The tauren was as forever dreaming. The gaze he put upon the chieftain was far from reliable; a shifting storm he was, yet a place of tranquility could be spotted. Unable to move, he winced and narrowed his eyes, well aware of how the Chieftain enjoyed his own twisted game.

Roots tightened, and the Shu'halo began to breathe heavily - this time, however, without wincing. He clenched his teeth and struggled a bit in an attempt of moving. As a result long, vicious thorns would suddenly thrust deep into his fur, blood trickling down his frames. For minutes he would stand there, occasionally to look up and watch the Chief talking with the other Shu'halo. But he did not even bother to give him one glance. Once again he tried to release himself from the roots, to little avail. The thorns would only dig deeper into his skin, and as result he muted a little 'yelp'.

Finally he would put his gaze at the Chief standing there as a statue, right in front of him. He did still not return the look, but had instead chosen to stare off into the distance. The Chief would suddenly speak, this only heard as a muted murmur to the tauren, as for he, himself, remained silent. A thick, sweet liquid would be poured upon him, mixing with the blood. He hated the smell, the sweet smell of nectar shivering all the way down his frames along the liquid itself.

The roots would release and the tauren dropped down onto his knees, looking down.

The Chief murmured forth a low-voiced sigh.