Free Thrall Twilight of the Aspects by Christie Golden

believe that?” said Erina.
    “I do,” said Desharin. Erina looked at him, surprised. “Thrall was ever known as a moderate, even as warchief. And now that he serves the Earthen Ring, perhaps he was indeed sent here.”
    “By a dragon,” said Erina sarcastically. “Excuse me … not just any dragon, but Ysera of the Emerald Dream. And carrying the Doomhammer.”
    “Who would wish to help druids more?” Desharin said. “And the Doomhammer is his, is it not? He may bear it wherever he wishes.” The Sentinel had no response to that, and turned to another who had approached. He, too, had long green hair that hung unbound, but also sported a short beard. His face looked weathered and wise, and he regarded Thrall thoughtfully.
    “This is your camp, Telaron,” Erina said respectfully. “Tell us what you want us to do. He is an orc, and our enemy.”
    “He is also a shaman, and therefore friend to the elements,” Telaronreplied. “And the elements are so troubled that we cannot afford to deny them friends. We will put you to the test, Thrall of the Earthen Ring. Come.”
    Thrall followed as Telaron led him up the sloping hills closer to the blazing fire. The trees near the camp had mercifully not yet caught, and Thrall could see that they had been doused liberally with water. All the smaller scrub bushes had been cleared; only the old growth remained.
    His heart ached to behold it.
    Many of the great trees were already too badly burned to rescue. Others were just igniting, but the fires, angry and raw, were now spreading rapidly. Thrall recalled the blaze that had swept through Orgrimmar, and swiftly took out his fire totem from his pouch. He stepped forward, pressing his bare feet firmly into the good earth, lifting his hands skyward. He closed his eyes and reached out with his mind and heart.
    Spirits of fire, what troubles you? Let me help. Let me take you away from where you harm things old and rare and irreplaceable, and bring you to where you can warm and comfort living, breathing beings.
    There was a strange grimness to the essence of one elemental as it responded. It was similar to the dark anger of the spark that had threatened to destroy Orgrimmar some moons past, but there was something resolute in this one’s nature.
    I am doing what must be done. Fire purges. You know this. Fire burns away what is impure, so that it may be returned to the earth, and the cycle begun anew. It is my duty, shaman!
    His eyes still closed, Thrall jerked as if struck. Your duty? Surely you choose your duty, spirit of fire. And what has happened to these old trees, that you feel they need to be purged? Are they ill? Plagued? Cursed?
    None of these things, admitted the fire elemental, speaking in Thrall’s heart.
    Then why? Tell me. I would understand this, if I can.
    The fire did not answer at once, burning suddenly hotter and brighter for a moment. Thrall had to turn his face away from the inferno.
    They are … confused. Something is wrong with them. They do not know what they know. They must be destroyed!
    Thrall himself was confused by that response. He was well aware that all things had a spirit. Even stones, which were not truly “living” beings; even fire, which was “speaking” in his head and heart. But he could make no sense of this.
    What do they know? Thrall asked of the spirit of fire.
    What is wrong!
    “Wrong” as in unnatural, or “wrong” as in incorrect?
    Incorrect.
    Thrall thought frantically. Could they learn what is correct?
    For a long moment he thought he had lost the attention of the spirit. It was agitated, erratic, distraught. If it would not listen—
    They did know, once. They could learn again.
    Then, spirit of fire, do not destroy. I urge you to pull back. If you must burn, burn as torches to illuminate the darkness, or as hearthfires, to cook meals and warm chilled bodies. Harm these trees no further, lest you forever destroy their ability to one day learn what is correct!
    Thrall waited,