…well we might ask…”

He descended to the ground and with a tip of his head indicated that the two should climb atop near his neck. Tyrande had ridden dragons before and so obeyed without hesitation. Broll frowned, but followed immediately. His avian form could not possibly keep up with a dragon’s pace.

The moment they were ready, Eranikus took to the sky. He circled once, then headed in the direction that the druid had assumed Ashenvale lay.

“How long before we reach it?” Tyrande shouted. “How long before we reach Ashenvale?”

“Not so long, but perhaps too long!” the dragon roared back.

“Press yourselves against my neck and hold tight!”

They raced through the heavens at a speed that nearly took the night elves’ breath away. The gusting wind might have been harder to take, but Eranikus arched his neck to give them some protection.

Broll dared lean to his right just enough to see something of the ground. What he noticed left him with more concern. There was mist everywhere. It was not one thick blanket, but neither was there any separate patch. Indeed, the pattern reminded him of something.

As a druid, it finally came to him. Branches…the tendrils of mist look like branches from some evil tree…

The resemblance was enhanced by areas that brought to mind leaves with jagged edges. That brought back memories of the visions Broll had earlier suffered, and he pondered their connection to all this.

On and on they flew. The hills became wooded lands. The air cooled some. The woods thickened into lush, green forest that Broll knew from past journeys.

“I see it…” Eranikus informed them. “Bough Shadow lies just ahead…”

“Just ahead” to the dragon still meant to his passengers that it was out of sight for several minutes more. Then…

“I see it!” cried Tyrande.

Broll tapped her shoulder in acknowledgment. He, too, could at last make out the Great Tree.

It was dwarfed by its mightier siblings, but it still rose high over the region, a monarch in its own right. From a distance, the tree seemed in good order, even if its base was covered by mist. Its vast branches spread nearly a mile across, and within its boughs could be found a multitude of creatures, including many of those who served as its guardians. It was one of a handful of such trees, the others located in the astounding Crystalsong Forest — a mystic place in chill Northrend where, in addition to normal fascinating trees, formations of crystal grew — the Hinterlands — east of Aerie Peak, home of the gryphonriding Wildhammer dwarves — murky and dangerous Duskwood, and the deep, dank jungle of Feralas.

There were portals located in all these places, but for the druids and Broll in particular, Ashenvale was the most secure, the most safe. Thus far.

However, as they neared, the dragon said, “The area is empty. I see no one, night elf or otherwise…”

“That can’t be,” Broll returned. “The druids were summoned away, but there were others who would be here!”

“We shall see.” Eranikus circled once, then descended.

As the dragon alighted, the night elves got their first glance at the tree’s huge base…and the portal that represented their best hopes.

Vine-wrapped, fluted columns with wide capitals marked their ultimate destination. A path composed of pieces of stone passed between them, leading to the tree.

The portal itself was round. Its surrounding border was shaped from the tree’s living roots. They wrapped around one another, forming an arch. With the arch was a second border violet in color and radiating energy.

But it was the core that most demanded attention. Within the portal, a swirling mass of emerald energy constantly shifted. At times, streaks that resembled miniature bolts of green lightning flared.

The key to their hopes of reaching Malfurion, the reason for seeking this place, was this portal. The physical path to the Emerald Dream and the Nightmare — the only path that might still be at all trustworthy — lay open to them.

And that in itself now presented another concern.

“It is as you said,” Tyrande remarked to the dragon. “There is no one, though there should be many guardians.”

“Could they be to the east?” Broll suggested. “The Horde’s been getting very cocky about trying to harvest that part of the forest. It was something Malfurion was concerned about years ago already.”

“That is a point,” conceded the dragon, “but those who serve here serve most my queen…they would not depart without her com—”

Eranikus let out a fearsome roar of pain as a huge boulder crashed down upon his back. Caught unaware and having just carried the two night elves, he had not raised defenses against such a primitive but powerful assault.

As the dragon sought to recover, a second missile collided with him. Eranikus tumbled toward the portal, bowling over several columns.

The night elves turned to face the enemy, Broll transforming into the ferocious bear and Tyrande wielding the glaive.

Out of the forest burst a gigantic figure who seemed spawned by the very trees. His body was covered in thick bark and he had a long beard of leaves. Two tusks thrust from his mouth and his eyes were filled with a golden rage focused not on the night elves, but the dragon.

“Corrupted…” he grated, his voice akin to the scraping of wood against wood. “You will not pass…”

“An ancient of war!” the high priestess called.

As quickly as he had transformed, Broll reverted to his true shape. He ran toward the lumbering figure, unafraid of the fearsome paws that resembled huge, sharp splinters capable of skewering a mere druid.

“Gnarl!” Broll shouted at the top of his lungs. “Gnarl, ancient of war, protector of Ashenvale and Forest Song! You know me! You know me!”

The ancient hesitated. The mighty creature wore only a few bits of armor that looked more ornamental than protective. Fearsome faces and mystic patterns decorated them. In truth, the ancient needed little protecting. There was not much that could injure one of them. The ancients were among the first creatures of Azeroth, the first guardians of its life.

Gnarl cocked his head as he studied the druid. There was a hint of resemblance to a hound in the jagged face, but the eyes bespoke of an intelligence much greater. Indeed, ancients of war helped teach night elf warriors much of their skills.

“I know you, yes, night elf! You are the wanderer and friend called Broll Bearmantle…” Gnarl briefly bent his head. “My sorrow still for the death of your youngster…”

The comment made Broll clench a fist, though he hid that from the ancient. With lives that made those of night elves look so very short, ancients often saw years like seconds. To Gnarl, Anessa’s death was an incident that had only just happened and so was very well recalled. Gnarl did not mean to remind Broll…not that the druid ever forgot, anyway.

But Gnarl then returned his attention to Eranikus, who had finally righted himself. The dragon spread his wings and hissed at the ancient, yet though Gnarl was smaller, the guardian did not look afraid to directly face Eranikus.

“Corrupt one! You were warned…”

“I come here only to bring these two to help my queen and their friend — your friend, also! Malfurion Stormrage!”

“Stormrage…” Gnarl looked uncertain. “We have felt his absence strong…yet also his presence…” The eyes glared at Eranikus. “As we have sensed your nearing presence for the past day…and the corruption you bring with you…”

The dragon started to shrink back. It was clear by his reaction that what the ancient had said struck a chord.

“He’s freed of his corruption!” Broll corrected, coming to Eranikus’s defense. “He is an ally and a friend to us again! You should know that!”

“No!” Gnarl raised a mighty hand. “I saw him return to his evil!

He—” The huge figure blinked. “No…that was a nightmare…one of many of late. He does not seem corrupted…yet…”