They always give her a look, when she comes for them. Sometimes it's angry defiance, other times fear, and when they are taken away they would either lash out or break down and weep. But sometimes they don't put up a fight; sometimes they are silent, motionless. Sometimes they have to be picked up off the ground and made to walk, but most go willingly: no complaints, no tears, no rage.

There are no such things on Grommash's face.

"Do it," he says, breathless. "Finish it."

"No," she says. "It's over. It's time to go home."

"Home?" Grommash rasps. "Home?" He tries to sit up and barely manages to catch himself from collapsing. "There is no home!"

"But this is your home. Our home. And if you just stop fighting and listen to us, we can work together and fix this."

"The planet is dying! Everything you touch is turning to crystal and glass! Anyone that disagrees with the naaru is being converted against their will. The naaru, Yrel! The very same creatures that you say champion peace and harmony!" He sucks in a breath. "This isn't peace, Yrel. This is tyranny!"

Yrel sighs. "I have a people to lead, and sometimes—and you know as well as I—there are going to be decisions that are going to be difficult for me to make. The people of Azeroth never reached out to us. Not once; and if they did, we never heard from them. I had no one else to turn to—"

"You had us, you lying bitch!" Lantresor snaps. "We were right there!"

"...I did not know what to do," she continues in a steady, patient voice. "Yes, we lived in peace, but it was a tenuous one at best. Can you blame us for being a little cautious, after everything you've done?"

A couple of steps approach Yrel, it was a new ally she had conscripted, she sighed and addressed them.

"..I am assuming you have good news on the location of the remnants of the iron horde?." Yrel asked.