Malles hid himself behind an oak tree upon spying his target. The buck was grazing just down the hill, back facing him. Malles turned around and motioned franticly. Bobby carefully made his way through the brush towards him, dwarven rifle slung over his shoulder. Malles pointed around the tree. "Found one," he whispered.

Bobby was taller than even Malles, and much better built. Bobby held a finger up to his lips, making Malles turn red. Malles was nearing an age that many considered the age of manhood. Bobby had been taking Malles out on hunting trips with him since last year. But Malles was not very good. He was a horrible shot with his bow, and moved with the stealth and grace of a pained grizzly bear. But Bobby was patient with him, and corrected every mistake Malles made with fatherly advice.

Bobby began drawing his rifle, but Malles grabbed hold of it, stopping him. Malles pointed to the buck, then to himself. "Me," he mouthed.

Bobby paused. Most of the wild game had left the area, for an unknown reason. As a result, the Mikkals' coffers of meat were getting alarmingly low. Summer was ending, and autumn's were notoriously short this far north. The winter snows could be brutal. Every year in Hearthglen more than one family succumbed to the cold, ill-prepared for the coming weather. This may be one of their last hunting trips before the Mikkals shut themselves up in their home for the winter. If Malles didn't make the kill, the family would be hard pressed for food.

But Malles was eager. Malles wanted to be a warrior like his father, to join the army of Lordaeron and take arms against the orc bands still terrorizing the local towns. Bobby encouraged this goal as much as he could. Despite his strict orders concerning the weapon, he had trained Malles on how to use his old war axe, and Malles showed a great talent in wielding it. Bobby knew of Malles' little escapades with the axe, but often overlooked them, for he was secretly proud of his son's motivations. Malles deserved this chance.

Bobby nodded at Malles. He stepped back, giving Malles room to draw back the bow string. Malles smiled wide and turn back to the buck. It was grazing peacefully, eating leaves off the forest floor. Malles notched his arrow and aimed for the buck's heart. Malles took in a breath, exhaled, and fired.

The arrow sailed through the air, striking right on target. The frightened animal tried to flee, but it was only able to take a couple steps before collapsing to the ground. Malles was up and moving the moment the buck hit the dirt. He drew a knife and ran up to the dying buck. With a quick slash he cut the animal's throat, giving it a quick death.

"You didn't have to do that." Bobby walked up behind him. "The arrow pierced his heart. That's a mortal wound."

Malles looked up at his father. "But he looked like he was in pain."

Bobby frowned as he drew a skinning knife. "Of course he was. He had an arrow in his side."

Malles stood. "I just didn't want him to suffer."

Bobby looked at him for a moment. Then he smiled and handed him the knife. "Clean it. And make it quick, it'll be dark soon."

Malles took the knife and went to work. Bobby watched him, directing his cuts. Malles soon had the hide off the buck, and Bobby helped him remove the meat and pack it away. They both had brought packs for transporting the meat. When they were done, Bobby shouldered his pack and patted Malles on the shoulder. "Nice job, this will feed us for weeks."

Malles grinned. "Maybe we should try and grab a rabbit or two?"

Bobby shook his head. "Your mother and Jen should have supper ready by now. Let's not keep them waiting."

Father and son began making their way back home. They always went and hunted up in the hills behind the town, around the same area where they mined mithril and thorium for the blacksmithing shop. It was far from where the people of Hearthglen usually hunted, down south towards Andorhal. Bobby wanted no competition for his family's food. Game was becoming noticeably scarce. People blamed that on the rumored plague that was supposed to be sweeping through northern Lordaeron, but Bobby didn't believe them. If there truly was a plague, the king's men would have acted on it by now. The capital city was full of priests and paladins who were more than capable of using their holy magic to cleanse any plague from the land. Bobby's guess was an overabundance of local predators.

Perhaps on their next hunting trip they would shoot for bear. Then Bobby would get to use his prized hunting rifle. And finally teach Malles how to use a real weapon. Bows were for scrawny elves, not upcoming human warriors.

"Dad."

Bobby turned to look at Malles. "What is it?"

Malles was standing still, head tilted to the side. "You hear that?"

Bobby stopped and listened. The sun was setting in the west. This was the time of day when the nocturnal creatures of the forest roused themselves and went about their business of the night. Since it was still summer, the woods were filled with chirping crickets and cicadas, as well as the calls and howls of nighttime predators like the wolves and mountain lions.

