful to us if the wolves
would be our companions. Hunt with us, keep us warm when the furs are not enough. Alert us to
strangers, as they did with you. You would have died had not our wolf friends found you. And in return,
we make sure they are well fed, that their injuries are healed, and their cubs need not fear the mighty
wind eagles that scour the mountains during the birthing times.
We have made a similar pact with the goats, although they are not as wise as the wolves. They give us
their wool and milk, and when we are in extreme need, one will surrender its life. We protect them in
return. They are free to break the pact at any time, but in the last thirty years, none has done so.
Thrall could not believe what he was hearing. This was potent magic indeed. You link with things other
than animals, though, do you not?
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