Tauren Tale

Chapter 8: Mudslinging

Kazbo ran after the Tauren, down, down into a depression in the desert floor. At the bottom, he found the pair in deep scrub brush. Sanja was climbing a scrawny tree – the only one without thorns that they had seen since entering Desolace – and Jorga circled underneath her, holding the pack open for her to drop things down into it.

“What is that tree?”

“It's a jacao,” she shouted down at him, dropping another large pod down into the pack.

The Gnome picked up one of the jacao fruit from where it had fallen into a scrub. It was bright yellow and the same sort of size and shape as a tangerine.

“Don't eat that!” Sanja shouted. “Jacao fruit is poisonous. It might not kill you, but you'll get... well, you could end up dying of dehydration. I doubt we could find enough water to keep you alive.”

Kazbo dropped the fruit and wiped his hands on his blood-stained shirt.

“So the beans...?”

She wagged her head from one side to the other. “Poisonous too, actually. But you can bake them in the coals of a campfire until they scream.”

Jorga looked at him and made a quiet eee! noise to imitate steam escaping.

“Then you can eat them safely.”

The Gnome made an unhappy face. He wasn't sure which was better, cactus that tasted like “green,” the haunch of a dying man, or a poisonous nut that should be safe to eat.

Sanja was busily cutting pods away with her knife and dropping them into the bag. She paused for a moment and looked down at the Gnome. “Kazbo, tell me, what is your favorite thing to eat, in all of Azeroth?”

“My favorite?” He tugged on his bright, pink beard. “Well, in Stormwind, there is a taverncalled The Golden Keg.” He used some Common words, since he knew no Taurahe translation. “The owner, a human named Colin, he makes quail, and he stuffs it with mushrooms and nuts.”

He closed his eyes, remembering the beautiful aroma and the glistening beads of fat on the perfectly crisped skin. “I do not know if anything could taste better.”

“Well, our favorite food is The Sleeping Calf.”

Jorga nodded in a wildly exaggerated manner.

“It's a piece of warm flat-bread, smeared with a huge glob of jacao, and sprinkled lightly with salt.” She looked down at the little man and gestured with her hand. “You tear the end off of a baked pod and squeeze the nut paste out like... well, into a glob. Before you spread it, it looks a little like a calf on a sleeping mat.”

“It looks a lot more like poop!” Jorga laughed but then grew somber. “If you say that, then adults say something like, 'I guess you won't want any.'”

“Yeah. We don't have any bread or salt, but I bet the jacao still tastes good without it.”

“So these trees grow in Mulgore too?” Kazbo asked.

Sanja shook her head. “Definitely not. The only way to get jacao in Mulgore is to trade for it. Orcish traders like Thurg, Elizabeth's owner, gather it from Desolace and bring it in.”

“Trade?” Kazbo tried to imagine what a people without technology could possibly have to trade. “What do they trade for jacao?”

“Well, pottery, of course,” Jorga responded. “That's all traders ever want.”

“We always make extra pots, just in case any traders come through.” Sanja added.

Kazbo scratched his head. “So, Orcs love pottery? I never would have guessed that. They just seem so...”