Bobby gave his son a confused look. "I don't hear anything."

Malles nodded. "That's the thing. There is nothing out here."

Now that Bobby thought about it, he really couldn't hear anything. No wolves. No crickets. The woods were absolutely silent. Bobby could actually hear himself breathing. "That's strange."

"What could cause that?"

The last time something like this happened to Bobby was during the Second War. He was a participant in two major battles. Both times the surrounding wilderness had been absolutely silent, like now. All you could hear were the low murmurs of scared soldiers tricking themselves into being brave and the spellcasters weaving enchantments and blessings over those soldiers. Those had been the most unnerving times of Bobby Mikkal's life. When he asked his fellows about it, an elven ranger told him the animals had either fled the area or had gone deep into their burrows to hide. Animals, the ranger said, had instinctive feelings that sentient beings often lost or ignored, feelings that told them when something dangerous was within their domain. Even the hungriest and most ferocious predator knew when to duck down and hide. Like when the orcs of the Horde went on the march.

Bobby ran up to Malles and motioned for him to be quiet. He whispered into his ear. "Orcs. Follow me, quickly. No noise."

Malles eyes went wide and he tried to speak, but Bobby clamped a hand over his mouth. "No noise," he repeated. "I need your absolute cooperation. Understand me?" Malles nodded. He looked scared. Good. That meant he'd listen to Bobby. Bobby released Malles and took off through the brush.

Malles followed close behind him, looking around franticly. The lengthening shadows, once used to hide from the deer, now hid possible enemies. Malles often fantasized about fighting orcs, but now that there was possibility he would be fighting real orcs he wished he had stayed home. Malles had heard the stories. Huge, massive orc grunts, wielding weapons as big as grown men, able to cleave an armored footman in half with one swing. The orcs had worshipped demons, drawing power from them as they swept through Stormwind, Lordaeron, and even Quel'thalas, the forested home of the elves, like a green tidal wave. Malles ran faster, struggling to keep up with his father.

"To good beer!"

The wagon driver laughed raised his glass. "To good beer!"

The granary worker, whose name was Don, drained his mug in three gulps. The driver eyed him with respect. "A chugging master, you are."

Don wiped his mouth and grinned. "And still sober!"

Don had taken up his new friend's offer of free booze and accompanied him to Hearthglen's tavern, The Rooster. The Rooster was known for cheap alcohol, good food, and fine wenches. The drink's flowed freely as Don and the driver sat and conversed, confined to a corner booth away from the rest of the bar residents. It was the driver's suggestion. The door was right next to their table. The Rooster often drew a rowdy crowd; the driver thought it would be wise to have an accessible escape route close by. He drew his robe around him as he sipped his beer.

Don waved a waitress over. "Keep 'em coming, Michelle. Two more!"

"See," the driver said with a chuckle, "this is where your pay goes. No wonder your wife's mad at you."

Don waved his hand disdainfully. "I don't do this often. She has nothing to complain about." The driver noticed that Don's speech was slurring a little. "She's always making me buy her nice dresses and stuff, anyway. I never get to spend money on myself."

The driver raised his mug once more. "To sticking it to the wife!"

Don laughed and accepted the toast. "Aye, but don't get me wrong, now. I love her to pieces."

The driver laughed. "To sticking it in the wife!"

Don snorted into his beer. The driver laughed once more and sipped his beer again. "Is she happy, Don?"

Don smiled. "Aye. Makes me happy, too, that she doesn't care I don't have a glamorous job."

"Nonsense!" The driver leaned forward. "You work at the granary, moving grain to the mills to be made into bread. You, sir, help feed this town!"

Don drank more. "All I do is move boxes."

"Manual labor is nothing to be ashamed of!" the driver said. "Governor Fordring, look at his nice, fancy house. You know what he does for a living? Sits on his ass and talks all day. You actually do something with yourself." The driver nodded at Don. "Look at those bulging arms. That's why your wife's happy, right there."

"Yeah!" Don flexed. "You don't see these on politicians!"

Michelle showed up just then, placing two full mugs on the table. She dropped a basket of buttered bread rolls in front of them as well. "On the house, gents." She nodded at the robed driver. "The manager bids you a good evening, Kirin Tor mage, and hopes you enjoy your stay here."

The driver nodded at her. "Tell him thank you." His eyes ran over her body for a brief moment. "Are you going to be busy later?"

