Dimmi sat in the empty grothole, taking refuge in the fact that she was hidden momentarily. To fit her huge frame into what surely must have been dug by a goblin, she bent her legs so that her knees sat squarely under her chin. Tufts of her white, unruly mane brushed against her arm as she sat deep in thought.

Of all the places in Azeroth in which she thought she would grow old with Dakini, this tainted swamp was not one of them. Of course, she had always been a traveler and had staked a tent in every land on Kalimdor, but this – this was going to prove to be her biggest challenge.

“You listened to your bones, and your bones brought you here to the Grin. Now, get yourself out of this hole and prepare for the next phase of your life”, she thought to herself as the piercing howl came from just inside the walls of Stonard.

She meditated on the words of the ancient Orc, and the truth of the Grin history that she'd been told just days ago. She knew that she had to quickly admit to the fact that everything she had come to know, through the stories of her people, may be just be a myth, a legend. How she would reconcile that whith her spirit remained to be seen.

"Find Grymhorn. He will show you the way."