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Sunlight reflected off her glimmering black feathers, but most of the energy was absorbed into her soft, delicate body. The extra warmth was slight compared to her lover's body temperature, but it was enough to cause Sameyila to stir. She was almost comfortable enough to ignore her sudden consciousness, but her eyes popped up, and she was temporarily surprised at her surroundings. Had she fallen asleep in the middle of the dangerous forest? That was unlike her. Then she glanced at her feathered partner, and her memories came flooding back. She quickly disregarded her initial fear and revulsion. He deserved better. She nestled closer to him, the soft down feathers on her belly pressing tightly against his. She felt incredible, complete, as if she and the Tauren druid were one, and nature all around them answered their call. Every nerve in her body tingled in time to his, while the air and the water and the trees reached out with their own natural magic.

He still managed to sleep, but Sameyila, comfortable as she was, felt as though she could never sleep again. She shivered slightly at the range of sensations flowing through her body, finding it difficult to think straight. But she knew that her other half, the creature that had filled a massive void in her heart was a Tauren. She ignored the stirrings in her mind that he was the enemy, a lesser creature, more animal than person, and that he was in league with the murderous Orcs. Those thoughts were driven from her brain by the love overwhelming her heart. She stretched her tender limbs, careful not to wake the sleeping hawk. Yesterday had been quite the ordeal! Her muscles were sore in every direction, surely owing to her marathon chase by the Tauren druid. She was still impressed that he had equaled her in combat, and even surpassed her in speed and resourcefulness.

She examined the druid intently as he slept, her raven eyes able to catch every minute detail, every flutter of the small feathers lining his head. Pushing away from him slightly, she examined the rest of his body, though she regretted immediately the loss of body contact with the sensual creature. This hawk form was built for speed, toned muscles visible under his otherwise sleek, aerodynamic form. He was almost three halves her size, which could be a liability in certain chases. Had she known, she would have stayed in the forest canopy, seeking ever smaller openings between branches until he could no longer pursue. Looking between his strong, yellow legs, framed prettily by a splash of brown tail feathers, she was glad she hadn't managed to escape. Unsurprisingly, he was a beautiful specimen, and she had developed a certain fondness for the birds of Ashenvale over the millenia.

Extending her wing, she pushed the second joint (which corresponded to her hands in her true form) between the sleeping druid's legs. He stirred immediately at the sudden warmth spreading through his body, almost waking. She was amused to see his fleshy penis already emerging from his cloaca. He must be having sweet dreams. She rubbed her feathers against the growing organ, knowing how that must feel to the bird. Her own body was beginning to anticipate his waking. He had rejected her advances earlier in the day, but she suspected this time he would satisfy her. She lay next to him, gently stroking his phallus, cuddled up against his prone form. She was warm, and becoming impatient.

Finally Theagrim snapped out of his pleasant dreams, his eyes opening. He tried to clear his head, startled to see the beautiful black bird embracing him. He felt odd, and he looked down to see himself, fully erect. That was when Sameyila sprang to her feet, hopping a short distance away. It was like a bucket of cold water had been splashed on his face, as the natural connection the two druids shared became so faint as to be undetectable. The shock brought the great hawk fully awake as well as erect, and the Night Elf's absence seemed to eat away at his soul. She was teasing him! Regardless, he need to touch her again, and fast. Extending his wings, he leapt at her, his speed taking the woman by surprise. She fell over onto her back, the hawk suddenly standing above her, wings outstretched.

Electricity coursed through their bodies, feeding their arousal. Theagrim lowered his body onto hers, eager to feel more and more of her next to him. She shivered, spreading her legs, her wings spread out against the surface of the warm rock. She was panting and desperate, but Theagrim knew what to do. With a little clever positioning, he began to push himself into her wet cloaca. Instantly the two druids were overwhelmed by the sensations on their sensitive genitals. He wanted, needed, more, pushing himself fully into her, stuffing the smaller raven. She arched her back and screeched in pleasure, until her sound was cut off by Theagrim's wide tongue. She kissed him back, her head tilted to allow full access to her beak, just as she had allowed full access between her legs. Completing their desperate effort to touch every part of each other, Sameyila reached up, wrapping her wings around her lover and pulling him against her.

