Ink-black clouds crowded the sky, blotting out the scarlet that had filled it moments before. They hung so heavily they seemed about to fall, their oppressive weight seeming to silence the entire world. A cold, indifferent wind cut through the air, and a stifling atmosphere engulfed all of Kalimdor.
Fine rain fell steadily from the gloomy sky with a soft, relentless patter.
A white haze stretched between heaven and earth. A silver-white dragon of lightning danced across the sky amid peals of thunder. Thrall watched it all with shadowed eyes, his face etched with exhaustion.
"What exactly is this Book of Medivh?" A burly figure with two horns sat on a tiger-skin rug. His thick, muscular arms reached across the square wooden table before him, and his rough hands tore savagely into a fragrant roast boar. He lifted an enormous pork hock to his bovine mouth and gnawed on it. He was a Tauren.
"I'm just as baffled." Thrall shook his head lightly, showing his bewilderment.
The very name of the Book of Medivh had become a source of anguish for Thrall. Who knew how many noble Orcs had died for this artifact?
Footsteps thudded as a Tauren, powerfully built compared with an ordinary person, strode swiftly into the tent and approached the Tauren eating there. Only then did it become clear that, burly as the newcomer was, he stood a full head shorter than the one at the table.
"Little Baine, what are you doing here?" The elderly Tauren paused at the sight of the young Tauren, put down his food, and looked up at him.
"Father, I came to fight." Excitement spread across little Baine's youthful, boyish face as he continued, "I want to become a great warrior like you."
Watching them, Thrall felt the worry that had