As he rested under the shade of an leafy palm, he let his mind drift back, back to the chill air of the dead valley, and the opera house, with the musty smell of the ancient tomes, the foul stench on the air as the Bane beat the air with its rotted wings, and the hoards of skeletal occupants with their ravenous desire to slay all that would harm their master. He reflected on how easy things had seemed when your companions knew their roles, their strengths & desired nothing less than to vanquish the taint from the once-proud opera house.
A solid Thunk, followed by a low vibrating twanging noise (as if a stick insect were being played as a musical instrument) informed him that Shorthorn had missed the target dummy. Again.
Not only had be missed the dummy, but had succeeded in splitting the branch directly above his head neatly in two. As for the squirrel who had unwisely chosen to gather nuts right at that moment in time, well, he was sure the other masters would appreciate a snack in the mid-day sun.
Opening one eye, he noted Shorthorn casually leaning on his bow, turning progressively redder and redder. How on earth a tauren managed to blush under all that hair was a complete mystery to him. Maybe it was a talent of his... Chamsra, his pet lynx looked back at him with a look that could only be described as pleading. Possibly pleading to be dismissed, and he did not blame her! How Shorthorn had come to tame her was a matter of great debate in the masters' hut, considering his allergy to animals, and his tracking abilities being on par of that of a blind tortoise. A hunter! Allergic to animals! The old tauren rolled his open eye and wondered what has posessed him to cross the Great Sea to Celeste.
A knock on the root beside him made him raise his gaze towards the leafy canopy. Tornhoof stood beside him, outlined by the sun as it filtered through. Leaning on his gnarled old spear, he turned to the Tauren with wisened eyes, 'You may be wise in the ways of the world as it has taught you, young calf, but there is a difference between knowledge and practical wisdom.'
'I have little interest in the politics of this world, aside from those of my kin, but if you are to best the Shrine of the Serpent, the lair of the pit lord, and even the temple of darkness itself, you must learn patience, discipline and focus. You will find these in no greater abundance than under my supervision. You must teach these young calves well, and teach them you shall. In sharing your skills and expertise, showing them the way with a knife on skin and hide, crafting traps of fire and ice, training them in tasting the air such that they can aim the steady shot upon their target with their eyes closed; in instructing them in these things, your ability with them shall improve althemore.'
He rested his spear beside his Tauren pupil, throwing the raptor the haunch of a chicken while resting against a twisted root. 'You shall return home, my young hunter, and soon. You shall fight again with giants, banish demons, and hunt in new lands. But for now, though you miss your homeland, with your companions and the familiar scents, focus on the task given to you.'
Rhakin raised a dubious eyebrow at Tornhoof, the old cow had taken him under his wing since arriving and had instructed him in how to teach - an intricate skill in itself! Not only that, but had told many tales of his youth; of scouring the plague cities, exploring the great deserts beyond Anh'Qiraj and even the frozen depths of the northern wastes. He had great respect for the old cow. Smiling as he returned Tornhoof's gaze, his weathered eyes wandered over the old tauren's shoulder to a dot on the horizon. The dot pitched and soared, dove and rose. Yes, he would return. In two full moons, when the wind blew west, he would return.
The Opera house with her treasures and promises of challenge and glory awaited.