Morningside Cuesta naked and alone we came into exile

Silence seemed to overtake them like a dark shadow that swept across the world. Illidan did not seem to budge in his stubborn state of muteness. He had adopted it well, though it was prominent already in his paternal lineage. There was nothing that could shake him from his stupor. Nothing that could quell the burning of his heart, or the images that had seized his mind. The boy was trapped in an endless spiral. All that he could see was the image of his dead father. It was all that he would know for a very long time.

Grezig could wait all she wanted; Illidan would not speak. Hunger could wreak havoc on his frame, tiredness could condemn him to a life of weary existence, but he would not open his mouth to share what he had discovered. Nothing could force him – not even the sharp bite of his own mother's fang.