Arisen

An’she’s bright eye looked down from the heavens, amber light suffusing the land below and drawing warmth from the very earth. Heat waves shimmered in the air like a diaphanous, gossamer gown upon an eternally dancing maiden. Above, the sky was a pale shade of blue and cloudless for as far as the gazer’s single eye could see.
 
Het’heru contemplated rising from where she lay in the dirt and sun-scorched grass, but the heat of the day and her own battered body rallied against her will. She lay there, unmoving, unfeeling save for the wellspring of grief that suffused her soul. Everything she had ever loved and everyone she had ever known were nothing but cinder and ash. The blue and gold banners of the hated Alliance blurred in the depths of memory, replacing the bleak despair with something far more potent.
 
Hatred.
 
Het’heru slammed a fist into the dirt, tensing the whipcord of her arm to push herself up; though her arm shook at first, it soon steadied, fueled by the adrenaline of the unrelenting hate that pulsed through her veins. The Alliance had done this. The Alliance had destroyed Taurajo. It did not matter their reason. It did not matter their justification. They had taken from her; she would do so in kind – an eye for an eye.
Once she gained her feet, her body moved on pure instinct. Skills of tracking and reading the nature signs, taught to all tauren braves in their youth, came to her with hardly a thought. Off to the northwest, she could see the thin thread of smoke that indicated a campfire of some sort. It was enough for now. Her hooves carried her toward it, each step replacing grief with a galvanized zealotry.
 
Death to the Alliance.
 
☼
 
“There is more to you than this, Het’heru…”
 
The priestess offered out a backpack filled with supplies: food and water for several days, woolen bandages, and a map of Dustwallow Marsh. Het’heru extended a hand, grabbing the pack by one of its shoulder straps. Her single, good eye looked at the priestess without remorse.
 
“My path has led me to this, Aum. There is no turning back now.”
 
Despite the fact that magic existed in the world that could heal her ruined face, Het’heru had turned away all offers for its mending. The hide refused to grow back, leaving only a mottled patch of skin over the pitted hollow that had once been her left eye. What was once beautiful and admired was now scarred and withered by tragedy, just as her soul was. It seemed fitting.
 
“At least let us send someone with you to watch your back.”
 
Het’heru shook her head. “This is a path I must walk alone, Aum. In my heart of hearts, I know what I do goes against everything the Earthmother stands for, but I cannot stop now.”
 
The priestess placed a hand on Het’heru’s forearm. “Yes, you can. Just turn away from this, Het’heru. Turn away from this all-consuming enmity. Yes, the Alliance was wrong for what happened at Taurajo, but two wrongs have never made a right.”
 
Het’heru jerked her arm out from beneath the priestess’ touch. “Do not lecture me with mindless platitudes. I’ve heard all of that since I was a yearling.”
 
“They are not platitudes, Het’heru, only truths. Truths that you refuse to heed because you are being twisted into something I would rather not see.” Something in the priestess’s words irritated her; an unreasonable fount of anger bubbled within her and Het’heru turned away, jerking the pack from the priestess’s hands.
 
“Be silent, Aum!” She snapped. “I am decided.”
 
“You cannot be,” the priestess pressed. “Else you would be gone by now. Recognize your hesitation for what it is, Het’heru. You told me yourself once that you had no martial skill. What makes you think you can rise to fight now with no skill and no training?”
 
“The Earthmother—“
 
Aum cut her off. “Do you really think She would lend Her strength for a zealot’s crusade? Do not mask this beneath the guise of Her mantle, you do Her no justice. This is the pure, wanton indulgence of your own thirst for revenge and nothing more. Stop trying to justify it. Don’t do that to yourself.”
 
Aum closed the distance between them, grabbing onto Het’heru’s bicep. She could feel the weight of the priestess’s fingers even through her new plate armor. She turned her head, staring at the priestess with her single eye. Aum stared fearlessly back. The priestess continued to talk, her words spilling out of her mouth in a torrent of words, the priestess’s concern painting them with a tone of near-desperation.
 
“We are all Her children, Het’heru. All life is sacred. Once you take a life, once you walk down this path of retribution, there is no turning back. We have sacrificed so much to the Horde and Hellscream’s war; do not rush so blindly into the jaws of death out of senseless desire to join your kinsmen. We need strong tauren like you, Het’heru, to live and protect us. Not to die in senseless acts of martyrdom.”
 
Het’heru stared hard at the priestess’s hand on her bicep, wondering why she couldn’t just shove Aum off her and go on her way. There was something in that contact, something within Aum’s flow of words that stemmed the tide of her rage. She sighed, closing her one eye.
 
“What would you have me do then?” She said in resignation.
 
Aum smiled. “I would have you rise again, Het’heru, as a hero all tauren can be proud of; a fitting memorial to Taurajo, rather than yet another senseless death.”
 
The priestess guided her back inside and Het’heru followed, feeling suddenly numb and empty. Yet, her ears flicked forward at Aum’s next sentence.
 
“There is a new sect of worshippers I think you may find kinship with; they call themselves Sunwalkers…”