Michelle blushed slightly. She leaned in close and whispered in his ear. "I'm on break in an hour."

When she left, Don stared at the driver. "How is it you're a mage, yet you're a wagon driver?"

The driver motioned to his rune-covered robes. "Best gold I ever spent, buying these. You'd be amazed how many people will go out of their way to be nice to me."

Don laughed and picked up a roll. "This, right here. This is the fruit of my labor. Right now, families are sitting down to eat bread I helped make."

"I told you," the driver replied. "You help keep people from starving. A hero, you are."

Don laughed again and bit into the bread. "Eat up, my friend. Enjoy my work."

The driver picked up a roll. He shifted it around in his hand, inspecting it. "Is this from the recent shipment?"

"You mean the one you brought in?" Don shook his head. "Nah. The boys at the mill aren't that good. Your shipment won't be processed until later tonight." Don frowned. "Why?"

"Just wondering. " The driver bit into the roll and nodded. "This is good. What do they make it with?"

Don shrugged. "I know they put some kind of herb in it. Then there's the butter, but that's not my department."

The driver laughed and reached into his robe. From his pocket he withdrew a battered wooden box. Don looked at it. "What's that?"

"My dinner." The driver laid the box on the table and opened it. Inside was an apple, a hunk of dried ham, and a loaf of bread. The driver broke the loaf in half and handed it to Don. "This is Andorhal bread. This is what the rich people eat. It's much better than what Hearthglen makes."

Don took the bread and sniffed it. "It smells good, anyway. Kind of sweet-smelling. You put sugar or anything in it?"

The driver shrugged. "I don't make it, I just deliver it. Try some."

Don took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. He swallowed. "I don't taste any difference."

The driver laughed and took out the apple. He bit into it and smiled. "It's the aftertaste that gets you. Just wait a bit and –"

Don suddenly collapsed on the table. He tried to speak, but the only thing that came out of his mouth was a watery gurgle and spittle. He reached towards the driver, a pleading look on his face. The driver, still smiling, watched as Don rolled off his chair to the floor. "This man is having a seizure!" the driver yelled. "Someone call a priest!"

The bar patrons all turned around and saw Don rolling on the floor, clutching his throat. But they were simple peasants, without a day of medical training among them. None of them moved towards Don. They only watched as Don's body kicked and jerked, then went still.

After a while, the waitress Michelle plucked up the courage to move towards Don. She tentatively took steps towards him, finally kneeling down next to him. She had tears in her eyes. "Don?"

To her relief, Don sat up with a moan and looked at her. "Don, thank the Light! What hap –"

Don suddenly lunged forward and grabbed her by the hair. In the blink of an eye he pulled her down to him and sank his teeth into her throat. Michelle's screams became gurgles resembling the one's Don made as he bit deeper, finally tearing a large chunk of meat from her neck. The bartender screamed in horror as Don lifted his head and swallowed. The rest of the patrons ran.

Michelle tried to crawl away as her lifeblood spurted out on the wooden floor. She clawed feebly at the wood before dying where she lay. The area around her gaping wound started turning gray. Don turned to the bartender and roared. He leapt over the bar and drove her to the ground, gnawing on her chest.

But the wagon driver did not witness any of this. The moment Don had hit the floor he ran out the door, disappearing into the night.

Bobby and Malles stopped in front of Hearthglen's main gate, breathing hard. Malles lay his pack on the ground and sat next to it, clutching a stitch in his side. "We made it," he gasped.

"Get up!" Bobby pulled Malles to his feet and handed him his pack. "Put this back on, we're not done yet."

Malles clutched his bag in shock. "You weren't really serious about the orcs, were you?"

"Malles, this isn't a game!" Bobby began pulling him down the road. "This isn't one of your little backyard playtimes. This is real life. I promise you, the orcs will be at this spot at any moment. And if we don't prepare for them, they will burn Hearthglen to the ground."

He finally let him go and handed Malles his meat-laden pack. "Run home, as fast as you can. Tell your mother what has happened and tend to her and your sister. Lock the doors and don't open them until I get there."

"Why? Where are you going?"

"I must speak with Governor Fordring and warn him, to tell him to prepare the militia and send a message to the King." Bobby pointed down the road. "Go, now!"

Malles ran. He didn't know what else to do. Somewhere in the distance he heard screams, and ran faster.