The mist cleared. The arena, with its brightness and noise, was gone. In its stead was a forested nightscape, the only sounds the soft ones of wind and insects. Thrall again saw himself, but this time he looked wary. Hunted.
He stood before a stone formation that, viewed from the right angle, resembled a dragon standing guard over the woodlands. The younger Thrall turned his head, regarding the dark oval mouth of a nearby cave, and Now - Thrall suddenly knew, with a jolt of deep, old pain and a new spike of torment, what was about to happen.
Nightmares. He had been at war with them. The whole world had.
"Must I watch this?" he asked quietly, knowing the answer even as he voiced the question.
"If you wish to understand, to become a true shaman, then yes," Aggra said implacably.
Younger Thrall entered the cave, and both incarnations of himself beheld a young human woman named Taretha Foxton. Tari… Blackmoore's mistress, Thrall's "sister" of the spirit. Who had risked everything to free him, and who would eventually lose her life for that act. But she was alive, now, alive and vibrant and so beautiful. His nightmare had been about her—about trying, repeatedly, to save her. Again and again he had tried, in the dream coming up with a new idea in which she would live, laugh, love, as she should have. And each time he had failed and been forced to experience her death over and over and over….
But she was not dying, not now, not here. She leaned against the wall, waiting for him, and when he spoke her name, she gasped, then laughed. Her face was lovely, all the more appealing for the genuine warmth of affection lighting it.
'You startled me! I did not know you moved so quietly!" She moved toward him, stretching out her hands. Slowly, Younger Thrall folded them in his own.
"It still hurts," Now - Thrall said to Aggra. She did not chide him, not this time, but merely nodded her ghostly wolfs head.
"That hurting, and the healing of the hurting, is the gift of Water," she said. "Deep emotion. Love. The heart wide open, to joy and pain both. It is why we weep… water is moving with and through us."
He listened quietly, remembering the words he and Taretha had shared at this, their first true meeting, as he heard them again. She gave him a map and some supplies, urging him to go find his people—the ores. They spoke of Blackmoore. Now - Thrall, knowing what was to come, wanted to turn away but found he could not.
"What is happening to your eyes?" Younger Thrall asked.
"Oh, Thrall… these are called tears," Taretha said quietly, her voice thick as she wiped at her eyes. "They come when we are so sad, so soul sick, that it's as if our hearts are so full of pain there's no place else for it to go."
And even though he was traveling in the spirit world and had no physical body, Now - Thrall felt tears welling in his own eyes.
"Taretha understood," Aggra said, her own voice soft with understanding. "She knew pain and love both. The heart swells to overflowing, and Water flows forth."
"She should not have died," Now - Thrall growled. Unspoken were the words: I should have found a way to stop it.
Aggra's response staggered him as surely as if she had struck a powerful blow.
"Truly? Shouldn't she?"
He whirled on her, stunned and furious at her callousness. "Of course not! She had everything to live for. Her death accomplished nothing!"
Aggra's wolf form regarded him implacably. "How do you know this was not her destiny? That perhaps she had done all she had been born to do? Only she knows. Maybe you would not have been moved to the same action, had she lived. It is arrogance to believe you can know all things. Perhaps you are right. But perhaps you are not."
Her words left him staring in mute silence. He had been racked with guilt ever since the moment he saw Taretha's severed head lifted in a ghastly display by Aedelas Blackmoore. The nightmares had only served to hammer him with the message: I should have done something more.
But there truly had been nothing he could have done. And now, for the first time, he was forced to consider the idea that maybe what had happened… had been right. Painful, horrible, racking. But maybe… right.
He would never forget her. Never stop missing her. But that sense of guilt was lifting.
"For you," Aggra continued as he stood silently trying to understand the shift in his soul, "she was the blessing of Water in your life. This time, this female—this, Go'el, was when the element moved into your being."
He struggled for words. All that came out was, "Thank you."
The mist began to swirl at the feet of the figures of the past. Although he initially had not wished to relive this incident, now that it was about to slip away, Now - Thrall wanted to cry out, to beg for a few moments more with Taretha, but he knew better. This had been a bittersweet gift from the elements, along with the insight Aggra had given him.
Farewell, dear Taretha. Your life was a blessing, your death not a waste, and there are not many in this world who can say that. And you will always be remembered. lean let you go with peace in my heart, now.
The elements had more to show him.
The mist swirled, obscuring his vision, and then once again he was beholding a younger version of himself. It was winter, and he was with the Frostwolves. He and Drek’Thar were seated by the fire, reaching their hands out to it. Drek’Thar was certainly not young at this time, but his mind was still sharp, and Now - Thrall knew sadness as he watched his friend and tutor. His younger self listened raptly to Drek’Thar as he spoke with deep eloquence about the bond between the shaman and the elements. Snow fell softly. Now - Thrall, even merely watching, felt still and centered, felt the heartache of the recent vision of Taretha ease ever so slightly.
"Grounded," he said, understanding for the first time where the word came from. "Like the earth. This is Earth's gift, isn't it?"
The wolf that was Aggra nodded, and with a hint of her old acerbicness added, "You only now are discovering this? No wonder you are having difficulties."
This time Thrall found that he was not irritated, only amused. Perhaps, he thought, it was the calmness and steadiness of Earth moving through him. All too soon, it seemed to Now - Thrall, the mists inexorably rose up again, hiding the scene. Thrall understood, though, that Earth was within him now. He could go to this place of peace inside anytime he needed to… and he smiled… ground himself.
There was one element left. He understood by this point that the vision quest was supposed to show him how the elements were already integrated in him, living with and through him. He understood the fiery passion of battle, the loving nature of Water, and the calmness and steadfastness of Earth. But he was curious as to how Air would manifest.
The mist formed, and cleared, and he saw himself in Grommash Hold. It was again late at night, but braziers, torches, and oil lamps provided more than enough illumination and warmth. He stood in front of a table spread with maps and rolled - up scrolls, and beside him stood his old, dear friend Cairne Bloodhoof.
He could not pinpoint this moment, as he had all the others, because this scene had happened in various ways over the last several years. He smiled, watching as his other self and Cairne spoke animatedly about negotiations, land rights, treaties. How they worked through problems, and found solutions. The scene shifted quickly, and he was standing with Jaina, as he had also done many times, and together they spoke of peace and how to achieve it.
There was no deep emotion, other than concern for the safety of the people he led. No great sense of rootedness, or burning passion for an outcome. With Jaina and with Cairne at these moments, Thrall used his head rather than his powerful body or emotions. This was rational, intellectual conversation—talk of new beginnings. Of hope.