Bearclaw Valley I've heard the mumbling of citadels shifting on this richter scale.

‘she’s not my mother.’
 
illidan stayed, his gaze remained locked on the child in front of him.
 
once, he had been that very same pup; cared for by the hands of a stranger when he was much too young to fend for himself. though it did little to quell his fear of being chased from the den site, illidan did not believe that he would be killed and so he did not immediately flee.
 
“i see,” the ghost responded, voice still quiet in its volume and ragged in nature. he wondered if the child wanted company, or if he was one who preferred the quiet of his own. for illidan? it had been different depending on the day. regardless, his own experience as a child helped him to speak to this one. he did not judge or belittle the boy for the remark he had made.