Black, like night's deepest dream; the sky rolled overhead. Rain threatened to lash down at any time, soaking and blessing the fertile land he'd come to know as home, since the early days when his tribe had taken him in. Him, a orphan from a young calf, found wandering the plains of Mulgore by Natae and Quando. They had rescued him, welcomed him, advised and trained him. He owed them much, though they would never accept anything in return, for there is great care among my kind.
The cold wind whipped at the Tauren's dented, battle-hardened armour, trying to find a crevice to slip in through; but to no avail. He tightened the straps on the frost-saber leather jerkin and stared back at the land that had given him the very materials that his clothing and armour were crafted from, with fondness in his eyes.
He would miss this place. But he had to go; the mossy havens beckoned. And besides, no-one turned down an audience with The Teacher, tribesman Tornhoof. The call must be answered; he had to go.
Taking his spear in hand, the raptor padding along at his side, he began his walk through the Barrens to the Ship that would take him to the port of Celeste on the Bronze-edge coast. The boat-ride upstream would take him to time at all, and then he could continue his training under the guidance of Tornhoof himself. He would return, he told himself, when his training allowed him time to visit his homeland once more, when he was older and wiser. Well, older in the least.
He allowed a small smile to himself as he smelt the faint haze of lifebloom on the wind. These smells and new experiences he would miss. His tribe would continue as they had before him, young hunters taking their place in his stead. They would be well-trained, he doubted that not.
But more than the land itself and even his tribe, he would miss this group of fellow warriors, workers of the elements and the magics, and even the fellow marksmen and beast-masters like himself that had welcomed him as a brother and trained him further in his craft, his understanding of the world and even in the ways of 'Trap Use' - their suggestions of hotkeys confused him somewhat, for why would you wish to heat a key if you were to use it? But then again, he reflected as he boarded the ship, you never could fully master all that you were taught. And as for 'leet speak', he had decided this must be an Alliance language, and a strange one at that; one he had no desire to master.
Looking over the ship's prow, a spot in the distance caught his eye. He invoked the eyes of the beast (one of the few magics he had achieved proficiency in) and saw the dot to be a hawk on the horizon. The majestic creature held itself calmy and expertly against the wind's pull, harnessing its energy to soar, dive and rise, arching its back and cutting its wings through the currents as if it were a ship itself. Like the hawk on the horizon, he too would return to to stand among his brothers again and soar on the airs of victory in battle, to explore this new frozen land rumoured to have been spotted across the sea.
Yes, when his studies were completed, when he had instructed the young calves as they should know, he would return.