▸ Column · The reborn Horde in Durotar — a shared dwelling in Orgrimmar, a territorial battle-prowler, and a new mate moving in
THRALL replies.
Replied to by Thrall, with a rebuttal from Garrosh Hellscream.
The letter
Earth-Warder, I keep a battle-prowler named Quartermaster Snarltooth, and for three winters he has held my dwelling in Orgrimmar as his own undisputed territory. I never contested it. Then I took a mate — Korga moved his pallet into my home — and Snarltooth has answered with open war. He dragged Korga's grooming-tusks into the wash-basin, he plants himself on Korga's chest the moment sleep takes him so my mate wakes choking, and three nights past he tore a fresh ceremonial tabard to ribbons while staring into my eyes the entire time, as if reporting a victory. Korga bears it without complaint, but I found him at the hour of the wolves asking an old beast-tamer whether a prowler's grudge ever truly ends, and the answer eased neither of us. I love them both. I no longer know whether I am a bondmate or a peace-envoy between two armies. Is there any truce that does not end with one of them gone from my door?
Thrall replies
So. A creature who ruled your hearth for three winters wakes to find the ground he stood on shared without his leave, and he answers the way the frightened answer — by making himself impossible to ignore. Hear what is underneath the shredded tabard, sister: that is not hatred. That is a thing that believed its place in your trust was its whole world, and now fears the world has shrunk. I know that fear from the other side of it.
You speak of a truce that ends with one of them gone. Set that down. The elements do not win against one another — earth, fire, water, air hold in tension, and that tension is the world standing. Your home is large enough to hold both, but only if Snarltooth is shown, daily and plainly, that the new pallet did not cost him his honored place. Feed him before Korga each night. Let Korga be the hand that brings the good meat, not the rival who took the warmth. Patience is the long road, and it is the only road that does not breed a new wound.
And mark this — I once believed a strong heart would surely grow into the place I gave it, and I was wrong, and orcs died for it. Watch closely. Believing is not the same as being right. But your prowler has earned the watching.
— Thrall
Garrosh Hellscream weighs in
Go'el, you would counsel a war-beast into surrender by bribing it with extra meat. Of course you would.
Look again, envoy. In your whole tale there is exactly one creature acting with strength, and it walks on four legs. Snarltooth defends his territory and announces it without apology. Your mate? He bears it. He grovels to an old tamer at the hour of the wolves. He is the weak thing in your home, and the prowler smells it.
So I will not tell you to make peace. The beast already knows the only law there is. ...And yet. I held a continent and ended on ash, alone, every leash cut, nothing left to need me. Need no one — it is what I believed. Look where it left a warchief before you take a prowler's side over a man's.
— Garrosh Hellscream
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