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	Drenan gritted his teeth, his mind racing as he struggled to quickly rewrite his plea in his mind.  Before he could respond, however, Lyrah strode up next to him and dropped her own hood.  "Because there's no honor in attacking our own people while they're already down."  Lyrah swallowed hard as she locked her gaze with Magatha's, the crone's eyes going wide with anger at first before narrowing to a squint.  It was clear the crone's eyesight wasn't quite as strong as it used to be.  "Inferior or not, those tauren deserve a chance to fight back at least," she continued, "And denying them that chance is the least satisfying victory I can think of.  At least let them regain their strength, or else you won't know exactly how strong they are.  The Cataclysm destroyed their homes and thinned their numbers already."

	Drenan's eyes flickered in fear, his mouth hanging open in shock at his daughter's words.  Magatha, too, appeared surprised.  "Who is this insolent girl?!" Magatha returned in a mixture of surprise and anger.  "Drenan, why does she speak on your behalf?!"

	Lyrah let out an angry growl.  "I can talk for my own damn self you old biddy," she shot back fiercely, taking a confident step toward the crone.  "I am Lyrah Lighthand, and if you won't listen to my father, listen to me and really think about the hell you're putting those people through!"

	Magatha's mouth closed, the crone's confidence appearing to wither away by the moment.  Her aging form relaxed and seemed to shrink just a bit, her gaze weakly focusing on Lyrah.  "Where is your mother, young one?" she prodded quietly.

	Lyrah's ears drooped just a bit, but she kept her confident composure.  "She died....  She died when I was born."

	Another long silence.  Drenan's gaze flitted between Magatha and Lyrah, but he could muster no words of his own.  He hadn't intended on broaching the subject with her, but it seemed Lyrah felt it more necessary.  Magatha carefully looked back to Drenan to speak once more.  "Do not ask if I doubt her, dog of the Light.  She has the ferocity of the Grimtotem in her."

	Lyrah huffed angrily.  "*I'm* talking to you, not him.  And if anything I got it from him.  He's the fiercest fighter I've ever seen.  He took down a dozen of your braves without killing a single one."

	Magatha let out a weak chuckle and turned back to Lyrah.  "You prove my point.  He is no killer.  Neither was your mother."  Another silence ensued as the crone took a small step toward Lyrah to reach out with one aged hand.  Drenan tensed up as if to stop her, but Lyrah did not recoil as the crone placed her hand on Lyrah's shoulder.  "You have much potential within you, dear granddaughter.  I can feel it.  You could lead the Grimtotem to many glorious victories all across Kalimdor."  Magatha's eyes sized Lyrah up and down yet again, a sudden, proud smile crossing her face.  "And you have my gift!  You speak to the elements as if you were one with them!  My dear... our people will be without a proper leader when my time comes.  I have no successors, nor have any of my progeny proved themselves worthy of leading us, but you...."

	It was Lyrah's turn to backpedal, suddenly stepping out of the crone's reach as if shaking flames from her garb.  "What-?  I...."

	"Do not deny your heritage!" Magatha insisted, the fire appearing to return to her aged body.  "Lyrah, you could be the salvation of our tribe!  Why do you back away?  You could decimate those at Freewind with a wave of your hand if you so desired.  Your power is far greater than you even realize!"

	Drenan felt intense anger well up within.  Despite his feelings, somewhere deep down he could tell she wasn't simply lying to persuade Lyrah.  The gifted shamaness had displayed such power already in communing with the elements, and Magatha herself was considered one of the most powerful shamans not allied with the Earthen Ring to date.  His fingers curled into tight-knit fists, ready to lash out if need be.

	But Lyrah was quicker on the draw, her gaze turning as cold as ice as she took a firm step back toward Magatha.  "The elements are not meant for single-minded destruction, Magatha!  Of all people, you should know that best!  It'll be a fucking cold day in the Firelands before I kill masses of living beings with the elements!"

	Magatha's eyes narrowed coolly, scrutinizing Lyrah even more closely for a long moment.  "Your father has poisoned your mind against the Grimtotem, has he not," she stated more than asked.

	Lyrah let out a cold snarl, her demeanor growing defensive.  "My father had nothing to do with it.  I'm not stupid enough that I can't tell right from wrong."

	"Oh?  And those aligned with the Light are always right?"

	"No," she shot back quickly.  "If they were, I wouldn't be here right now."

	Magatha's form appeared to grow more frail yet again.  "Ah, and I had thought he would have kept it a secret from you," she added with a sigh.  Drenan and Lyrah exchanged silent glances; Lyrah's one of appreciation, Drenan's one of relief.  "Fine.  I have no choice then.  In truth, I had not ordered the attack on Freewind Post -my bullheaded nephew has been dispatched for his reckless disobedience- but I promise I would not have simply complied with the request, had you simply asked nicely.  No, now I must continue the assault until one and all lay dead, unless dear Lyrah here takes a very special vow."

	Lyrah's ears drooped as the wind left her sails.  "What kind of vow?"

	"A vow that you shall take my place as leader of the Grimtotem tribe upon my death," the Elder Crone stated nonchalantly.  "The vow will be bound by the elements, and will result in your death should you decline."