Gorth was no longer the wild beast that the tiny elven girl, Sin’Thol, had tamed. No longer the grunting beast, he had become more to her than protection and a way to fulfill her bazaar physical desires. He had become a friend to her, someone she could take care of and who would love and dote on her in return. On a base level, she recognized this affection, though she denied it for a long time.

The beast that she had tamed soon became the perfect pet, and then the perfect lay, soon after the perfect friend, and then…

The word “mate” to an orc seemed weighty, a heavy word not thrown around lightly. Sin’Thol didn’t understand, completely, why, or what the title would mean for her. Gorth had asked her atop the waterfall in Orgrimmar, and gruffly laid it out that he was to take her as a mate. As an equal. Sin shivered initially at the idea, not because she didn’t view him as an equal “” the weeks of fighting side by side had taught her that “” but that he may no longer worship her.

She was right, of course, but that was to be expected. However, he had come to love her, and he’d always take care of her.

It was in the jungles of Stranglethorn that the idea of him being Master was brought up. Sin’Thol had giggled at him as he spoke of their equality, casually mentioning that he’d soon want to make it so that she were pleasing him and calling him Master.

Later that night, she was. He had smiled, running his thick fingers through her red hair and mumbling her new pet name “” Shadowcat. Much nicer than beast.

It had taken time, as he knew it would, for her to embrace what they believe to be what she needed in this life. Every good girl needs to please, Gorth figured.

Gorth had fought many battles and claimed many women who were all disposed of. But with his brain in full working order… Sin’Thol would not be gotten rid of. She was his, now, and she knew it. Eventually she wanted the city of Orgrimmar to know it as well, he surmised.

She had spent long months trying to win the favour of the orcs, ranging from odd jobs to entirely epic battles, often leaving her tired and sore before returning back to sleep in her orcish mate’s strong arms.

When she spoke with Kildar, the wolf merchant, and was told to speak with the best, he had licked her cheek rather than bare his fangs, as usual. She nearly fainted with happiness. She turned to look at Kildar and his usually hard face broke into a wide grin, nodding to her.

“Ya worked hard to gain his favour, elf. He’s yours… for eight gold, that is…” he grinned, holding out his large palm. She opened her bag, placing the gold in his hand, plus a tip, before hopping on the grey wolf.

“What’s his name?” he called after her. She stopped, turned and shrugged, her face ecstatically happy, “I will need to talk with Gorth on that, Sir!” she giggled, riding off towards the Warsong base camp.

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