While the Eastern Kingdoms were caught up in tense preparations for war, Kalimdor was even more active.
Bordered by Darkshore to the north, it was an important passage to Darnassus, the Night Elves' capital. To the south lay the vast Barrens. It bore a resounding name: Ashenvale.
Fierce winds blew without pause, and the dense primeval forest swayed like waves on the sea, one rolling after another.
Standing beneath an ancient tree, a young Orc gently stroked its aged pine trunk with a green hand as he gazed into the distance. His face was calm, but a closer look revealed the anxiety flickering in his eyes.
"Warchief, those Elves are here." A massive bull's head appeared in the Orc's view, its horns sharp. Powerful, bulging muscles stood exposed, and together with the Tauren's height of over two meters, they made him an imposing sight.
"Baine, calm down. Don't be so rash," an elderly Tauren standing beside Thrall reprimanded him.
At the rebuke, the young Tauren's excitement finally faded. He settled down, losing all trace of restlessness. Watching this obvious change, Thrall gave a faint smile and offered quiet praise. "Baine is destined to become a great leader."
Hearing Thrall's praise, the young Tauren, who had only just settled down, grew excited again. So often scolded, Baine was delighted to hear someone praise him.
The elderly Tauren saw this and reprimanded him again. Looking at Baine's aggrieved expression, Thrall was just about to say something when his attention suddenly shifted away from the young Tauren toward the distance. A party came into view, their close-fitting armor outlining slender bodies, their skin violet. They were Night Elves.
As soon as he saw the Night Elves, Thrall strode forward to greet them. Had Rex witnessed this scene, he would certainly have been astonished.