She could feel him deep within her, the downy feathers lining her belly bristling against his. He thrust his hips, grinding against her splayed legs, breaking their fierce kiss to screech loudly into the air. Sameyila joined his exultant cry with her own squawks of delight. He was so big, his weight pressing down upon her, his erection throbbing in her wet passageway. She pulled him back to her, kissing him again. She was impressed by his ferocity. He penetrated her relentlessly, his pace increasing.

Theagrim rode the waves of pleasure he felt with each thrust into the tender black bird, secure in the knowledge that this time, she wouldn't flee as soon as he was done. His long, curved penis filled up the smaller bird's vaginal passage, his tip pointing directly into her uterus. Though he knew he could not impregnate her, for reasons as varied as their two different species, or that the Night Elf would have to remain a bird for the entire gestation period, the idea still aroused him, and he panted as he passionately kissed his lover. He was as intoxicated as ever by every touch he shared with the raven, and soon he was quivering within her, trying to hold himself back.

She could feel the large bird on top of her, holding her down as he had his way with her, though she wouldn't have it any other way. She pulled herself, her wings wrapped around him, trying to thrust back against the fervent fowl. She knew he was getting close, and she was trying to hold off as long as possible. Theagrim won, but only by seconds. Sameyila broke their kiss to screech as her orgasm stuck her, enhanced by the simple virtue that it was caused by the Tauren that completed her. His beak parted, his shriek even louder, and she could feel him releasing inside of her, his seed erupting into her womb. It's tingling warmth filled her thoroughly until she was trembling in desperate ecstasy, squawking until her voice was raw.

Theagrim was shivering and gasping for breath, still managing the barest contributions with each thrust. Finally, he was spent, and he rest the entirety of his weight on the smaller bird, enjoying the warmth he felt with the strange, wonderful druid. He didn't care one whit that she was a Night Elf. All that mattered was he loved her. She let her wings fall to the rock beside her, exhausted. Together they relaxed in the afterglow, Theagrim's penis slowly receding into his body again. When Sameyila felt him retract completely out of her sopping cloaca, when she no longer felt him inside of her, she knew she would have to do something to fix that. She quickly struggled out from under the startled hawk, hopping away from him, bending over, and revealing her wet slit, begging for more.

Theagrim couldn't handle complete separation from his love, and so he obliged her, quickly mounting her as she spread her tail-feathers apart to allow him greater access to her eager entrance. Both druids were relieved to again be pressed against each other, moaning as lust consumed their minds once more. She cried out as his weight bore down upon her, and she felt his cloaca pressing up against hers, forming a sticky sort of kiss. She had her wings tucked next to her body, and Theagrim quickly wrapped his wings around her in a loving embrace. He pressed himself down against her, until his neck was nestled against hers, their heads side-by-side. He once again felt like the two of them were truly one, and had he wanted, they could fly into the afternoon sky, still tightly embraced. He touched all of her at once, even their tail feathers entwined, and the sensation was thrilling. Especially where his wet opening was locked up against hers. But as ecstatic as he was, he knew that it was just the beginning. He had yet to penetrate his tender hen.

She felt him explode within her, his penis eagerly erupting from between his legs, suddenly filling her narrow passageway with an intensity she had rarely felt from any of her animal partners. If she had felt close to him before, now she could feel nothing at all except pleasure, extreme bliss taking her mind far from her duties as a Night Elf, as a druid. There was nothing except for him, except for her. Except for us, she thought. She spread her beak until she feared it would break from the stress, screaming in triumph, and from her right eye should could see her lover doing the same, though he seemed oddly silent next to her own raging screech echoing throughout her head.

Theagrim began to blindly thrust into the smaller bird, her tight tunnel squeezing his massive erection until he was aching, almost in pain from the amount of pleasure coursing through his body. He pounded her against the rock, his feathery embrace suddenly forced apart as the exultant female spread her wings, mindlessly flapping. He joined her, their wings moving up and down as one, pressed tightly against each other. He was amazed that they didn't take off from the furious beats of their combined wings. His head pressed up against hers, he could see her face. She shrieked, and even the pitch of her cries matched his. He saw her eyes roll back into her head just before his own followed suit, no longer able to focus on seeing things. There was nothing except her, except the ecstasy.

