Morningside Cuesta naked and alone we came into exile

It was much to his surprise that Grezig listened to him – to a degree – and did not press the child further. It was probably for the best, though. Illidan was still aching from his discovery; the images still flashed through his mind and lingered there. It was a stain in his memories, and all other things were beginning to fade away when compared. The young feral hated that he had done it. For the first time in his short life, Illidan was filled with an outstanding regret for his own actions. Young as he was, he still understood that he would likely never remove the memory from his mind. In the darkest of nights, it would chase him through nightmares and latch hold of his sprit.
 
Grezig might have been hoping that he would talk to her about what had happened. She might have lingered nearby just to make sure he was alright. Illidan didn’t care. He just didn’t want to talk to anyone, and he wasn’t prepared to face the thought of moving from his position against the earth. His hawkish little stare darted toward the female for a moment before it was pulled away and cast on a distant rocky slope. The stones jutted out dangerously, forming a jagged sort of pike from the earth. Illidan wondered if it was sharp enough to kill someone.