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Description

World © Blizzard
Story © Ekaterina N. Stadnikova
Translation from Russian © Eugene Selivanov

Another village was blazing. The acrid smell of smoke, destruction and death itself clenched his throat. Yaungols showed no mercy. Shado-pans vainly tried to find survivors. Only lord Zhu knew whom exactly they should find here.

If blood means anything, the boy survived. The last will of dying man is sacred. So is the mystery Taran Zhu found out against his will.
- No survivors, my lord.
- Keep looking.
Blue eyes, sharp like a razor-blade were staring at everything that happened here. Rage was boiling in his madly pounding heart.
He chose his aim. The strongest and smuggest pandaren. He hoped he could attack suddenly and silently – but the same rage upset his plans.
He ran out of his ambush with the roar. Bubbling feelings were ready to break his heart to shreds.
- You! You are too late! They're all dead!! They were so kind and didn't deserve death! It is your fault!
The boy swung his arm and punched hammer and tongs. But shado-pan just turned the open palm. He didn't even look at the eyes full of anger. Eyes of the child who lost everything and everyone. Pain shot through the tiny fist, as if it was a brick wall, not just a palm. But the boy didn't give up.
He rained down punches and curses on the strong pandaren. When all the words ran out and all the powers left him, tears filled with salt and shame flowed from his eyes.
The din of flame didn't fall, it was mingling with the blood noise in his temples. Then emptiness came at one point. Soothing, not scary.
- Join us. When time comes you will make it better.
- … need to.. bury the fallen with dignity. - His brittle jingling voice sounded confident.
- Shado-pans will make it.
- Let me say goodbye.

The boy knelt down facing the glow and lowered his head. He sat motionless, barely breathing. No sound broke out of his chest, only shoulders trembled faintly.
The smug pandaren put the boy on his tiger. He himself walked alongside. The beast seemed to understand how fragile the cargo he was entrusted to carry. When the din of fire began to subside Taran Zhu asked the only question:
- What is your name, kid?
- Tenwu of the Red Smoke.

Description

World © Blizzard
Story © Ekaterina N. Stadnikova
Translation from Russian © Eugene Selivanov

Another village was blazing. The acrid smell of smoke, destruction and death itself clenched his throat. Yaungols showed no mercy. Shado-pans vainly tried to find survivors. Only lord Zhu knew whom exactly they should find here.

If blood means anything, the boy survived. The last will of dying man is sacred. So is the mystery Taran Zhu found out against his will.
- No survivors, my lord.
- Keep looking.
Blue eyes, sharp like a razor-blade were staring at everything that happened here. Rage was boiling in his madly pounding heart.
He chose his aim. The strongest and smuggest pandaren. He hoped he could attack suddenly and silently – but the same rage upset his plans.
He ran out of his ambush with the roar. Bubbling feelings were ready to break his heart to shreds.
- You! You are too late! They're all dead!! They were so kind and didn't deserve death! It is your fault!
The boy swung his arm and punched hammer and tongs. But shado-pan just turned the open palm. He didn't even look at the eyes full of anger. Eyes of the child who lost everything and everyone. Pain shot through the tiny fist, as if it was a brick wall, not just a palm. But the boy didn't give up.
He rained down punches and curses on the strong pandaren. When all the words ran out and all the powers left him, tears filled with salt and shame flowed from his eyes.
The din of flame didn't fall, it was mingling with the blood noise in his temples. Then emptiness came at one point. Soothing, not scary.
- Join us. When time comes you will make it better.
- … need to.. bury the fallen with dignity. - His brittle jingling voice sounded confident.
- Shado-pans will make it.
- Let me say goodbye.

The boy knelt down facing the glow and lowered his head. He sat motionless, barely breathing. No sound broke out of his chest, only shoulders trembled faintly.
The smug pandaren put the boy on his tiger. He himself walked alongside. The beast seemed to understand how fragile the cargo he was entrusted to carry. When the din of fire began to subside Taran Zhu asked the only question:
- What is your name, kid?
- Tenwu of the Red Smoke.