Several troublesome thoughts weighed on the night elf as he lay there — too many to allow him to fall asleep. As the tauren snored next to him, Broll’s concerns focused for a time on Valeera, who had become almost like a daughter to him. As a blood elf, the youngling was addicted to the absorption of arcane magical energy, a path her kind had turned to after the destruction of the high elves’ fount of power, the Sunwell. Broll had almost managed to help her overcome it… but then circumstance had forced Valeera to return to her kind’s ways. They had parted company, at least for a time, shortly before his summons to the convocation. He hoped she was better, but feared that her addiction might have worsened again.

Grunting, Broll tried to calm his mind. At the moment, he could do nothing for Valeera, unless he had help… and that brought his thoughts back to his shan’do. For the first time something occurred to him — or rather, tried to occur to him. The main thrust of it remained just outside of his weary mind’s reach. The druid tried over and over to concentrate enough, but instead, the truth seemed to slip further and further from him. He almost —

There came a sound from among the trees behind him, a hint of something like a gasp of breath.

Father…

The night elf stiffened. Had he heard… her?

Broll quietly pushed himself up to a sitting position.

Father…

There it was again. He knew that voice better than he knew his own. Broll trembled. It could not be her.

It could not be… could never be… Anessa?

He glanced at Hamuul, whose snoring remained steady. The sharpeared tauren had noticed nothing. To Broll, that verified that he had only imagined that he had heard —

Father… I need you…

Anessa! Broll gasped. He had heard her!

The druid reacted instinctively, rising up and peering into the woods in search of his daughter. He did not call out, fearful that not only would that alert others to his situation, but also send his beloved daughter running.

But… a part of his mind reminded him… Anessa is dead…

and I’m responsible…

Despite being well aware of that fact, Broll felt his heart beat fast. He took a tentative step in the direction from which he believed the call had come.

Father… help me…

Tears welled up in the otherwise stolid druid’s eyes. He remembered her death and his part in it. The old agony stirred again. Memories of the battle arose anew.

Yes, Anessa was dead…

But she calls me! the most basic part of him insisted. This time, I can save her!

Something shadowy moved among the trees well ahead of him.

Broll veered toward the half-seen form. Suddenly, the druid’s world rippled. The trees twisted as if made of smoke. The indistinct figure grew more distant. The sky became the ground and the ground the sky. Broll felt as if his bones had turned to liquid. He tried to call out to his daughter.

Something moved toward him from the woods. As it neared, it swelled to horrific proportions. Even then, the druid could not make out any distinct features. It almost looked like —

Broll tried to scream… and then woke.

His focus began to return. Slowly, the night elf registered several things wrong with what he last recalled about his surroundings. He did not stand at the edge of the woods, but rather lay on the ground as if still sleeping. Squinting, Broll glanced up. By the position of the bright sun, several hours must have passed.

The songs of birds and the sigh of the wind greeted his ears, but another sound was missing. He looked over his right shoulder and saw Hamuul solemnly gazing back at him. The archdruid was down on one knee next to his shaking friend.

“You are awake, yes,” the tauren remarked, reading Broll’s remaining uncertainty. “Is there something amiss? You look—”

The night elf did not let him finish. “It was a dream. Or rather, a nightmare …”

“A dream… as you say …” Hamuul was silent for a moment, then said, “I awoke sooner than you know, for, this being day and I not a night elf, I but lightly napped. I heard you say something. You mumbled a name,” the tauren went on with some slight hesitation.

“A name close to you.”

“Anessa …” Bits of the nightmare came back. Broll shivered. He had dreamed of his daughter before, but never in such a manner.

The tauren briefly bowed his head again at mention of Broll’s lost child. “Anessa, yes …” He peered up at the night elf. “You are well now, though, Broll Bearmantle?”

“I am good now. Thank you …”

“This was not natural, Broll Bearmantle… no more than your earlier visions… though different from them in all other ways, I think.”

“It was only a bad nightmare, Hamuul.” Broll’s tone told the other druid not to argue that point. “Neither it nor the other instances mean anything.”

The tauren blinked, then finally shrugged. “I will not press the point, my friend, as I would only worsen your pain… but we both know better …”

Before anything more could be said, there came a faint rustling sound from the woods. Broll immediately tensed and Hamuul’s eyes widened.

From behind the trees, a figure emerged. However, it was not some shade of Anessa returned to the mortal plane. Rather, it proved to be one of the priestesses who had accompanied Tyrande to the Moonglade.

“My mistress wishes to speak with you, druid,” the slim figure murmured to Broll. Her gaze shifted to the tauren. “She would have you come alone… with all due respect, Archdruid …”

The priestess did not wait for a reply from either, instead vanishing back into the barrow den woods. As a druid, Broll could have easily followed her, but her cautious stance and her short, somewhat mysterious message had made it clear that such a reaction would have been unwise. He was to come on his own, as if the decision were his.

“Will you go?” asked Hamuul.

“Yes,” came the night elf’s immediate reply. “I will.”

“I will tell no one.”

The tauren’s promise meant much to Broll. Nodding his gratitude, the night elf followed the priestess’s path. His thoughts were already on the possible reasons why the high priestess of Elune and the ruler of the night elves would desire a secret encounter with him. Tyrande Whisperwind had something in mind that she wished few others to know… including Archdruid Fandral Staghelm.

And, unsettling as it was, Broll had the terrible feeling that he knew just what she desired.

“He has come,” the guard murmured to Tyrande from the tent’s entrance.

“Bid him enter and watch for anyone who might approach,” the high priestess commanded.

With a nod, the guard retreated outside. A moment later Broll Bearmantle respectfully entered. The druid bowed deep, as a subject would to a ruler. In a low voice he said, “High Priestess, you summoned me …”

“Be not so formal with me here, Broll. We have known each other for some time.”

The druid nodded, but said nothing.

“Please,” the high priestess started, gesturing at a grass mat with intricate moon patterns fashioned into it. “Be seated.”

Broll shook his head. “I prefer to stand, thank you… no disrespect meant.”

She nodded. “Very well. I shall keep this short, anyway… and I say right now that you have every right to turn my request down.”

His thick brow rose. Tyrande could, if she truly wanted to, complicate his life by ordering him to do whatever it was she desired.

But that was not her way. “Broll… you are the only one here I could ask of this. Malfurion trusted you very much, and so I place my faith in your hands — after all, you wear the mark of greatness, a n d your actions during the Third War have demonstrated its capabilities.” She glanced up at his antlers.