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Thrall had been nearly twenty years old the first time he’d seen the sea. It was said that, on Draenor, the orcs had feared the sea. Things lived within it, dark and terrible, and the water burned those that touched it. It had instilled a terror in them so deep that it passed from one generation to the next, until the race as a whole had an aversion to all but the tamest of journeys over water.
Except the Warsong, who have always been a little crazy, or so Garona always says.
His early experiences had not been positive. Sailing through storms had torn their stolen ships to shreds, forcing them to take refuge on an island so close to the Maelstrom and its howling spirits that Thrall had nearly bowed under the weight of it.
On clear days, if he was high enough up, he could see all the way to it, though only by virtue of the sheer size of the great storm and the rift that ran deep, to near the very core of Azeroth.
Once they’d arrived in Kalimdor, on the flotsam of ruined ships, it had seemed like a sign: they would never go back to Lordaeron, back to the humans that had sought to contain them, back to the demons that had enslaved them for too long.
He had never thought much about the smell of the sea, not until Jaina had pointed it out. He had remembered the scent of road dust, of the dead he’d found along the way. He had remembered the kodos, their sweat and their stink. He had not remembered the salt, or the scent of fish, of wet wood and soaking sails.
For Jaina, the sea was everything. It was on her mind at all times, from the time she had been very small, a child reared by a family that had salt water in their veins and the snapping of sails in their hearts. While for the orcs, the journey to Kalimdor had been a trial, and a terrible one, for Jaina and her fleet, it had been an adventure. Sailing the high seas was the Proudmoore way, embracing it as strongly as anything, which was why when they had founded their respective homes, Jaina’s had been on an island, while Thrall’s had been close to the sea.
Perhaps the scent of salt doesn’t suit us, but it suits her, and while it’s such a little thing, I think I would miss it if I didn’t smell it in the morning. It’s so unlike what it was like to live in Lordaeron that it reminds us of how far we’ve come, and how far we have yet to go.
Thrall inhaled, and the sea air tingled across his senses. Orcs had a particularly strong sense of smell, and it was as much a part of their memory as sight or sound was.
When he closed his eyes, he did not see the Maelstrom or the ruined ships. He didn’t see the road through Kalimdor.
Instead, he saw Jaina, standing on the deck of her ship, blonde hair whipping in the wind, blue eyes sparkling, pointing towards the horizon. She mouthed words, but in his memory, he hadn’t heard them, because he had been too taken by the sight of her.
Softly, to himself, he smiled.
End