They were a flurry of frenzied feathers, their triumphant screeching drawing the attention of nearby animals. Confused, many stopped to watch, entranced by the display. Magic coursed through the rocks, through the earth and the trees. The druid's mere physical forms could not contain the electricity they felt, and it sprang forth from their bodies haphazardly, enrapturing their surprised on-lookers. Wolves sat next to stags, minnows stopped their frenetic motions to watch, the trout ignoring the tasty morsels to join in. A flock of birds alighted in the trees to watch, joining the ranks of rabbits and squirrels. The druids were oblivious to their audience, lost in their furious embrace.

Though time had seemed to stop for the two lovers, that was just an illusion. What could have been hours of furious copulating finally neared its conclusion, as Theagrim's frail body could no longer resist the demands of the flesh. With a powerful thrust, his ragged voice gained renewed vigor, and his seed began to flow freely from his testes through his long erection deep into Sameyila's womb. There, it joined his earlier contributions, and quickly exceeded the limitations of her small body. White fluid erupted from their cloacal kiss, splattering their hindquarters and the warm stone beneath them. She had never felt so full as this, and compulsively she turned her head, interrupting Theagrim's victorious squawking to take his tongue into her beak, kissing him frantically. Her entire body began to convulse, as if her corporeal form had finally caught up to the ecstasy overwhelming her mind.

Spurred on by her quivering, and the immense electricity he felt coursing through his veins, they continued like this for some time. She milked him of every drop, even though he had already filled her to her limit. A warm, sloppy mess coated their undersides, and Sameyila lay in a pool of their combined fluids. She didn't notice that, however, just as she didn't notice the circle of animals watching them. Finally, they could manage no more, and she broke her wet kiss, gasping for breath, her chest heaving. Theagrim trembled, collapsing on her, utterly spent. There they lay, exhausted in their sticky embrace, eyes closed. They could not see their audience realizing that the peculiar show that had magically bound them was finally over. Their animal voyeurs began to leave, one by one, procreation the only thing on their mind. They were deaf to the sounds of squirrels, rabbits and birds mating right in the open, while the larger animals left to seek a mate.

They spent some time like this, stunned. Theagrim was slowly falling asleep in the warm embrace of his beautiful raven, but he knew that there many things left to do. He had not yet spoken to her. His mind drifted to his responsibilities to the Horde. He realized he had disappeared from his encampment without explanation for over twelve hours, and he would have to explain his absence. Worse, his duties at the camp were vital to protecting the camp from the Night Elf raids. He needed to return as soon as possible - but first, he must talk to the strange druid underneath him. He prayed that his dereliction of duty would not lead to harm, but for once in his life, there was something more important that his sworn oath. He gritted his beak, preparing for one of the hardest things he had ever done. He pulled himself off of his lover, separating both of them from the completeness they felt in each other's embrace.

Sameyila felt him dismount, and felt the cold chill envelop her body. She quickly turned to approach him again, desperate for his touch, but as she hopped forward, the Tauren druid jumped backward. Clearly he wanted to avoid her intoxicated touch. She knew he must want to talk to her, and as her head cleared, she decided that was wise. She only wished it weren't so painful to be apart from him, if only for a few feet. At least she could still feel his seed in her deepest recesses, tingling faintly within her womb. She watched as the great hawk began to morph, and in seconds his feathers withdrew, his legs ballooned in size, and he grew to an impressive seven feet. His reddish-brown fur matched the color of many of his animal forms, and his massive horns angled forward. He wore leather armors over his clothing much like most Night Elf druids, and needed no shoes thanks to impressive cloven hooves. The Tauren were indeed an impressive-looking race; they were giant, muscular creatures. But this was no creature...he was her lover, and clearly smarter than she had given his short-lived race credit for. Perhaps, like the humans, the Tauren would surprise her in their resourcefulness.

Theagrim looked down at the now tiny raven. But quickly she grew from one-fifth his size to her full six-feet, clad in form-fitting leather and leather shorts that exposed the purple skin on her legs. She had matching purple hair, tied up into a pony-tail, and her tiny feet were covered by simple moccasins. He had rarely seen a Night Elf, but he wondered how their race could have been so much more successful than his, considering their size. It wasn't until the Orcs had joined the Tauren cause that his race had finally fought back the raging centaur. Perhaps the Night Elves had not had a comparable threat to deal with, or more likely, their druidic tradition had allowed them to defeat their foes. Or perhaps it was simply that the Night Elves bred faster than Tauren. He felt more nervous than he had ever felt before; more nervous than when as a young bull he had approached lady Tauren, but he managed to tell her he loved her.

