“Who are you?” Broll asked, his tone much kinder. “What name do you have?”

“Name?” For a moment the focus vanished. Blinking, their companion seemed to pull himself together a bit. “Lucan… Lucan Foxblood …” Some vestigial pride made him straighten. “Third assistant cartographer to His Majesty, King Varian! On a mapping mission to — to—” His expression became that of a lost child. “I don’t remember that, anymore …”

“Do not concern yourself about that,” Tyrande quietly urged. “Tell us. How did you know that what we did risked danger?”

“I–I just did. It — it has to do with that place in my dreams… I felt them… I felt something near …”

Broll retrieved the figurine. “Might’ve just been the one we were trying to reach.”

Although this made sense, Tyrande still recalled how she had felt after viewing whatever it was she had seen behind Lucan Foxblood. “No… he has the right of it, Broll. There was something sinister approaching us. That’s why I did what I had to. I trust his word in this …”

Lucan looked at her as if she had just saved his head from the ax. “Thank you, glorious lady! Thank you!”

“Calm yourself, Lucan. You are among friends… and do not thank me. Your instinctive reaction may have saved us.”

“You really think so?” the druid asked, still eyeing the statuette.

“Maybe so… maybe so …” He set the statuette down. “In that case, there’s one thing left to do.” Broll looked to Lucan. “Do you know where we are?”

“No… no… I just kept going… I just kept going …”

“As I thought.” Broll stepped back. To Tyrande, he said, “Didn’t tell you before, but while you slept I took a brief fly up. Didn’t recognize where we were, but thought if I tried once more, we might have a better idea of what to do next.”

Tyrande was not bothered by the revelation, aware that Broll would not have endangered her and Lucan. She nodded agreement to his new plan. “What of the idol?”

He shrugged. “What of it? We don’t use the damned thing, it won’t be dangerous. It can sit there until I return.”

Spreading his arms, he took on his storm crow form. Lucan gasped and stumbled back to Tyrande, who felt some guilt. She and Broll were far more versed in magic than most humans.

“It’s nothing,” she told Lucan. “Nothing to worry about.”

“My — my cousin took up the calling… wizardry, I mean,” Lucan muttered, almost sounding pleased at remembering. Then his frown returned. “He’s dead now.”

As so many are, the high priestess thought, recalling the lives lost in the last struggle. And now… what comes to wreak havoc on Azeroth this time?

Broll took to the air, diverting her musings. She and Lucan watched with admiration as the huge bird soared up into the sky.

Tyrande envied this particular skill of Malfurion’s calling. To fly like that…

Yet hardly had the storm crow reached a respectable height than he immediately dove back toward his companions. Lucan simply stared, perhaps not understanding, but Tyrande knew that Broll would not have returned so quickly if not for news of import.

She grabbed the idol before Broll reached them, certain for some reason that they would need to move. The druid’s countenance when he changed back was verification that her notion was at the very least close to the truth.

“Did you find out where we are?” Lucan innocently asked.

“What did you see?” Tyrande interjected. “Are we somewhere near the Horde’s territory?”

“The Horde’s the least of our troubles,” Broll growled. “We need to find cover and quick…”

He seized Lucan by the arm and started to drag him toward one of the hillier areas. Tyrande kept pace at the druid’s side, the idol tucked under her arm.

“What is it? More of those nightmarish creatures, like in Auberdine?”

Broll snorted. “No… just possibly a bigger nightmare.” He jutted a finger toward the sky to the east. “We’ve got a dragon out there… and it’s black.”

Thura eyed the strangers from a hilltop further to their west. Two night elves and a human. Two males and a female. She discounted the human immediately, for despite seeming in the prime of his life, he hardly looked the warrior. The two night elves, on the other hand, appeared to be more worthy opponents. The male was likely a druid. Thura respected the power of those who drew from nature.

The female most intrigued the orc, for she had always had the desire to compare her skills to those of her gender from the other races. The night elf moved with impressive grace and the glaive she carried was one that required strength and long training. Thura naturally trusted to her ax but wondered how the fight would have gone otherwise.

But the reality of her situation quickly erased such idle curiosity.

What mattered was that these three were here. Here when she was. They were tied somehow to her quest, the most obvious reason having to do with the two night elves. Her prey was one.

These were likely comrades from battle. The female might even be his mate.

The orc’s broad mouth split into a wide, grim smile. They are why I am here, she decided. They will lead me to him… they will lead me to this Malfurion… this betrayer of comrades and destroyer of life…

She had seen the druid perform great magic, becoming a bird that could fly high. Even more than the female, he would have to die quickly when it came to fighting them. He looked to be powerful, though clearly not as much as the murderous druid in her dreams.

Still, he would be good practice for the duel with her true foe.

Then Thura saw why the druid had flown for so short a time. The great dark form rising into the sky was the one that she had seen only as shadow before. Now it was flying toward the area where the trio had been, and though they were fleet of foot, even the human, they were surely doomed. The orc cursed, realizing that the best clue to her prey’s whereabouts was going to be eaten.

Then, an astounding thing happened.

The dragon’s prey simply became nothing. One minute they were running and the next they were gone. Only a momentary hint of some greenish illumination gave her any sort of answer. She assumed that one of the night elves had cast some sort of spell taking the trio far away.

Yet what surprised her more was when she looked again to the dragon. The great leviathan immediately turned, then, wings beating hard, left the vicinity. There had been no hesitation; the dragon had departed with all haste.

And most curious to Thura was that, though the darkness had not given her a perfect view of the departing behemoth… she would have sworn that the dragon had fled in sudden fear.

The druids were weary. They had given of themselves as much as any living being could, and though Fandral told them that their efforts were not in vain, still it was difficult for many to believe that.

Teldrassil looked no different… and, indeed, to Hamuul Runetotem, there was something about the World Tree that now bothered him more.

Worse, his concern was compounded by Fandral’s sudden curiosity as to Broll’s absence. With so many gathered and so much urgency, the disappearance had managed to go unnoticed until after the casting. Now, though, the lead archdruid seemed to be making a particular point about it.

Hamuul had promised to look for Broll, but that had mainly been to assuage Fandral. Unfortunately, there was only so much Hamuul could do in regards to a promise that he knew — with much guilt — had no hope of being fulfilled.

He had tried to stay far from the convocation, but knew that his own absence would eventually be noticed as well. Hoping to avoid further questions, he kept to the edges of the group, moving here and there as if still seeking.