There was definitely something to be said for a change of scenery and fighting on behalf of Stormwind seemed to offer plenty of that. No sooner had she dusted the gritty red sands of Hellfire Peninsula from her boots than she was stuffing herself into furs and heading further north than she ever wanted to be again, only to come home long enough to find the gates still smoldering from Deathwing's assault and her orders taking her to the realm of the Earth Mother. In every case the battles were against foes who stood ugly and fearsome, demons and skeletons and mountains of rock, enemies that fouled the world by their very existence.
This, though, this was less certain. Friend and foe shared the same features, the same skin or fur, bled the same blood. Even their new allies couldn't be relied on to always be on their side. In fact, fighting that Horde was disconcerting in its own right. They might have fur and tusks, but their eyes shone with intelligence and awareness in a way the monstrous foes had not. To kill a skeleton one merely ended a wrongness. To kill a demon, one cleansed the world of evil. She felt heroic. She was a glorious champion of Stormwind. But to kill others with mind and heart, families and homes ... this war in Pandaria was destroying her. Each death credited to her blade reflected a tiny sliver of her soul dying inside. How much would be left by the time she went home again?