Back at camp

The walk back to the camp was an exercise in pure endurance. As I trotted along behind Korant through the shadowed woods, my body felt completely hollowed out and surprisingly light - a direct result of having a whole bucket’s worth of my own seed harvested by those greedy little Azeroth pests! Every step I took was a sharp, physical reminder of that rough oak stump and the tiny, relentless green hands that had just given me the absolute weirdest workout of my life.

When we finally breezed past the camp’s perimeter, the crackle of the central fire did little to soothe my burning annoyance. There, sitting comfortably on a log and chewing casually on a piece of dried meat, was Baelog. The dwarf didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed; he simply raised his tankard in a breezy salute, checking to see if I was still in one piece. My jaw clenched in absolute fury - this annoying dwarf always acted like the ultimate, iron-forged alpha of the delegation, yet he had legged it like a terrified peon the moment a few daggers were drawn, leaving me entirely to the mercy of our little green ambushers.

I brushed past the cowardly dwarf without another word, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. I marched straight toward my bedroll, thoroughly exhausted, emotionally spent, and desperately needing a place to sit down - very, very carefully.