Inside a Tin Can

a story of strixus

The wind wispers, its voices slowly pealing back the darkness which had enveloped me. At first, there was nothing, only those voices again, calling to me softly, their soundless words touching the soft fur of my ears like gentile fingers. Soothing me, comforting me. And then the world broke apart again, and pain seared through every inch of my body, and I lost the voices in an agonized scream, though I know no sound left my throat. Every inch of my hide felt scoured, every bit of fur seemed to scream in pain against the harsh grit of the wind. And mingled with the pain was an aching dullness of clotted over cuts and scratches, and the bitter smell of blood caked with earth was all I knew.
Hours passed, perhaps a day, perhaps two, and then at last the world begain to become coherant again. Still the smell, now with the added stench of decaying blood layered over it, and still the pain, but my mind could now block out those feelings. I curled in on myself and focused, and called up all my strength to stand. One hoof tried to slide out from under me, but I found at last my feet beneath me, touching earth. Fighting away a wave of nausia, I called the spirits, and felt the wave of healing flow through my flesh. Wounds which were caked with dirt expelled their filth and healed, fur returned where it had been seared away, and I felt my head begin to clear at last.
The Barrens. I had crossed them before, heading to Duotar and to Ogrimar, and I had though nothing of them. The roads had been easy beneith my hooves, the land passing me by as I ran. Now I knew different. I had through Duotar a hell, until I had truly come to know The Barrens. Centaurs, with their poisoned spears. Raptors with claws as big as my horns. Wild plainstriders whoes kick could break ribs. And so many other foul creatures without count. Some, I reminded myself, had their places in nature, while others were simply struggling to survive against the odds. But not what had done this to me.
I had never seen a night elf before, only heard of them in stories from the elders. Wild and beautiful, creatures of the deep forests, born to the hunt just as the Tauren were. I had thought them like me, perhaps, dispite the fact they sided with the Aliance, and not the Horde. How wrong I had been.
I remembered the savegry of the attack, and yet at the same time the beauty of the attacker. Silver hair, skin the color of silverleaf blossoms, and those wild burning eyes. The great paws of her wild cat mount as they slashed at me, her wicked blade cutting into my flesh as I tried to run. I had been no match for her, none at all. I had only survived because of her haste - she left to slay others once I fell to the ground, bleeding and broken but not dead. I crawled into a ditch and lay down beneith the thornbushes, knowing only that death might be welcome.
But I had lived, and now I understood. The fight between Horde and Aliance was one of fury and blood, not of reason. I would fight when my time came. And I would do it proudly.