“The Horde is nothing!” Shouted Sylvanas with a grin. “You are all nothing.” And Sylvanas grabbed the old soldier, and shoved him down into dirt. When she heard a small sound, like the coo of a dove.
She turned around fast, and saw a small Horde, little banner bae, who looked on in dismay. Who’d arced a brow at what she heard her say. She stared at Sylvanas and said; “Warchief why?”
But you know that old corpse was so smart and so slick, she thought up a lie, and she thought it up quick!
“Why my sweet little rot,” the fake Warchief lied.
“The horde is nothing without honor, and loyalty to die.”
“So i’m taking Saurfang back, to my workshop, my dear.”
“I’ll fix him up there,then bring him back here.”
And her fib fooled the corpse, then she patted her head, and she evaporated into smoke, and shot herself up.
In their cities she left nothing but fear and some nerves.
And the one speck of hope that she left by some pork.
Was even too small for an orc.
Then she did the same thing to the other Horde cities.
Leaving crumbs much too small for the other Horde committees.
It was a quarter past dawn, all the Horde still in bed.
All the horde still asnooze when she packed up and fled.
Three thousand feet up! On the side of the mountain.
She rode to the tiptop to hear the sad trumpets.
“Poohpooh to the Horde!” She was grumpily humming.
“They’re just waking up! I know what they’ll do!”
“Their mouths will hang open for a minute or two.”
“Then the Horde down in Hordeville will all cry BooHoo!”
“That’s a noise,” grinned Sylvanas, “That i simply must hear!”
So she paused. And Sylvanas put her hand to her ear.
And she did hear a sound rising over the snow.
It started out low. Then it started to grow.
But the sound wasn’t sad! Why, this sound sounded merry!
It couldn’t be so! But it WAS merry! VERY!
She stared down at Hordeville, the tall and the small,
Was singing! Without any hope at all!
She hadn’t stopped peace from coming! It CAME!
Somehow or other, it came just the same!
“It came without trees! It came on the breeze!”
“It came without catchups, foxes or lag!”
And she puzzled three hours, till her puzzler was sore.
Then Sylvanas thought of something she hadn’t before!
“Maybe, hope,” she thought, “is not something you buy from a store. Maybe it wasn’t roasted with night elves galore.”
“Maybe, hope, perhaps, means a little bit more.”
And what happened then? Well, in Hordville they say, Sylvanas’ cold heart jumped 100 degrees that day!
And the minute with her heart didn’t feel quite so tight.
She whizzed with her hope through the bright morning light.
And she brought back hope, and peace, and the food for a feast.
And she, she herself! sylvanas: Carved the roast beast!