Bearclaw Valley and it was for only one of two things: opening or leaving closed

the dark woman stepped from her home and into the open, meeting illidan’s frame with a scrutinizing stare. he watched the violet in her eyes travel from his dark features to the rabbit that was clasped in his mouth. he would have been a fool not to have noticed the shift in her figure at the sight of a fresh kill; they were hard to resist, even in fine weather.
 
“for you, morgana,” he offered to her, lowering his crown and placing the hare about a yard from where the dark mistress stood in silent observation. illidan wondered if she had been born without the ability to speak the wolf tongue, or if she had abandoned all words in exchange for something greater.