Mahhal was distraught. He thought Maulbane had died initially, and almost began to tear up before getting a hold of himself. Goretusk helped drag the comatose Tauren to Gladestomp, and when he was slumped over it they quickly moved off. Even he had enough common sense not to stay here, the Centaur would definitely be back with help. Gladestomp followed Mahhal grudgingly as he set off, occasionally stopping and refusing to move, probably thirsty or hungry, though. However, in about three times as much time it usually takes to travel, Mahhal reached the border of Feralas. Lush was an understatement when describing the land, and verdant green was the watchword. As Mahhal searched anxiously for where the road had gone, Maulbane groaned in his unconsciousness, dreaming.
And then he was in Stranglethorn Vale, standing rigidly and his life flashing before his eyes. A Panther was sitting in the tree above him, and he'd walked right into its trap. He tried to point his gun, a thick-barreled thing, at the Cat, but it laughed off the effort, sliding out of the tree and falling right onto him, knocking him to the ground. He was dreaming, but he felt the pain he felt so many years ago as his head collided with the ground. Claws were pointed right at his neck, and he wasn't one to surrender, so he bucked up, trying to dislodge the Panther from his chest, to no avail. But at this point Goretusk had charged over, squealing loudly. Maulbane managed to knee the Panther off of his body finally, knocking it back with his rifle and kicking at the same time, finally giving him some leeway to shoot. And shoot him did, right into the creature's leg. He ran a large risk shooting in the middle of a densely populated forest, scavangers were many and bodies few. Raptors and Tigers both could be drawn in. He fired again, running the same risk twice, and then... Everything went blurry. Goretusk looked like a huge armored potato and he felt like he had a migraine... It was a few minutes after that when he woke up from his 'sleep'...
And when he woke up he was still in Stranglethorn Vale. He jerked up, twitching erratically, looking for why he was slumped over a Kodo. It took a full minute for him to realise his surroundings, the Lower Wilds of Feralas. It was late at night, but it felt to him that they'd just started moving. Most obviously, though, he felt like crap. A dozen lines cut into his body and face felt like fire, and every time his heart beated the pain pulsed, like a machine. He had bandages hurriedly rolled all around his wounds, but they were still oozing small amounts of blood through the cloth. He could barely see because one of his eyes was covered by a piece of linen rolled diagonally across his head. He didn't remember clearly what happened yesterday, but he could recall most of it. It was all just fuzzy, and at times he got his memories mixed up with the ones from the Panther hunt in Stranglethorn. He was a mess.
As Mahhal sat relieved that Maulbane wasn't dead, or critically wounded, Maulbane passed the time by watching the things he passed as he sat limp in the saddle. The grass was thick, more like knots than blades, and tended to weave in with other tendrils, creating a thick, damp bed that supported life. The trees were themselves green, and covered in lichen, which he found to be very nice looking. The trunks of the trees deviated a very large amount from other trees from different regions, ranging from stick-thin, meager things to trees that challenged the size of the ones in Ashenvale, sustaining more life than a village on the surface of their bark. Ferns covered the ground, and the grass was obscure because of it, being loomed over by the sheer amount of weeds and ferns peppering the ground. There was so much life it was dazzling for him, even though he'd seen it before -and- had a migraine (which had since receded into a mere headache, but managed to interrupt most of his thoughts).
It wasn't long before Camp Mojache was before them, and Mahhal went to set up everything as, for once, Maulbane sat in the saddle, trying not to move. Moving would make his headache flare up. He noted as he dozed off, to catch some rest, that the town looked awfully pretty this time of year.