Falstad followed her pointing finger. “Those roughhewn hills that look like my grandmother, beard and
all? Aye, 'tis a good choice! We'll descend toward those!”
The fatigued gryphon gratefully obeyed the signal to descend. Falstad guided him toward the greatest
congregation of hills, specifically, what looked like a tiny valley between several. Vereesa held on tight as
the animal landed, her eyes already searching for any possible threat. This deep into Khaz Modan, the
orcs surely had outposts in the vicinity.
“The Aerie be praised!” the dwarf rumbled as they dismounted. “As much as I enjoy the freedom of the
sky, that's far too long to sit on anything!” He rubbed the gryphon's leonine mane. “But a good beast you
are, and deserving of water and food!”
“I saw a stream nearby,” Vereesa offered. “It may have fish in it, too.”
“Then he'll find it if he wants it.” Falstad removed the bridle and other gear from his mount. “And find it
on his own.” He patted the gryphon on the rump and the beast leapt into the air, suddenly once more
energetic now that his burdens had been taken from him.
“Is that wise?”
“My dear elven lady, fish don't necessarily make a meal for one like him! Best to let him hunt on his own
for something proper. He'll come back when he's satiated, and if anyone sees him . . . well, even Khaz
Modan has some wild gryphons left.” When she did not look reassured, Falstad added, “He'll only be
gone for a short time. Just long enough for us to put together a meal for ourselves.”
They carried with them a few provisions, which the dwarf immediately divided. With a stream nearby,
both took their fill of what remained in the water sacks. A fire was out of the question this deep into
orc-held territory, but fortunately the night did not look to be a cool one.
Sure enough, the gryphon did return promptly, belly full. The animal settled down by Falstad, who
dropped one hand lightly on the creature's head as he finished eating.
“I saw nothing from the air,” he finally said. “but we can't assume that the orcs aren't near.”
“Shall we take turns at watch?”
“'Tis the best thing to do. Shall I go first or you?”
Too wound up to sleep, Vereesa volunteered. Falstad did not argue and, despite their present
circumstances, immediately settled down, falling asleep but a few seconds later. Vereesa admired the
dwarf 's ability to do so, wishing that she could be like him in that one respect.
The night struck her as too silent compared to the forests of her childhood, but the ranger reminded
herself that these rocky lands had been despoiled by the orcs for many years now. True, wildlife still lived
here—as evidenced by the gryphon's full stomach—but most creatures in Khaz Modan were much more
wary than those back in Quel'Thalas. Both the orcs and their dragons thrived heavily on fresh meat.
A few stars dotted the sky, but if not for her race's exceptional night vision, Vereesa would have nearly
been blind. She wondered how Rhonin would have fared in this darkness, assuming that he still lived. Did
he also wander the wastelands between here and Grim Batol, or had Deathwing brought him far beyond
even there, perhaps to some realm entirely unknown to the ranger?
She refused to believe that he had somehow allied himself with the dark one, but, if not, what did
Deathwing do with him? For that matter, could it be that she had sent Falstad and herself on a wild
dragon-chase, and that Rhonin had not been the precious cargo the armored leviathan had been
carrying?
So many questions and no answers. Frustrated, the ranger stepped away from the dwarf and his mount,
daring to survey some of the enshrouded hills and trees. Even with her superior eyesight, most resembled
little more than black shapes. That only served to make her surroundings feel more oppressive and
dangerous, even though there might not be an orc for miles.
Her sword still sheathed, Vereesa ventured farther. She came upon a pair of gnarled trees, still alive but
just barely. Touching each in turn, the elf could feel their weariness, their readiness to die. She could also
sense some of their history, going far back before the terror of the Horde. Once, Khaz Modan had been
a healthy land, one where, Vereesa knew, the hill dwarves and others had made their homes. The
dwarves, however, had fled under the relentless onslaught of the orcs, vowing someday to return.
The trees, of course, could not flee.
