A/N: I got the idea for this story while rinsing out my hair in the bathtub around 6:05pm; the foam from the shampoo looked like snow and the water fell like tears. I got out and started typing at 6:14pm, took a break at like 7:02pm, came back at 8:05pm and wrapped it up at 8:40pm without any further proofreading. I hope it isn't too terrible!

The snow piled over the rocky outcroppings and hills of Frostfire Ridge like sand dunes over a frozen desert that night. It was dark, though the twilight under the stars provided more than enough light for them to find their way across the icy wastes. Galactic gasses swirling in the open space above, Toruk felt a peace like he had never felt on Azeroth. This wouldn't last - couldn't last - and eventually, he would return to his own timeline, to the "real" world. But for now, this warped version of Draenor thirty-five years before the present was some sort of a living paradise for him.

As they scaled a particularly steep, snow-covered hill, they both leaned forward, using their hands to stabalize themselves on the rapidly ascending ground in front of them. It was an intense workout, and Toruk smiled to himself knowing that he was probably in the best shape of his life despite never intentionally exercising.

A few steps behind him, his enormous, fidgety hunting partner huffed in his people's typical manner, the deep rumbling from his lungs almost soothing in a way. Khujand was a useful person to have backing you up, even if he was more than a bit socially inept. Though the much larger man shivered underneath the thick, wrapped light-brown furs covering them from chin to toe and draping their heads, Toruk was just fine. He was one of the younger orcs, the Azerothian orcs, never having known Draenor in its pristine, unspoilt form.

Regardless, he felt at home. The cold was just fine to him, and the fur jacket and trousers almost felt a bit too warm for his taste. He exhaled with satisfaction as the wind whipped his dark green cheeks and nose, opening his mouth just enough that his large lower canines pulled off from his upper lip and felt the chill as well. His blunderbuss clinked against the backstrap as he walked, sounding off in unison with the ammo bag on his thick leather belt. They had just bagged a large frost boar the previous night and Ushka's boys back at the inn had plenty of cooking to do, but there was nothing wrong with a little extra. The icy weather would preserve just about anything they brought back to town, especially when sealed in the basement vault.

As they reached the top of the ridge, the two of them stood, eyeing the relatively high, rugged expanse in front of them. The occasional leafless tree dotted the snowy landscape, though they were situated too sparsley to be considered a forest.

The jungle troll's ears pricked up next to him, though Toruk ignored it at first; most of the time, it was just a snow hare hopping around and his hunting partner's paranoia. When he started turning his head all around, though, Toruk knew something was up.

"What do you hear?" he asked the jungle troll.

"A voice." Very informative.

Toruk tried to listen in vain, figuring that the silence would also give his partner time to hone in on the spot; it could be potential game, or it could be another traveler. The campaign against the Iron Horde was a difficult one, and lending help to those they found out in the wasteland was a necessary hospitality that could earn allies.

The Darkspear's eyes grew wide. "It's a small voice..." he whispered with a shocked expression.

Toruk, unsure of whether to take the matter seriously or not, opened his mouth to press for more until the giant started to fidget again.

"Toruk, that's an orc voice. A small orc!" was the almost frantic yet whispered reply as his partner walked to the side and then came back, looking among the trees in a way that surely would have attracted attention already were they not alone.

"Focus, man," he urged in earnest. "If it's a voice, then what is it saying?" Toruk still didn't entirely believe his friend.

Just then, the oversize troll yelped and bounded down the other side of the ridge. It was much less steep than the way they had climbed up, and the trip down was much easier. Toruk followed, ill-at-ease. Khujand wasn't someone he needed to fear; the Shadow Hunter was more like a gigantic teddy bear and was perhaps the least ornery troll Toruk knew. Still, having seen Khujand rip the lower jaw off of an ogre the week before (while the ogre was still alive) made him wary of moving too close were the jungle troll to freak out into one of his paranoid moods.

"Slow down!" Toruk hissed, wanting to be heard by his partner but not anyone else. He followed, tugging on Khujand's sleeve to stop him from moving any further. "What do you hear?"

Without looking at him, the jungle troll mumbled with his wide-eyed stare fixed ahead. "It's a baby, Toruk!" he practically bellowed. "There's a damned baby out here in tha snow! Ain't no adult voices around, either!"

Although his shorter ears were less sensitive, Toruk heard it now. There was no denying it; very, very close yet hidden behind the howl of the wind, he could hear the soft cries of an infant child asking for its next meal.

His heart clenched. Toruk's parents had told him about his people's old ways, before becoming civilized by sedentary culture; the native Frostwolf clan in Frostfire Ridge was mostly nomadic, some semi-nomadic. He tried to deny this was what he knew it was, if only to console himself about what he was about to see.

His hunting partner would not be so lucky. Khujand had already bounded ahead with those long legs of his, ignoring Toruk's protests. There's no way the guy would be able to stomach what he was going to see.