"E awak alo," was all she heard. There were few indeed among the Night Elves who could understand Taurahe, though that was beginning to change with Malfurion Stormrage's efforts to reach out to the Tauren. But Sameyila was not among the few. She told him she couldn't understand.

"D andu dorados'no Taurahe," she tried, in Darnassian. Theagrim knew what she was saying, though the words themselves were foreign.

Perhaps she knew Orcish? She had been spying on the camp, after all. "G tago ruk," he tried, but the look on her face was clear. He would have to try to remember the few spatterings of common he had learned from the Orcs in the lumber mill. They were generally loath to speak their slave-owner's language. He tried once more, "I lars...ver?"

Sameyila recognized common, but she knew as little common as she knew Orcish. Though the humans were the Night Elves' allies, she had not bothered to spend any time with them, nor to learn their primitive language. She knew a few words, though. If this Tauren knew common well enough, they might be able to communicate. She told him in stilted common, while pointing at herself, "I am Sameyila."

Theagrim asked, "Eyila?" pointing at the lithe figure in front of him.

Shaking her head, she pointed again and said, "Sameyila. Sameyila Aimheart."

He smiled, which the Night Elf found a rather awkward gesture for his muzzle to make. He then pointed to himself, saying, "Theagrim. Earthmane."

The two druids nodded together, understanding, and remembering each others' names. Then there was an awkward silence. Sameyila felt like she should greet the Tauren, perhaps offering her hand, but it made no sense. They had made love dozens of times already, and a handshake seemed insufficient. Should she hug him? She had no idea how he would take that, and she probably shouldn't even risk touching him yet. She knew where that could lead...

Theagrim was at a loss for what to say. His words of love could not be understood, at least not in any language he knew. What could he do? He hadn't anticipated it would be so difficult to speak with her. There must be some way to make her understand. Then it struck him - there was a language both druids understood.

Sameyila stood awkwardly before the massive Tauren. She had so many questions to ask, but no way to ask them. Still fumbling for an idea, she was surprised to see him shifting forms again. Curious about what he was up to, she watched and waited as Theagrim deftly morphed into a much smaller, muscular form, one that had been at the front of her mind for months. He stood in front of her, now a lion, and still more massive than she was, padding softly toward her. Was this the end of the conversation? They knew each other's names. He sat in front of her, looking upward, and began purring. Every time the big creature exhaled, a soft, gently rumbling sound came from his throat. He stayed there, looking into her eyes and purring, and Sameyila understood what he was saying.

She smiled, but hesitated. He had such obvious affection for her, but how could she reply? She could purr back, but she knew if she took her panther form, it would be difficult for either of them to resist the temptation to relive their first night. She settled on a simple, unambiguous gesture, extended her hand to the lion's head and petting him. He pressed his head up against her, his purring louder as she petted him, the magic connecting each of them flowing through her hand. She didn't want to stop petting him - the electricity they shared was, as always, narcotic. But she managed to pull her hand away, anyway. She smiled at the Tauren to reassure him, and then turned around, while beckoning him to follow.

Theagrim's heart fluttered. She had petted him, and he knew that she returned his affection, even if she could not otherwise tell him so. He was relieved that their brief contact hadn't ended up sending the two druids into a flurry of frantic lust, because his time was running out. He needed to return to the Orc camp. Still, his love wanted him to follow, and so he did, returning quickly to his natural form and plodding along behind her as she left the stone behind them, walking to the nearest tree. There, she stopped and turned to him, her eyebrow raised questioningly. She told him, "Tree," pointing at it.

He knew that word, in the common tongue, and he nodding, still unsure what she wanted. She drew a wooden staff from her back, gripping it with both hands around the base, and mimicked swinging it at the base of the tree. He could tell she was demonstrating an axe, and she followed that by asking, "Lon?" He knew it was a question, and he had heard the word before, but it was obvious from her demeanor that she was asking him "why".