For the hill dwarves, the day of return would come soon, the elf felt, but by then it would probably be
too late for these trees and many like them. Khaz Modan was a land needing many, many decades to
recoup—if it ever could.
“Courage,” she whispered to the pair. “A new Spring will come, I promise you.” In the language of the
trees, of all plants, Spring meant not only a season, but also hope in general, a renewal of life.
As the elf stepped back, both trees looked a little straighter, a little taller. The effect of her words on
them made Vereesa smile. The greater plants had methods beyond even the ken of elves through which
they communicated with one another. Perhaps her encouragement would be passed on. Perhaps some of
them would survive after all. She could only hope.
Her brief rapport with the trees lightened the burden on both her mind and heart. The rocky hills no
longer felt so foreboding. The elf moved along more readily now, certain that matters would yet turn out
for the best, even in regards to Rhonin.
The end of her watch came far more quickly than she had assumed it would. Vereesa almost thought of
letting Falstad sleep longer—his snoring indicated that he had sunken deep—but she also knew that she
would only be a liability if her lack of rest later caused her to falter in battle. With some reluctance, the elf
headed back to her companion—
—and stopped as the nearly inaudible sound of a dried branch cracking warned that something or
someone drew near.
Not daring to wake Falstad for fear of losing the element of surprise, Vereesa walked straight past the
slumbering gryphon-rider and his mount, pretending interest in the dark landscape beyond. She heard
more slight movement, again from the same direction. Only one intruder, perhaps? Maybe, maybe not.
The sound could have been meant to draw her in that very direction, the better to prevent Vereesa from
discovering other foes waiting in silence.
Again came the slight sound of movement—followed by a savage squawk and a huge form leaping from
nearby her.
Vereesa had her weapon ready even as she realized that it had been Falstad's gryphon who had reacted,
not some monstrous creature in the woods. Like her, the animal had heard the faint noise, but, unlike the
elf, the gryphon had not needed to weigh options. He had reacted with the honed instincts of his kind.
“What is it?” snarled Falstad, leaping to his feet quite effortlessly for a dwarf. Already he had his
stormhammer drawn and ready for combat.
“Something among those old trees! Something your mount went after!”
“Well, he'd better not eat it until we've the chance to see what it is!”
In the dark, Vereesa could just make out the shadowy form of the gryphon, but not yet its adversary.
The ranger could, however, hear another cry over those of the winged beast, a cry that did not sound at
all like a challenge.
“No! No! Away! Away! Get off of me! No tidbit am I!”
The pair hurried toward the frantic call. Whatever the gryphon had cornered certainly sounded like no
threat. The voice reminded the elf of someone, but who, she could not say.
“Back!” Falstad called to his mount. “Back, I say! Obey!”
The leonine avian seemed disinclined at first to listen, as if what he had captured he felt either belonged
to him or could not be trusted free. From the darkness just beyond the beaked head came whimpering.
Muchwhimpering.
Had some child managed to wander alone out here in the midst of Khaz Modan? Surely not. The orcs
had held this territory for years! Where would such a child have come from?
“Please, oh, please, oh, please! Save this insignificant wretch from this monster—Pfaugh!What breath it
has!”
The elf froze. No child spoke like that.
“Back, blast you!” Falstad swatted his mount on the rump. The animal stretched his wings once, let out a
throaty squawk, then finally backed away from his prey.
A short, wiry figure leapt up and immediately began heading in the opposite direction. However, the
ranger moved more swiftly, racing forward and snagging the intruder by what Vereesa realized was one
lengthy ear.
“Ow! Please don't hurt! Please don't hurt!”
“What've you got there?” the gryphon-rider muttered, joining her. “Never have I heard something that
squealed so! Shut it up or I'll have to run it through! It'll bring every orc in hearing running!”
“You heard what he said,” the frustrated elf told the squirming form. “Be silent!”
Their undesired companion quieted.
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