World of Warcraft: The Shattering: Prelude to Cataclysm Page 0,95

with feathers and beads, and symbols in white and green paint decorated her face and elsewhere where her brown skin was revealed. She stood tall and straight and proud, the tan of the leather setting off the dark brown of her skin to perfection. In her arms, she bore a bundle of cloth as brown as her skin.

“These are for you, Go’el,” she said. “They are plain and simple. Initiate’s robes for an initiation.”

“I understand,” Thrall said, reaching out to take the bundle from her.

She did not surrender it to him. “I am not certain that you do. I admit, you are a gifted and powerful shaman. But there is much you still do not know about it. We do not wear armor in our initiations. An initiation is a rebirth, not a battle. Like the snake, we shed the skins of who we were before. We need to approach it without those burdens, without the narrow thoughts and notions that we have held. We need to be simple, clean, ready to understand and connect with the elements and let them write their wisdom on our souls.”

Thrall listened intently and nodded respectfully. Still, she did not give him the robes, not yet. “You will also find a necklace of prayer beads. This will help you reconnect with your inner self, so you may touch them as you feel called.”

Now, finally, she extended the bundle to him. He accepted it. “I will return shortly,” she said, and left.

Thrall regarded the plain brown garment, then slowly and respectfully put it on. He felt … naked. He was used to wearing the distinctive black plate armor that had once belonged to Orgrim Doomhammer. He wore it nearly every waking moment and had grown accustomed to its weight. This garment was light. He slipped the prayer beads around his neck, rolling them between his fingers, thinking hard on what Aggra had said. He was to be reborn, she had told him.

As what? And as who?

“Well,” said Aggra, startling him out of his reverie, “it would seem initiate’s robes suit you after all.”

“I am ready,” Thrall said quietly.

“Not quite yet. You are not painted.”

She stepped forward, with her usual brusque manner, to a small chest nestled against the hide wall, rummaged about, and emerged with three small pots of colored clay. “You are too tall. Sit.”

Somewhat amused, Thrall did so. She stepped toward him, opened one of the jars, dabbed some clay on her finger, and began applying it to his face. Her touch was deft, strangely gentle for someone Thrall had known to be so forceful, the clay cool; and this close to her, Thrall could smell the sweet, light scent of the oil with which she had anointed herself. She frowned slightly at him.

“What is wrong?”

“These colors do not look the same on green skin.”

“I fear I cannot change that, Aggra, no matter how much studying with you I do,” he said, his voice and expression utterly sincere and concerned.

She looked him right in the eye for a long moment, irritation furrowing her brow. And then she smiled. A hearty chuckle rumbled from her.

“Ancestors know, that is true,” she said. “It seems as though it is I who must change the colors of the paint, then.”

They both smiled, looking at one another, then Aggra dropped her gaze. “Perhaps blue and yellow instead,” she said and retrieved the appropriate jars. She continued painting his face in silence. Finally she nodded her approval, then frowned again. “Your hair … one moment.”

She wiped her hands. Long, clever brown fingers undid the two long braids that Thrall usually wore, and she quickly braided feathers into the hair. “Now. Now you are ready, Go’el.”

Aggra fetched a polished sheet of metal that would serve as a mirror.

Thrall almost did not recognize himself.

His green skin was now adorned with dots and swirls of yellow and blue, as if he wore a mask. His hair, braided with bright feathers from the windroc, fell about his shoulders in a thick mass. Normally he was contained, controlled. Now, he realized he looked …

“… wild,” he said quietly.

“Like the elements,” she said. “There is little that is calm and orderly about them, Go’el. You now begin your vision quest kin to them. Come. They are waiting.”

Thrall had been through a great deal in his life. He had been taught to fight while still a child, had learned about friendship and hardship in the same formative years. He had liberated his people and fought demons.