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.