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Steered by the sound of angry bees and the smell of honey, a small, dark grey flying squirrel swooped across a clearing, corrected his aim, and landed gracefully at the side of a giant black bear. He straightened his cap, adjusted his satchel straps, and stiffened formally.
âAhem,â he said in his high, piping voice, âI has a message for Master En-gang-guh fromââ the squirrel jumped aside to avoid a large glob of honey dribbling off the bearâs fur. âHey!â He hauled off and kicked the bear in the back of the leg. âDangit! Listen up!â
The oblivious bear, head stuck completely inside a beehive and totally covered in golden, sticky sweetness, continued his wholesale ravaging of next seasonâs best Feathermoon clover honey. Finally satisfied, he sat back and contemplated his next meal. Bear form had its benefits, but weight management wasnât one of them.
âSir!â The messenger tried again, âYou is received a communtictation frâgah!â he leapt back, dodging the heavy paw which had come near to squashing him as the bear rumbled to his feet.
Nganga shook his head, sending clots of honey and comb flying in all directions. He sniffed the nearby marigolds and moseyed off towards the lake.
The little squirrel dashed along behind, squeaking shrilly, âSir! Sir! Wait! I must be gives you this lett- ffsskikpphthhthhkkkikikik!â This time he was unable to dodge the huge wave caused as the bear flopped into the cool water. Dripping and shaking with indignation, he loaded his blowgun with a nettle dart and shot the bear in the tummy.
âWrynnâs shins! Who did that? Show yourself!â The bear dunked his head to clear the remaining honey residue from his fur and looked around wildly.
âI did it!â piped the squirrel, âIf you is ruined my letters, youâll be have nettles in your bed next times!â
âEep, sorry Zag. I didnât know you were there. What brings you to Feralas?â
Abandoning all pretense of formality, the squirrel shrugged and handed the Druid a rolled parchment. âThis is be for you, from Cappin Donalzon. He say to Zag: âZag, take this fast fast to âGanga. Ironsong Tribe calls for friends.â Me, I go fast, and here I is.â
Nganga returned to his Tauren form and quickly built a small campfire. âDry off a bit, Zag, while I read this letter.â Scanning the terse note, he gasped. âCultists? Fire elementals in the guildhall? Goblin bombs!? Burned buns of Bolvar, BARON GEDDON?? I thought we took care of that guy years ago!â
He turned to Zag, who was standing so close to the fire in an effort to dry his satchel that he was in serious danger of bursting into flame. âCan you send this message on to my sister, Heifertiti? I think sheâs in the Needles this month. Sheâs finally reached her majority, and it sounds like the Tribe needs every able hand. What do I owe you, little guy?â
âThree peanuts and a filbert for delivery confirmation, and a walnut for my dry cleaning.â
Nganga fished around in his pack, frowning. âAha!â he said, and a coconut landed in the little squirrelâs outstretched handâ¦and lap. âIâm afraid I donât have anything smaller, but you can keep the change!â
âErk.â
âCome, Rani!â the Druid bellowed in the general direction of the stables, âWe must go swiftly! Bring Taniwha with you, we may have to ride all night!â He stamped off toward his home, mumbling about packing extra socks and a supply of bandages.
Nganga Nyeusi
He is fast and is the danger.
What's a dazzling urbanite like you doing in a rustic setting like this?