The Wolfmane Migration

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They set out from the Crossroads. The Wolfmane tribe had been camped outside, enjoying the hospitality of the local Southfury tribe and the Zhevra hunting in the dry plains, but it was time to move on.

The recent issues with the centaur not forgotten, the tribe was on alert for the duration. With their kodo packed with tents and supplies, the members of the nomadic Wolfmane struck out onto the ancient paved road leaning west.

Khadon, one of the newest members was among them. For a time he traveled in their midst, being jostled and bumped by pack kodo and attacked by biting flies, it was a torture. Not long after the tribe set out from the crossroads the young bull noticed the serious lack of defense to their unprotected flanks.

He chose to take it upon himself to shift into his bear form and travel on the outskirts of the shuffling file of tauren and kodo.

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The druid plodded along down the left flank, would round behind the tribe and watch the rear, before trotting up the right flank, then back down to repeat the process in reverse. It was tiring, but he felt like he was aiding the new people who had so willingly taken him in.

Soon their path led up into the mountains. They had to traverse a narrow mountainous trail to get around the massive gorge creating by Deathwing during the recent Cataclysm. It was a treacherous rout.  Khadon chose to keep to the left flank, running the razor’s edge to protect his tribe-mates from falling.  Twice the druid found himself shouldering a kodo back from the edge just in time, and once a female tauren who was ogling the view and not watching where her hooves went.

Finally after many hours they descended the mountain into the more lush grasslands of the southern barrens. It was then that another druid of the tribe approached Khadon.

“I will guard the other flank, brother, ease your burden some.”

Khadon grunted in approval, nodding his large bear head and growling a thanks. The female tauren shifted into her bear form and trotted around behind the tribe to take up position on the left side of the nomads.

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The two druids of the claw worked in almost perfect synchronicity.  Together they plodded up and down the line on either side, watching for danger from all directions. In unison they would trot down the line, then back up half way, slowing down to a walk to survey the area, then move into an easy lope to the front, always watching for any danger.

In time the tribe made it to the massive gates between the barrens and the green rolling plains of Mulgore.  Even there, Khadon and his fellow druid did not relax. Centaur and Bristleback still had a foothold here.

Khadon did spot a centaur band in the distance and he growled a warning to them as the tribe passed. Wisely the outnumbered centaur chose to simply watch the line of tauren and kodo pass rather than attempt any kind of raid. Khadon snorted through his nose and raked the ground with his claws, glad they hadn’t raced off to form a war party.

At last the towering high rise of Thunder Bluff came into view, and the weary tribe made their way up to the wooden lifts. The two druids stood watch while the elders loaded everyone onto to the lifts in small groups, bringing the tribe up to the plateau of Thunder Bluff.

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Khadon shifted out of bear form as he boarded the elevator, briefly laying a hand on the shoulder of the druid—still in bear form—who had helped him guard the tribe’s migration. The two boarded the lift together last and followed the tribe across the bridge into the tauren city.

They made their way through the tribal city to a longhouse on the southern rise. There the tribe unpacked the kodo and started cookfires. They collected water to wash the dust of travel from their fur, and then settled in to eat, smoke and tell stories.

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Khadon, always on alert, stood by the door, until one of the Farseers laid a hand upon his shoulder. “Relax, brother, we are safe in Thunder Bluff. Sit, eat.” Khadon nodded silently, finally taking his place among his new tribe to listen to the heroic tales of his fellow Wolfmane.

He listened in silence as Blazewalker and his orcish friend Grennar spun a tale of their time on the front lines of the Broken Shores battling against the demons of the Legion invasion. He recalled his own time fighting against demons, though his own tales would pale in comparison to this epic battle scene. The warlock who had kept him as a watch dog often pitted Khadon against the demons he summoned, though he couldn’t summon anything larger than a Felguard (until he did, of course, and it killed him).

Khadon felt a rare peace wash over him as he listened to his new brothers and sisters telling tales of their adventures. He felt at home here, and knew only that he wanted to help his new people more—like he had today. To protect them, to watch their backs, and to go with them wherever the Earthmother took them.

He said a silent prayer to Mu’sha, a goddess he was only beginning to know, thanking her for bringing him to the Wolfmane, thanking her for bringing him home.

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