Sameyila watched the druid intently for his response, as he carefully considered both her question and his response. She knew her pose was aggressive, leaning forward, demanding. She knew he could not fully respond to her allegations about allowing his brethren to murder the defenseless trees - the question was far easier to ask than the response was to give. She was growing impatient as the lumbering creature thought about his response. Finally, Theagrim knelt down before her, taking a small acorn between his giant thumb and forefinger. She watched as he dug a small divot with the acorn placed within. Then he extended his hands above the acorn, as if warming his hands before a fire. Green magic bathed the little seed, and it began to sprout before her eyes. A slender stem began to emerge, reaching upward toward the sun, while tendrils of its roots began to spread into the ground beneath it. In no time, the sapling stood a foot tall, a single green leaf emerging from a tiny, fragile branch.

What was the point of this display? It was clear that he had a connection to nature, and cared about the trees. That made it all the more horrible that he stood idly by as they were murdered. She shook her head, unsatisfied. Theagrim then pointed at the taller tree next to her, and then the sapling, and then back. Sameyila took a moment to think about what he meant. The sapling will grow into a big tree - does that justify cutting the current tree? She didn't think so - they could coexist. And who was he, or the Orcs, to decide that this tree, or any other, should have its life cut short, to be used in a catapult? She shook her head again.

The Tauren sighed, thinking. How could he make her understand that the Orcs cut the trees with the trees' own blessing? He wondered if they could ever find common ground on this issue, without a shared, vibrant language. Body language was fine for conveying emotion, but not complex ideas. Then it struck him. They were both druids, and she had shown ample ability, matching or surpassing his. Perhaps they could communicate via a middle-man. He took a step toward the large oak tree.

The Night Elf watched as he placed his giant, soft hand on the trunk of the tree. A green glow enveloped both of them, and she was baffled. After a moment, the Tauren stepped away and pointed at her, waving his arm toward the tree. He wanted her to do something, but she wasn't sure what. Had he been healing the tree? She stepped up to the tree, placing her hand upon its gnarled, ancient bark. It was rough against her hand, but that sensation vanished as she reached out to the tree, communing with it.

she asked.

The tree's emotions flooded her mind - not words, but pictures or ideas. He had done what she was doing; communicating, and nothing more.

she asked. Trees cared nothing about things that did not concern them, and it was best to be simple and direct.

Images flickered through her head. She saw the massive, sprawling city of Orgrimmar, with its thatch roofs and wooden huts, and its large, intimidating stone walls, held together by solid oak beams. The image shifted, and the beams were gone, and the city was on fire, destroyed, and all its inhabitants dead or fleeing. The tree felt Theagrim's need. The trees were vital to his people. Then a gentle green light filled her mind, and the image of the tiny sapling, the tree's own offspring appeared. It was dark, and the sapling was dying, despite its youthful energy, trapped by the shadow of its massive parent. It could not reach the sunlight, and the oak's massive roots drank in the water, depriving the sapling. Finally, the image shifted again, to show the city of Orgimmar, standing strong, its walls reinforced, its defenders well-equipped. At the same time, this clearing was shown, the massive oak nothing but a stump, cut down near the end of its natural life. But next to it grew the sapling, now a young oak, strong and vibrant, and its leaves rustled with the blowing wind. Sameyila understood.

she asked.

Yes. Sameyila was astonished, but the answer was yes. Theagrim had promised this tree he would care for its offspring in exchange for killing it, itself, for use by the Orcs. And the tree had said yes. He hadn't tricked the tree, and yet it willingly accepted its death.

she asked.

Trust. The tree trusted the strange Tauren, and Sameyila decided this was not too surprising. Even she knew that he was being honest and earnest. But he was just one man. The tree could trust a druid, sure, but all of the Orcs?

All she could gather from the tree's thoughts was confusion. She should have known better - the tree knew nothing of Orcs, or politics, or even betrayal. But it could understand an image. She thought of the clearing, the massive stump where this oak had once stood next to its strong, young child, and then nothing - the child replaced by a stump of its own, while the city of Orgrimmar stood stronger than ever. She could feel the alarm the tree felt, as it contemplated betrayal. She stepped away from the tree, suddenly aware of her surroundings once more. Theagrim was watching her anxiously. She nodded slowly at him, but indicated the tree again. Anxiously, the Tauren druid placed his hand on the tree once more, reaching out to it with magic.

