Wumanok grunted in his hammock
in his hammock when he a cold emptiness settled in his old wounds.
For the old orc, the moods of his wounds were like family to him,
inconvenient but helpful at times. The sigh of relief that left him a
few seconds later told him that, this time, his wounds were here to
help. Tingles coursed through his legs and arms as the pressure in
his old war wounds grew smaller. It was a sweet release from the
usual aches that made their home in his old body. But it was not to
last, for a strange sensation spread through the back of his head. It
started like a slight tickle at the back of his neck but soon changed
to the prickle of a hundred needles digging into his neck. wrinkled
green hands closed around the borders of his hammock while a deep
growl rumbled in the old orc's chest. Minutes passed in this
discomfort, the orc's heart drumming on his ears. By the time the
sensation had faded, the orc's body was covered in a layer of sweat
and the blindfold covering his eyes stuck to his skin.

Wumanok leaned back in his
hammock, letting his spent body recover. His mind, however, was
swirling with thoughts. Memories of the last time his wounds had
complained this badly flashed across his mind, the relentless assault
of rain on wood ringing in his ears followed by the piercing cold of
glacial winds. His breath hitched when the memories came to an end,
the urgency of the situation making his heart beat strongly in his
chest. The dark green orc sat up on his hammock with a groan. The
coldness of the floor traveled up his bare feet and send shivers down
his spine. The flapping of winds reached his ears, heavy and worried.
Wumanok took a deep breath, steeling his resolve and clearing his
mind, before he searched deep inside himself for that spark of magic.
He could see it in his mind's eye, a raging bonfire burning next
to his heart. His magic in his grasp, he relaxed his body and
expanded his senses. The soft breeze that came from the door, the
tense fabric of his hammock under his fingers, the faint scent of
rain in the air. It all was amplified, threatening to overwhelm his
senses but with the focus he developed in battle, he focused on the
bird. The sound of their wings moving through the air, their soft
breaths, the warmth of their presence.

Wumanok let the magic flow
between the two of them. Shocks ran over his skin and a metallic
taste filled his mouth. The next moment, he was not only Wumanok the
old orc, but also Raik the condor. His unseeing eyes replaced by the
bird's sharp ones. A few firm commands were enough to get Raik to
jump out from their perch by the window, his large wings extended
wide at their sides. Cold morning air beat against their large winds
as their fell, a single black spot in the sea of gray of the mountain
side. Drafts of wing pushed against the condor's wing, lifting them
up in the sky with grace. High above the ground, the currents of
winds brushing their feathers, the whole world was laid bare for Raik
to see and the tidings coiled around Wumanok's heart like a boa.
From the clear sky, to the cold of the morning air and the quietness
of the mountain, it was easy to think of it as a nice and easy day,
but to Raik the story was different. The condor could feel it in the
air, a warning carried by the winds. A storm was coming, strong and
unforgiving. His instincts screamed to take refuge, to hide away in
some cave in the mountains and wait for it to pass.

Raik burst through the window
a few minutes later, nervous cries leaving his beak. His distress
echoed in the former warrior's heart, his wings flapping
ceaselessly at their side. Wumanok showered the bird with love and
safety, his thick green fingers gently caressing the bird's beak.
The old orc spent more time than he would have liked tending to
Rafik, unable to leave the loyal condor in such a state for even a
moment. The chill of the morning was already gone when the old orc
finally left his hut, a simple blue robe clad around his body.
Wumanok flew down the road to the village, his strong legs beating
down the familiar dirt road with alacrity. The weight of his duty
weighted heavily on his mind, the uncertainty of the storm
constraining his heart.

Wumanok's lungs were burning
by the time he reached the gate, cold sweat running down his back.
Worried shouts came from afar, accompanied by the jingling of metal.
The heavy steps grew closer, only one pair. Wumanok turned towards
the coming orc, a cool familiar presence caressing the edges of his
mind. The old orc gave the worried warrior a reluctant smile, chiding
himself for looking so out of sorts.

“Elder Dar'er, what's
wrong?" asked a baritone voice, respect and youth woven in his
tone.

“Ill tidings I'm afraid
young Ramdek." the orc replied with a grim tone, extending his arm
for the young orc to take. “Please, take me to the Council, we need
to warm them."

Ramdek's hand closed around
the older orc's arm, the leather of his gloves rough against the
thick skin. With a gentle pull, the young guard quickly set into
motion, his whispered curses not escaping the old orc's ears.
Wumanok knew those wouldn't be the last ones he would be hearing
today and he could already tell it was going to be a long day.