Richard Knaak: Wolfheart

The ends of the branches shifted his long green hair, but artfully avoided that which most made the proud-featured night elf stand out from his brethren. Magnificent antlers, more than a good two feet in length, sprouted from his forehead. They were a sign of his deep ties to Azeroth and his shan’do—his honored teacher —the demigod Cenarius, and also represented the form of the stag.

Some of the stronger branches shifted under his arms. Then, as gently as a parent lifting an infant, the branches took Malfurion up among the trees.

The archdruid opened his mind and touched the heart of Teldrassil. Malfurion studied its health and saw that there was no apparent taint left from the sinister grafting attached by the mad archdruid Fandral Staghelm. Malfurion gave thanks for that; he had been against the creation of the second World Tree, but it had become an integral part of night elf existence. Yet, that it had become so had been the opposite intention of Fandral, who had first proposed the tree in Malfurion’s absence. To the other archdruid, Teldrassil had been only a means to a monstrous end, which, thankfully, had been averted.

Despite the lack of any noticeable taint, Malfurion swore to keep monitoring the tree. There was still a pocket of the Nightmare remaining in the Emerald Dream, and as long as any trace of that darkness existed, renewed corruption threatened Teldrassil and, thus, the night elf race.

Still, satisfied as to the World Tree’s present condition, Malfurion took a moment to survey his surroundings. A moonwell—one of the sacred founts of water known for their mystical properties—stood not all that far from the archdruid. He had chosen the Oracle Glade northeast of the city for what his senses indicated was its unique tie to the gargantuan tree in which it was nestled. Here, the archdruid felt he could best meditate and, using his spirit—or dreamform—reach out to the Emerald Dream.

The druids still traveled with their dreamforms to the other realm, but did so with some new precautions. Malfurion had not taken long to return to that place, despite having been trapped there for years by the Nightmare Lord. He did not consider himself courageous for having made the choice; the archdruid hoped to further study the Emerald Dream for any changes he might have missed earlier . . . and also use this particular journey to clear his mind of certain thoughts.

As if to mock his hopes, a sharp twinge suddenly went through him. It was not the first he had felt of late, nor did he think it would be the last.

Mortality was beginning to catch up with him.

The archdruid had witnessed the aging of comrades belonging to other races, but to experience it was admittedly not so simple a thing, even if his race was still much longer-lived than humans or dwarves. Malfurion fought down a brief moment of petulance, of thinking that he was not supposed to grow old.

The twinge had disrupted his thoughts. Trying to restore his calm, Malfurion focused deep into Teldrassil’s being. He felt his center calming. Seeking Teldrassil’s touch to help him reach the point where he could separate his dreamform from his body had proven correct after all. His body now lay nestled in the boughs, protected by the trees that were in their way an extension of the larger one upon which they grew.

Malfurion’s dreamform rose above his still body. Ghostly and emerald in shading, it hovered for a moment—

Malfurion!

As if thrust by a terrible wind, the archdruid’s dreamform flew back into his mortal shell. He knew who reached out to him, for she had a unique link to him.

Tyrande? the archdruid immediately responded. At an unspoken request by Malfurion, the branches were already lowering him to the ground. Tyrande! What is it?

Too much to be said now! Please come!

The urgency in her tone was undeniable. The moment his feet touched the ground, Malfurion hurried on. But after a few steps he found the pace too slow. Concentrating, the archdruid leaned forward.

His bones made crackling sounds as they shifted, and his skin rippled and sprouted fur. The archdruid’s face extended, the nose and mouth becoming part of a wide muzzle adorned with long whiskers. Malfurion’s teeth grew and his eyes narrowed. His shape transformed, becoming a huge, dark cat akin to one of the saber-toothed felines the night elves used for mounts. Malfurion’s pace increased tenfold and more.

The sleek cat darted out of the glade. The short distance to Darnassus passed swiftly. Sentinels who saw him approaching wisely stepped aside, aware of who it was rushing to the city in such a form. The archdruid’s cat shape was a recognizable thing to the defenders of the city, who had witnessed its power in battle.

Much of the city was divided into what were called “terraces,” where elements of night elf civilization concentrated. The Warrior’s Terrace was already behind him, and that of the Craftsmen was already to his right. Malfurion scarcely noticed either, just as he paid little mind to the elegant and artistically formed gardens and lake that were the center of Darnassus. His focus was on the shining edifice to the south, the Temple of the Moon.

But something did suddenly intrude on his concentration, an unsettling gathering of night elves. Malfurion smelled their anxiety, and that stirred his other feline emotions. He bared his great saberlike teeth and dug harder at the ground with his sharp claws as he turned to find out what was the cause.

Even before he came to a halt, the archdruid had resumed his true form. The night elves nearest had already scattered from the cat’s path, and now they and others who had noticed Malfurion bowed in respect to the august figure.

However, Malfurion paid them no mind, for he now knew what had so caught the throng’s attention . . . and why from them there had radiated such a high level of anxiety.

The hooded figure stumbled toward the same destination in which the archdruid had been heading, but his efforts were slowed incredibly by the terrible burden in his arms. The shape under the other travel cloak was clearly female and also a night elf.

Malfurion could not make out the male’s visage, but the hood had slipped from the female’s. The slack mouth was a grim enough sign.

A Sentinel tried to give aid to the female’s companion, but the male shook the guard off. The Sentinel retreated with an odd respect in both her expression and stance.

The same Sentinel glanced beyond the stricken figure to Malfurion. With some relief, she started, “Archdruid! Praise Elune—”

“‘Archdruid’?” The hooded male gasped out the word, as if it meant all the world to him.

A sudden shock ran through Malfurion. He could not place the voice, but, even though it was clearly changed by stress and other factors, it was one he should have known very well.

Gingerly adjusting his precious burden, the male shifted enough to peer over his shoulder at Malfurion.

The agony that gripped the male had made some distinct changes in the face. However, the archdruid still immediately recognized the night elf before him even though it had been centuries since the latter had last been among their kind. Malfurion could scarcely believe his eyes; he had gradually come to the conclusion that accident or some other violent demise had taken the hooded figure long ago.

The name escaped as a whisper of disbelief. “ Jarod Shadowsong . . .”

Haldrissa Woodshaper had been a Sentinel since nearly the creation of that army. Although she had been born some centuries before its general, Shandris, Haldrissa had recognized the skills in her leader and eagerly learned. She had thus risen up in the ranks, well earning her position as a commander.