Goldheart shook her head, her eyes coming up from the axe as she spun it in her hand, her thumb rubbing over one of the markings on the head itself, rubbing the grime of years away.  "Impossible, is one good word.  Can't be here, is another good phrase.  This axe...  It belonged to Wildfire of the Southern Groves.  I place it... right about the time of the war that created the Fields of Woe," she said, shaking her head.<br/><br/>"This is a relic of our people, Whispers.  Wildfire was our general in that war.  Fought against the insatiable bloodlust and the desire of the Haltans to pound our people into submission and the dust, the bloodlust that blinded them to the creation of a Shadowlands around the site of their bloodshed."  She lowered the weapon, her eyes tracking to the sky.  "It was burned with Wildfire when she died, and should be naught but ash...  How did it come here now?"