She was stationed at the northern-most boundaries of Borean Tundra when the wind changed. It was a subtle thing, but it was enough to break her attention on the east where, over the great mountains of Northrend, the bloody battle for Wintergrasp still raged. Despite the distant explosions coupled with the flowering light over the tops of the mountains, the wind spoke with even greater clarity and urgency than the battlements could provide. It bespoke of a great dread that filled her with fear and threatened to bring her to her knees.
With her mind reeling, she sat on the bench and massaged her temples with her paws. She was dizzy, and although the bitter cold bit through her mane, it felt as if a hot hand had been scratched across her back. Although the breeze was merely a whisp of air, it had scattered her thoughts and made her legs quake with the fear and dread of the message it held.
She strained her ears while she waited, hoped for more — something that would rectify the message or at least explain it. But nothing came. The world she remembered her teacher’s lesson, speaks in definite terms, and what it says, it says with complete certainty and without hesitation. At the end of time, the world will cease to be and its parting words with its being will be “it is over” and nothing more.
A particularly loud explosion coupled with, what she believed to be, the collapse of fortifications woke her from her trance. Even over the mountains, she could hear the screams of soldiers – of Taurens. She couldn’t be sure if that was from the battle… or a response to the message on the wind.