Tyrande uncrossed her legs and sat back on the bench, shaking off her husband's hand with a tight grimace.
And then, all at once, she cared very much to speak.
“When you have washed the bodies of a thousand kaldorei burned and broken, when you have fallen to your knees and kissed the feet of a thousand mourning souls, when you look into their eyes and tell them ‘our Horde has changed’ and they believe you, only then will I accept your apology and treat you as my equal.” Tyrande’s voice, edged as steel, pulled the air out of the clearing. “My brethren here may be willing to entertain your empty pledges of justice and aid, but I know better. I have learned better.”
Then she stood, and Thrall worried that the moon might truly fall from the heavens and crush them at Tyrande's command. Her eyes, though black, somehow glowed, Elune's fury blazing colder and brighter along her skin with each word. The glade itself grew gray and almost dead, as if by her will she had sapped the life out of everything around them, withering the trees and obliterating the flowers and grass to dust.
"How many orphans did your Horde create that day?" Tyrande sliced the flat of her hand diagonally across her body. "
Those children will grow, they will wake each morning tasting ash, and one day they will come for you. Oh, they will come for you, and they will make you taste that same ash, and then you will know their justice." She sat down again, as if winded. Light returned to the clearing, and the plants around them were green and vibrant once more.
"Quickly," Yukha muttered, trying to gather them. "We must go. This was a mistake; I should not have brought you here."
Baine and Calia allowed Yukha to corral them back toward the path of glittering solid water. Thrall remained, only taking slow, careful steps, never showing Tyrande his back. For his trouble, Tyrande directed her final words to him and only him.
"You will find that justice less sweet than the sorry excuse for punishment you faced, and when this justice comes, there will be no armistice to save you."
Thrall felt Yukha grab him by the arm and yank. But he did not agree with the shaman's assessment; it was important and right that they had come. Thrall had thought he knew what Tyrande wanted, that was owed was his remorse, but now he realized his error.
He easily shook off Yukha's hand and pressed his fist to his chest to prove his sincerity.
"I will bring you what is owed, then. I will not bring words or promises, I will bring you the head of Sylvanas Windrunner."
The faintest trace of a smile appeared on Tyrande Whisperwind's face. "Do it, then, or never seek to speak with me again."