When Alexstrasza called out to him, Nathanos thought he was hearing things. Over the past few days, the Lifebinder had barely spoken, much less called for him again and again... Now he regretted it. No matter what he did, he could not wake Alexstrasza.
She had not fainted from hunger. Perhaps she was starving, but she had not gone entirely without food. Besides, the Queen of Dragons was no fragile little girl. After a careful examination, the Witherer soon found a tiny wound on her foot. Moss-like green discoloration spread around it.
Forcing out the venom was easy, but Alexstrasza showed no sign of waking.
Falling asleep in a frozen wilderness was a terrifying thing, and Nathanos could not continue onward with an unconscious person in tow.
Dusk came again. As the sun set, the Witherer found shelter on the ice field—a cluster of protruding boulders, where they could ward off the cold winds of the long night. He built a fire and carefully tended to the Queen of Dragons.
He found food and water, then wrapped her in a cotton quilt. Nathanos believed that no one's hands in Frostfire Ridge were not cold, yet Alexstrasza was surrounded by warmth. She was undoubtedly the luckiest woman here. But she had to wake up. Nathanos had tried every method he could think of, with no results.
Over the past few days, Nathanos had kept reproaching himself. How could he have let this happen? First Sylvanas, and now Alexstrasza had suffered the same fate. He had once sworn that he would protect the people he cared about.
The fire in the camp never went out, and some predators followed its light to find them.
At first, there was only one Ironjaw Wolf. Nathanos had spotted it long ago. When it cautiously crept