World of Warcraft: The Shattering: Prelude to Cataclysm Page 0,73

emulated him, their bodies twisting, but not disharmoniously, from bear to tauren. They stood, ready, only their tails and ears moving now and then.

A few moments later five nightsabers, their coats varying shades of dark hues, crested the hill, running swiftly and elegantly. Almost at once they, too, shifted their shapes. Long, lithe, feline bodies became long, lithe, night elf bodies. Ears grew longer, hands and feet replaced paws, and their tails disappeared altogether. They stood regarding the tauren solemnly. Hamuul bowed low.

“Archdruid Renferal,” he said. “I am so pleased you have come, my old friend.”

“It was not without a great deal of soul-searching,” Elerethe Renferal said. Hamuul noted that she did not call him “friend” in return. She was tall and graceful, with short green hair and purple skin. It was clear, though, that she had seen battle; lavender scars marred the darker violet, and her body was sinewy and muscular rather than lush.

“Your soul has guided you and your companions to this meeting, as my soul has guided me and mine,” Hamuul said.

“The blood of the butchered Sentinels still calls for justice, Hamuul,” Renferal replied, but even as she spoke, she stepped forward to close the distance between herself and Hamuul.

“And justice it shall have,” Hamuul assured her. “But unless there can be conversation, and peace, and healing, justice cannot come.” He took the initiative, sitting on the soft green grass. The other tauren druids emulated him. The kaldorei exchanged glances, but when Renferal sat, they did as well. It was a circle, of sorts, albeit one that could be divided neatly in half by race.

The coldness and precise division of races pained Hamuul. This was not a gathering of strangers, but of erstwhile friends. The ten of them had worked together for years as part of the Circle. There had been a bond that had transcended race and political divisions, a bond of what it meant to take on the form and touch the spirit of the beasts of this world, to unite with nature in a way no others understood. But that bond had been sorely tested. Hamuul sent a silent prayer to the Earth Mother that the work they did here today would make strides toward reforging that bond, perhaps even make it stronger.

“I am sure word has reached you that Thrall has departed—temporarily. And I am equally sure you know his mission.”

Renferal frowned. “Yes, we have heard. And we know who he has appointed in his stead.”

“Rest assured that Thrall does not intend to be gone long and that he has asked Cairne to counsel young Hellscream,” Hamuul said. “You know that Thrall’s wish is for peace.”

“Is it? Truly?” Another night elf spoke up, anger in his voice. “Then why does he leave at all? And appoint Garrosh to rule in his absence? Garrosh, who has openly spoken against the treaty? Who we believe was behind the attack in the first place?”

Hamuul sighed. There had been no conclusive evidence one way or the other that Garrosh had instigated the brutal attacks on the Sentinels. But it was easy to believe those rumors.

“Thrall is in Nagrand to better understand what is wrong with the elements. Come now—we druids are closer to the natural world than most, though we are not shaman. I cannot believe that anyone present does not think this world is in pain.”

That seemed to mollify the night elf contingent. “If Thrall can return quickly with anything that can help calm the elements—and if Garrosh can refrain from any more needless slaughter,” said Renferal, “then perhaps good can come of this.”

“I will remind you that we do not know for certain that it was Garrosh’s doing, and thanks to this gathering, good has already come,” Hamuul said. “May peace begin here, now.”

Various expressions flitted across the faces of those assembled: hope, worry, mistrust, fear, determination. Hamuul looked about and nodded. It was going as well as he had expected, though not as well as he could have wished.

With careful deliberation, he reached into one of his bags and brought out a long, thin object wrapped in decorated leather. He lifted it high for a moment, then stood, placed it in the center of the circle, and unwrapped it.

“This is a ceremonial pipe,” he said. “It is shared among the participants at the beginning of peace talks. For ages has this been the custom of my people. I brought this to my first meeting of the Cenarion Circle. Some here remember that meeting. I