It took around a minute for the Tauren to discuss the tree's new thoughts, before he stepped back and indicated for Sameyila to touch the tree once more. It wasn't quick or efficient, but they were managing to communicate in a more robust way. She communed with the tree, and asked,

The clearing appeared, and next to the trunk was the sapling, intact, and in front of the sapling stood and army of Tauren, and even some Night Elves, holding the Orcs with axes at bay. They would stand against their allies to defend their contract with these trees? Maybe that was true for Theagrim - she didn't doubt that. And surely the druids would be outraged, but she could hardly believe they would turn to civil war over the trees. But she did not know. She knew so little about the Tauren and their culture, and Theagrim had already surprised her on so many levels. They were not the uncouth brutes she had assumed they would be. And she had to admit that without the aid of wisps, the Orcs' only source of wood would have to come from culling the trees. And in that short time, her mind had changed. Perhaps the Orcs were not brutal murderers who cared for nothing but their own hides. Perhaps the newly formed Tauren druids would ensure that the Orcs' activity in the forest would not harm the woods eternally. She would never support their actions, but she could condone them.

She stepped away from the tree, and gave Theagrim a long, studying look. Then she nodded firmly. He smiled, which made her smile. For the second time in a few short months, the Tauren had completely changed her outlook on life and the way of the world. She quickly shifted into the purple panther which had been his first glimpse of her, and sat in front of him, purring. And if he couldn't resist the temptation to join with her, spiritually and physically, as a cat, so be it. It was almost evening, and she was prepared for a long, long night.

Though he smiled at her, he hesitated. He needed now, more than ever, to return to his post. He couldn't afford to spend another blissful night with her, no matter how tempted he was. He took a step away from her, and pointed to the setting sun. He pointed back in the direction of the Orc camp, and looked back at the beautiful panther with a sad expression. She cocked her head to the side, apparently not understanding, her tail flicking in absent-minded irritation. He took a step forward, a lump heavy in his throat, but he reached down to pet Sameyila on the head. He said, in the common tongue, "Sameyila...I nuff go. I go." He let his ears droop, something he expected the Night Elf druid to understand. She nuzzled his soft hands, causing the tingling to spread through his body, and he removed his hand suddenly, afraid that if it went any further, he would be unable to stop himself. It was with difficulty that he took a step back, breaking contact with the fantastic feline.

Sameyila returned to her Night Elf form, suddenly afraid. How would she ever see him again? Was he leaving forever? She struggled in common to say, "Where ruff ver?"

He couldn't catch her entire meaning, so he tried, "Where...", and then he pointed at himself and her to make himself clear, "Where I agol you? You, I, be?"

She deliberated over the meaning of what he had said, and said, "Where, you, I, be..." and then she pointed at the sun, drawing a line with her hand until she pointed directly above.

He nodded, understanding the question. Then he looked around. As much as he admired the large, flat stone upon which they had shared such a wonderful afternoon, it was rather nondescript. And the massive oak tree was one among a hundred thousand. He beckoned with his finger, and regained the form of the hawk. She joined him, the dusk light shimmering beautifully against her black feathers, as the two lovers took to the sky. They drifted along slowly, looking down at the landscape below, until deep in the obscure mountain range, reflected sunlight caught Theagrim's eye. Descending in a circular pattern, he and Sameyila landing in a small clearing that looked all but unvisited by civilization with the exception of a beautiful Moonwell, it's bubbling, shimmering surface still blue despite the warm yellow and red light from the sun. Sameyila wondered when it had last been visited by Night Elves, though she suspected that the dryads at least occasionally tended to the shrine. The grass was not overgrown.

The two birds landed, and an understanding was met - they would meet here again, at noon, some day in the future. Noon was an auspicious time, as it was when the Night Elves were least likely to attack. And with that, after a long, mournful glance, the two birds parted ways. Sameyila to return to the Silverwing camp with news, and Theagrim to return to his defensive post.

The great red hawk made good time, soaring through the air. Soon he would be back at camp, ready to explain his impromptu, extended absence. But what he saw in the distance through the evening light sent chills through his fragile body. Fire, at the camp. It couldn't be! They usually waited until deep night, when the shadows were their strongest, but they had picked this one moment, when he had betrayed his duty to seek his own satisfaction. Guilt ravaged his heart. The Night Elves had attacked!