Before Toruk could quite arrive at the small, circular clearing formed by about a dozen leafless trees, he already heard the pained cry of a grown man sounding out in unison with that of a terrified orc that couldn't possibly be more than a few months old.

"Shit! Shit shit shit shit shit!" Khujand muttered like a madman. "Toruk! Toruk, help!"

As the orcish hunter moved around the thorny bushes poking up out of the snow and slipped around a black, gnarled tree with a particularly wide trunk, he saw it. The clearing was somewhat snowy, though the center had clearly been swept by whoever had brought the child here. The ground below was sandy, and most of the clearing was somehow ringing by the thorny bushes as though it had been cleared out intentionally. No, not as though...Toruk's parents had warned him about the old ways. This spot was designed.

"Calm down!" he ordered Khujand through clenched teeth. "You'll scare the kid even more!"

The Darkspear was pacing around, the harpoon tied diagonally across his body slapping against his back along with the length of rope and a sack of provisions. "Toruk!" he uttered in a much quieter though no less fantic voice. "It ain't no kid, it's a baby! What tha hell...we gotta find tha parents!"

Toruk glanced down at the infant, his head hanging low in the process. It was wrapped in a fur blanket, so its clan hadn't left it totally exposed. His blood pressure increased slightly at the cruelty of it; prolonging its indictment would do no good. It's chubby green cheeks were slightly darkened in the winter cold, and though it was old enough to see its eyes were shut as it cried out for closeness of some sort. It didn't struggle with its limbs tucked underneath the fur, and it didn't seem to realize it's own situation. Toruk looked up, knowing that his partner would only start asking more questions and making more futile suggestions.

"The parents don't want it," he grumbled, feeling an exposed sort of guilt for his entire race in front of the troll.

Slowly, Khujand turned to him, his hairless brows arched as he wrinkled his hooked nose. A gradual look of complete and total dismay broke out across the defeated, blue-skinned man's face.

"Tha fuck ya talkin' about?" he asked with a cracking voice.

Toruk shook his head, though to who, he did not know. "My people were different at this time, my friend," he started, the darkness apparent in his gaze as he remembered something he wished he could forget. "Life was hardest out here in Frostfire; few crops grow and most food is foraged. They managed the number of children they allowed to be born. If they went over the limit of what they could feed..." His voice trailed off as he looked up and motioned to the clearing around them with one hand.

"...they are discarded, in a so-called sacred place like this."

Words could not describe the look of utter shock and horror on his hunting partner's face. The wind howled louder, reminding them that they didn't have much time; one of the local shaman at the settlement of Thunder Pass had warned of a blizzard approaching that night.

"No..." Khujand whispered as he stared into the infant's big, innocent eyes as it finally looked up at them, his voice sounding torn.

"This is the truth," Toruk said with a pat on his big friend's shoulder as he approached the child. Taking it up in his arms, he moved back over. "This is the reality of nomads. We can't change that, but I need you to focus. Listen to me. We don't have much time."

Snow began to whip past the trees and into their clearing now, the infant's cries ironically dying down as it felt strong hands around it.

"Cradle the baby," Toruk ordered, gently pushing the infant into his friend's chest.

The Darkspear did as he was told without hesitation, but shot the orc a confused look.

"Your body is hotter," Toruk explained. "Squat down and cradle him close. I need the carrots from the bag."

The jungle troll shot him a look of dismay. "Carrots! We just found a baby in a blizzard! What tha hell we-"

"Just fucking hold him close!" Toruk shouted in annoyance. They were running out of time. Sifting through the bag strapped to Khujand's back, he found a single carrot and broke off a small piece of it.

Moving back around in front, Toruk squatted as well and moved to form a sort of diamond around the child, the warmth soothing it despite the storm. He popped the piece of carrot into his mouth and began chewing furiously, biting his tongue in the process but refusing to slow down.

"It's a she," the troll muttered.

"Hmm?" was Toruk's only answered as he tried to mash the carrot between his molars as quickly as possible.

"Boys got stinkier urine. This is a she." It was almost ironic to see the huge, azure-colored troll cradling the little girl in his wrapped hands so carefully, almost as if he had done this before.

Toruk worked away until he was convinced that the carrot was now mush. Removing his right glove, he stuck his thumb and index finger in his mouth and swept out some of the orange goop. Moving quickly yet with precision, he dabbed the infants lips until it opened and took in the nourishment.

"She only looks ta be a few months old," Khujand stated in a calmer voice than before, though his worry was still apparent in his eyes. "Can she digest anythin' other than milk?"

Toruk nodded. "She's an orc baby. She'll be fine - but we have to leave." He waited until the infant finished the rest of the carrot mush before adjusting her to rest closer to the jungle troll's chest. "Keep her underneath your arms. The storm is coming."

