Zong Shen leisurely inspected the Tranquil Forest.
Where he stood, Little Blackie's molten-gold slit pupils flickered constantly.
He looked at his mother's humiliated, bowed posture, then at Orgrimmar's back as he humbly led the way.
Zong Shen's calm voice still echoed in his mind.
"Go do what you should."
Little Blackie understood exactly what he "should do."
His enormous body trembled slightly.
Then a tangle of emotions and instinctive stirrings flooded him.
He beat his wings and slowly landed beside the Black-Winged Tyrant.
The ground sank slightly beneath the weight of his massive body.
"Mother."
Little Blackie's voice was low.
The Black-Winged Tyrant jerked her head up at his voice.
Those molten-gold dragon eyes stared fixedly at her.
The emotions within them were immensely complicated.
There was anger, defiance, and the trembling left by Zong Shen's suppression.
"What do you think you're doing, you unfilial wretch!"
Her voice grew exceptionally hoarse. Every word seemed to be squeezed from deep in her throat, laden with menace.
Yet the weakness beneath that menace was impossible to hide.
Little Blackie did not answer her demand.
He merely tilted his head slightly, his molten-gold pupils sweeping over the Black-Winged Tyrant's enormous dragon body, immobilized by her restraints.
Every black scale was still just as hard, but they had lost the dark sheen that once seemed capable of devouring all light.
Her wings were folded at her sides, her powerful hind legs planted on the ground, and her tail hung limply.
She had once been a savage presence he could only look up to.
Now she resembled a trophy casually set aside, awaiting his disposal.
It reminded him of long ago, when he had cowered in a dark corner of the dragon's lair, not daring to approach that enormous figure reeking of sour rot and