Suddenly, the shadows leaped. Not the shambling, necrotic husks of the Undead Scourge they had fought in Andorhal, but something lean and violet. Archers with eyes like silver moons materialized from the trees, their bows singing.
As Kaelen struggled, he saw Captain Valerius face the stag-lord. But before steel could meet wood, a third sound pierced the air. A wet, guttural shriek.
"Steady," Captain Valerius whispered, his hand resting on the hilt of a glowing runeblade. "The Prince says the plague stems from these woods. We find the source, we end the rot." But the woods didn't feel sick; they felt angry .
For the first time in history, the lion of Lordaeron and the silver moon of Kalimdor stood together. They weren't fighting for land or glory anymore; they were fighting so that there would be a world left to bleed for.
"Night Elves!" Kaelen cried, raising his shield just as an arrow clattered against the crest of the lion.