One day, on a crisp Autumn morning, an apple cart bound for Silvermoon detonated. The blast tore the bridge it was crossing over into rubble, killed the driver, obliterated five hundred gold worth of produce, and threw a nearby orc into a tree. "How do ya like dem apples?" The medic had joked when Gunheya awoke. The fact that he could not manage a laugh struck the orc as monumentally wrong. The horrible bruising was easy enough to mend, the damage to his mechano-hog far less so. But in time it