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	The mountains proved an entirely different challenge to traverse compared to Ashenvale’s woods.  Drenan went through several spears to take down some of the more predatory felines and bears that crossed their path.  Kacheya’s head often swiveled around to watch Drenan’s back, and more than once a sudden shriek kept him from being ambushed by harpies.

	Over twenty days had passed since Drenan had begun his foray into the wilderness, and the bull gasped as he splashed cool water over his face from a small pool surrounded by a grassy clearing.  It had been a while since he’d seen his own reflection, but the sight before him surprised him beyond his expectations.  He’d gained a few extra scratches and scars from a few tumbles and fights, but ultimately his fatherly gut had shrunken, beneath which he could feel the ridges of his abdominal muscles.  His arms and legs looked visibly stronger than ever, and even his own azure eyes appeared more… lively?  The bull had been able to fashion a small loincloth out of scraps of cloth he’d found throughout his journey, though even it was hardly long enough to grant him modesty.  Kacheya soon hopped over next to him, cocking her head as she peered into the water next to him and hooted.

	Drenan chuckled.  “It has been a while since I have endured such constant exercise,” he mused.  “I do not remember enduring anything so grueling before, even during my paladinic training.  I feel… different.”  His gaze turned further westward, and a beaten path traveled from alongside the pool and across a dipping expanse, which led to none other than the Temple of An’she.  “Our journey is nearly done,” he remarked to Kacheya.  “Thank you for coming with me.  I do not think I would have survived without your help.”

	The black owl trilled proudly as she hopped back up onto his shoulder, nuzzling his broken horn once again.

	“I am proud to have you by my side,” he admitted, then slowly began marching toward the temple.  Unlike the grand marble of most night elf structures, the tauren temple was more akin to a massive, cone-shaped tent with a swirl of spiritual smoke spiraling up through its tip.  The logs used to create its skeleton were the size of fully-grown, ancient trees, and many of them were covered in carvings of the sun, among others.  The canvas stretched over them was sewn of many, many animal pelts, with designs painted on them that told stories of how each beast was hunted and given to the Earthmother.

	There were no guards to stop him as Drenan entered the temple.  The place was clearly holy for any paladin of any race, but being so secluded meant its only visitors were the most dedicated travelers.  A small, ever-burning bonfire sat at the center of the large temple, thus curling more multicolored smoke up through the peak.

	Drenan could sense the strength of the Light in such a holy place, but at the same time he did not feel… welcome.  Kacheya hunkered down further on his shoulder and tucked into his neck, prompting Drenan to reach up and give her a few extra pats for comfort.  “Kinah and I were wed in a temple just like this a lifetime ago,” he said aloud.  “We had no witnesses but the Light, fearing that the Sunwalkers would not approve… I never did let them find you, Kinah,” he rumbled, prompting Kacheya to nuzzle him yet again.  “It was not immediate, but I know in my heart that my path turned from the Light from that day onward, even though it should not have.”  At this, the bull’s brow furrowed, and his gaze turned upward toward the temple’s peak.  “I did not turn my back on you.  It was [i]you[/i] who abandoned [i]me[/i].”  His heart skipped a beat, and a sudden well of confidence flooded him.  He did not drop to his knees and pray as any paladin would, but instead continued to speak as he approached the bonfire.  “I have lived in despair for many months, fearing that my choices -choices that made me and my daughter [i]happy[/i] had caused me to stray.  But seeing who I am -who I have become- [i]without[/i] the guidance of the Light, has made me realize that I do not need it, nor its approval, to be happy.  I came here for answers, but no answer you can give will bring me peace.  Keep your reasons and your power.”

	Drenan’s rant was met with silence.  The bull snorted, and Kacheya let out a soft trill of encouragement, which merely bolstered his confidence.  He knew he’d lost the title of paladin long ago, but by formally casting it away, Drenan felt his heart grow lighter.  He did not want to serve a power that didn’t approve of his love, and his journey reminded him of his own inner strength.

	The muscular tauren turned to stride away.  As he walked, he quickly noticed his shadow grow longer, and the light behind him swelled.  Drenan turned back to the bonfire right as the light became blinding, and a loud boom caused the canvas tent to shudder.  A rush of wind blew past the bull as something plunged through the top of the tent and embedded itself in the bonfire.

	The anger in Drenan’s eyes softened a bit as the light waned.  From within the bonfire stood a six-foot-long, bronze spear, covered in intricate etchings that were more reminiscent of nature than light.  Three feathers were tied to its hilt -brown, tan, and black- and wraps of leather covered various patches of its shaft.  Tentatively, Drenan stepped forward and extracted the spear from the embers, revealing its head to have a razor-sharp edge on it, and two sapphires embedded within etchings of dancing leaves.

	[i]’Live well, Drenan, formerly of the Wheathoof tribe.  You are Lighthand no longer.  Choose your own name, for you need no guidance from An’she.  Your service is not without recognition.’[/i]

	The voice was feminine, and appeared to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once, like a song that made Drenan’s heart swell.  The spear was truly beautiful, and it felt better in his hands than any hammer or axe ever had.

	“I am a hunter,” Drenan rumbled, heading back out of the temple with Kacheya furiously nuzzling him.  Gripping his spear, Drenan took aim at a tree roughly thirty yards away and let his weapon fly.  The moment the spear left his hand, the weapon lit up with blinding yellow light and plunged itself into the tree in the blink of an eye, the impact making the same boom that the spear had when it had landed in the temple.  It was like watching a bolt of lightning fly across the clearing.  Drenan smiled one last time.  “I am Drenan Thunderspear,” he declared, and with an ear-piercing shriek Kacheya leapt from his shoulder, spread her wings, and soared in a swift circle high above his head.