They both rose, uncertainty on Khujand's face. "Toruk, what we gonna do? What if...aw, no..."

Were his friend not cradling the bundle at that moment, Toruk might have been brave enough to give him a punch. "We're going to grit our teeth and do what we have to," he said sternly, trying as much to reassure himself as the apoplectic troll. "We need to get to Ushka and Javilla," he continued, suddenly thinking of his employer and his girlfriend. "One step at a time. Watch your feet."

They were off, treading quickly back up and then down the ridge again, the vast, white expanse of the eastern valley of Frostfire Ridge in front of them. Through the snow and sleet and dark, they couldn't quite see the lights of the garrison at Thunder Pass though Toruk knew they weren't far; if they hurried, they could reach the inn within fifteen minutes, assuming they didn't encounter any wild animals or bandits on the way.

As they sprinted across the flat expanse that would lead them home, Toruk looked up at the sky on the other side of their destination and immediately wished he hadn't. From the horizon up to the apex of the sky, a faint white wall was approaching them. It reminded him of the sandstorm he had once witnessed in Thousand Needles back on Azeroth, the way the billions and trillions of particles formed a moving, floating blanket sweeping over everything in sight. Except this wasn't dust; it was biting, freezing snow. Even for an orc child, surviving a real Frostfire blizzard was unlikely.

"That's it!" he shouted across the wind. Khujand was to his side, moving with slower but longer strides as he hugged the precious child to his chest, using the fur of his sleeves to cover her face. "That's the storm! Run, run like you've never run before! We can still make it home before it hits!"

Toruk's lungs were raw as he yelled out what he wasn't entirely sure was the truth or a lie. He had been through worse than this, but it had been a long time, and he had felt his heart pounding even before they began their run. As they hurried, seconds turned into minutes as they were nearing the quarter-of-an-hour mark. Sleet battered their faces and Toruk steeled his nerve as he tried to pretend the water running down his hunting partner's face was from the melted snow and not tears. His father told him never to cry, though as uncomfortable as he was with the unstable troll he could not deny the stabbing he felt into his soul as a hundred pessimistic yet realistic thoughts ran through his head.

The wind became even thicker with snow as visibility died down, and despite how far and how long they had run, the lights of Thunder Pass were still not visible. One by one, the stars were pulled from the sky as the white enveloped everything around them. Minute by minute, second by second, Toruk watched as the snow and sleet grew thicker in his field of vision, trying not to think about the exact delineation between the prelude and the storm.

"Keep going!" Toruk tried to shout in encouragement, though the air rushing past his cheeks tore his voice away as quickly as it did his fur hat, taunting his futility. His friend was a tall shadow now though he knew there could not have been more than six feet between them. The jungle troll was slouched forward into his run, trying to keep up with Toruk as he slipped and weaved around every jutting rock he had memorized on the trek home during their hunts through the snow.

"Keep going!" He was shouting to himself, to his friend, to them both now, to whatever nonexistent listeners would hear his drowned out voice.

Toruk could distinctly hear the hysterical cries of an infant in pain as he tried to blot the screaming white wind out of his mind, the burn finding its way into his legs as he slid quickly down a sloping embankement. They were close now. So close.

He saw Khujand stumble in the snow as a particularly hard gust caught his friend just when the Darkspear had moved over a spot Toruk remembered was a deep indentation into the muddy snow. At the last minute, Toruk shot to the side and gripped his friend's right arm with both of his. Khujand's knees sank into the mud but the infant stayed dry, and together they pulled the jungle troll's wet, muddy legs back out to run again.

"We're close!" Toruk shouted in vain, his friend not hearing a word he was saying. "We're so close! We'll make it!"

The rest of the straightaway toward Thunder Pass was flat from that point on, but the snow was deep. The two men pushed onward, bounding up and down as their feet sank into the plush white carpet as even their eyes were stung. The blackness of the night sky had disappeared entirely now, forcing Toruk to lead them blind toward the settlement, functioning solely on memory. He could feel the beginning of an abdominal cramp despite his fitness, every breath piercing him like a knife as he heaved.

Sneezing into the wind, Toruk's heart sank as he realized they were directly in the middle of the blizzard now, his nose completely numb from the cold. He had underestimated the speed at which the storm had been approaching, but there was nothing else they could have done. They tried.

"There it is!" he lied into the wind, his pride not willing to let him give up. "I see it Khujand, I see it! The lights!"

Toruk pointed in vain into the whiteness around him, not even sensing which direction his hunting partner might now be. He was alone without even the black emptiness that the night could bring. Warmth returned to him as the noise died down, and finally he was able to hear himself think again.

"It's there! I know it's there! Just a little further! We're so close!"

