wintergrasp

Boz took a deep breath as he stepped out of the portal and into the fresh air of Dalaran, taking a moment to rest on a bench near the central fountain. He stretched his arms wide across the bench and slid down, flopping his head back to look skyward, taking a long, deep breath. It felt good to clear his lungs of the rot that permeated Icecrown Citadel and the warm air felt wonderful on his skin as the ice melted from his spaulders. Though Sindragosa would no longer threaten the world, the Frost Dragon’s effects were not so easy to dismiss from his exhausted body so soon.

It was then Boz saw it descend and light upon the grass of the park: A steed woven with stars. They twisted and swirled inside its body, which seemed bound by the very essence of the universe. He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, but there was no disputing the image before him, and its soft whinny confirmed what his eyes told him. On its back rode – of all things – the filth of the Horde. The same Horde that had that very day attempted to prevent his assault on Icecrown Citadel. Their pettiness in the face of obliteration was disgusting. How did they not see that the Alliance was trying to save everyone, Horde and Alliance alike?

The star pony seemed to agree with Boz, as it buckled under the weight of the fat Tauren stressing its spine. At least, he imagined it had a spine, or possibly a constellation. It was difficult to say, but he imagined briefly the pony’s cry for release; to be free. Where had it come from? What was it, exactly? His heart ached to help the poor animal. Cows were not meant to ride horses, let alone such a majestic creature!

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