Two flickering candles provided all the light they needed in the main dining area of the inn, the dark wood walls, floor and ceiling combining with the weak candlelight to impossibly darken the mood even further. The wind still whipped outside as all the chairs at the eight or so tables sat empty except for three of them. The open preparation area behind the counter built into the wall was completely dark, the hired men long having retired upstairs.

Every so often, the front door rattled in its frame, though aside from that the building was surprisingly stable. Four pairs of lungs breathed heavily as they all caught their baited breath.

Toruk leaned as far back as the upright back of his wooden chair allowed, his sore legs stretched out straight in front of him. He hadn't even bothered removing his gloves since he had returned. He merely stared at the floor between his feet, the image of Ushka and Javilla sitting next to him wrapped in their nighttime cloaks barely hanging in his peripheral vision.

His hefty hunting partner sat on the stairs, those wide shoulders occupying the entire space as the crestfallen man slumped forward with his face buried in his uncovered azure palms. The events of the evening had obviously triggered something, though Toruk knew that his companion likely just wanted to be left to his silence at the moment.

Ushka sat between Toruk and his girlfriend, one leg crossed as she cradled the unmoving bundle in her arms. Accepting what would now happen, the grey-haired orc's face betrayed no pain, no dread; only exhuastion. The exhaustion of someone who knew that they still had another lap to run in the race of life.

Javilla sat on Ushka's other side, chewing on one of the long fingernails of her three-fingered hand. Her red eyes comforted Toruk as he finally looked up, the expression of relief on her face reward enough for a night that happened so fast yet had seemed to drag on forever.

"She'll be fine in the morning," Ushka said unemotionally as she rocked the sleeping infant slightly. "She's to the point where she can survive on water and mashed food. It won't give her the nutrients she ought to have at this stage, but she'll get over the congestion in her sinuses and live."

As the four sat in the candlelight, basking in the uncanny warmth of Ushka's bed and breakfast establishment yet still frozen in place, the heaviness of the responsibility pressed down on Toruk's formerly numb shoulders.

Ushka had fought so hard. She had to demonstrate her organizational abilities to win the contract for the inn at the new garrison city during the campaign against the Iron Horde, and for the first time in her life the tired, downtrodden orc mother finally had some peace of mind. Her own children were grown up, her adopted child Javilla was old enough to function as a real assistant and Toruk knew that his own presence there was more than welcomed. Ushka had struggled for so long at the orphanage in Orgrimmar, taking in the unwanted, unloved bundles of joy that the world would otherwise have forgotten. Now, after so many years, she was going through all of it again.

Toruk visibly turned his head toward his girlfriend, meeting those red Darkspear eyes again. Despite their youth, they shared an understood message through that look. After what seemed like an eternity, Javilla nodded back at him before nudging Ushka.

"She'll sleep wit' me," she whispered almost meekly to her adoptive mother.

Ushka's dark green face pulled back so very slightly that the grimace almost couldn't be detected. "You're too young," she muttered while still watching the sleeping infant. "You can help."

Javilla wrapped her arms around the one who raised her, rubbing Ushka's back as her voice increased in confidence. "I was taught by tha best, in a situation much more dire than this," she protested, her accent thick and more typical of the Darkspear. "Please, momma. Ya done ya part, just be finished. Ya can pass tha torch, ya can assist when we need it. We gonna do fine, ya know that I can."

Ushka reluctantly looked at the jungle troll she had raised, and had raised younger children with. Toruk saw the reluctance in Ushka's eyes as she turned to him as well, but the relief of no longer having to take the lead was there. Without a hint of hesitation or desire to back away from the responsibility, Toruk slid his hands underneath the bundle of joy, the cold in his face seeming to disappear as the looked on that innocent face that was now wanted, and that he would make sure was loved.

Javilla had already moved over to Khujand, taking care to keep her nighttime cloak wrapped around her slightly shivering arms. She pulled at the elder Darkspear troll's left hand, feeling it loosen only slightly as he looked up at her. He was still distraught and beyond speech; in another life, perhaps he could have been Javilla's doting adoptive father, but for now she could settle for a manic adoptive older brother.

"Her name is Jarinta," she told him sympathetically as he surrendered the string armlet wrapped around his wrist. Though the grave he had taken it from had long lied buried in the snow, all four of them understood that the memory deserved to live on somehow.

Javilla moved back over to where Toruk was sitting, though he hadn't even noticed until she had moved her chair right in front of his, the two of them forming a triangle with the still reluctant yet still relieved employer, mother and now, adoptive grandmother seated to his right.

Tucking the string armlet into the fur covering, the candlelight danced across the walls as the wind gradually died down outside and Javilla marveled at the peace on Jarinta's small, infant face. The temperature in the entire building rose somehow as Toruk saw a look on Javilla's face that was unfamiliar. But at that moment, as he felt the life pump freely and safely in the child's relatively healthy lungs, it was the most welcome, loving expression he could remember seeing.