Just dropped by the Sanctuary of Malorne on my way around Mount Hyjal and paid a visit to Hamuul Runetotem, who’s overseeing the reforestation efforts there. I brought a few men with me for the trip, including Mokvar, so, y’know, transcript incoming…

GARROSH: Hamuul, I’m glad you’re doing better these days.

HAMUUL: As compared to being burned alive, or as compared to crawling out from under a pile of my friends’ corpses in a mass grave?

GARROSH: Um…yes?

HAMUUL: I’ve been worse.

GARROSH: Uh…yeah. So while I’m here, I wanted to—

Mylune, an overly energetic dryad, scampers in and starts hugging Mortimer frantically. Mortimer appears generally confused but doesn’t put up much of a fight.

MYLUNE: Ohhhhhhhh aren’t you just the cutest thing?! You’re a good wittle wyvern, aren’t you? Yes you are! Yes you are! Ohhhhhhhh you’re so precious!

GARROSH: Um, what’s this?

HAMUUL: That’s Mylune, one of the Guardians. She’s been helping with the recovery up at the Grove of Aessina and here at the Regrowth…

MYLUNE: So furry and handsome and such a good boy! Yes you are! You are! Oh yes you are, Mr. Wyvern…

GARROSH: Is she always like this?

MYLUNE: OOH! Now don’t be like that, Mr. Bitey-Pants, you know Autie Luney just want to wuv you! Like this!

She squeezes her arms around Mortimer extra tight, despite his growing efforts to pull away.

HAMUUL: <long pause> Yes.

GARROSH: Oh.

HAMUUL: Mmhmm.

GARROSH: Well then.

MYLUNE: …with your scruffy-wuffy mane and your handsome coat and – OOH, what big teeth you have, now I told you, Mr. Wyvern…

GARROSH: Look, if you have to drive him bonkers, could you at least just call him by his actual name and not this Mr. Wyvern crap?

MYLUNE: <squeezing Mortimer giddily> Oooooh, what’s his name?

GARROSH: His name is Mortimer, and—

MYLUNE: <holding Mortimer by his face and wiggling it side to side> Oh that’s a funny name, isn’t it Mr. Mortimer? Isn’t it? <nodding Mortimer’s head in her hands> Yes it is! Yes it is!

GARROSH: Can you STOP that? And what the hell’s wrong with his name?

MYLUNE: Ohhh… <eyes go creepily wide> Is he your wyvern, Mr. Warchief?

GARROSH: Yes, why do you—OOF!

In one rapid motion, Mylune releases Mortimer, grabs Garrosh, and clasps him to her bosom, swaying side to side energetically.

MYLUNE: Ohhhh aren’t wyverns just that most wonderful, flappytastical creatures?!

GARROSH: <wriggling around to try to pull away, without much success> THE FUCK is your problem?!

MYLUNE: Such beautiful, wonderful, majestic creatures of the sky! <eyes glistening happily> They’re just so magnificent! And you have one of your very own!

GARROSH: Uh, Mokvar, a little help here?

MOKVAR: Too busy writing, boss.

GARROSH: DAMMIT, MOKVAR!

MYLUNE: <still swaying side to side with Garrosh clasped to her bosom> Oh I wish I had a wyvern friend of my very own! I would hug and pet him and squeeze him and love him and I would call him George!

GARROSH: The fuck, you’re giving him shit for “Mortimer,” but apparently “George” is—

MYLUNE: Ohhhhhh and I would love him so much! You’re so so lucky to have a wyvern friend of your very very own, Mr. Orc!

Mylune keeps Garrosh pressed against her with one arm while grabbing Mortimer again with the other, and pulls the wyvern to her despite its plaintive yelps.

MYLUNE: The very very bestest of furry flappy friends! It’s just so beautiful!

GARROSH: <finally pulls out of her grip> What. THE FUCK. Is your DAMAGE? And will you STOP squeezing him like that, before you squish his head or something? He’s already kind of skittish from getting beaten as it is!

MYLUNE: <stares at Garrosh with eyes welling up with tears> He…he was beaten?

GARROSH: <exasperated sigh> Yeah, he was, and he was stuck on the long haul from Silithus to Winterspring before I—

MYLUNE: Ohhhhhhh that poor sweet fuzzy growly thing, you mean he’s a rescue wyvern too?!

GARROSH: I…Well so to speak, now that you mention it there were a couple times in Stonetalon and then in Twilight High—GAH!!!

With a sudden, gleeful squeal, Mylune releases Mortimer and grabs Garrosh with both hands, pulling him to her and planting a big, loud kiss on him before hugging him tightly.

MYLUNE: Oh thank you, Mr. Orc! Thank for saving the poor dear sweet beautiful wyvern from harm! So so much! Oh it makes me so happy!

GARROSH: <gasping and spitting> THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU, LADY?! And why do you taste like fucking pine cones?!

MYLUNE: <keeps rocking back and forth hugging Garrosh against her> Ohhh silly Mr. Orcie! Doesn’t it just make you feel all warm and gooey inside knowing you’ve made a poor innocent animal safe and happy!

GARROSH: <spits again> Seriously, pine cones! Hell, I’m half surprised you don’t taste like fucking maple syrup!

MYLUNE: Why? Did Jaina say something?

GARROSH: Why would…okay, you know what, I’m not even going to. Fuck it. And… <shoves her away forcefully and steps back> STOP. FUCKING. GRABBING PEOPLE. Fucking hell, Hamuul, how do you put up with this shit?

HAMUUL: <long pause> With copious ale and quiet resignation.

GARROSH: And hey, you’re a druid, right?

HAMUUL: There have been rumors to that effect.

GARROSH: Um…okay. So listen, dude, whatever you do, don’t go into one of your animal forms around this chick, you know?

HAMUUL: I know.

GARROSH: Because seriously, if she—

HAMUUL: No. You don’t understand. I know.

GARROSH: …Ah.

HAMUUL: Mmhmm.

MYLUNE: Oh Hamuul, don’t you be all Mr. Grumpyhooves just because you’re an extra super cuddly kitty cat!

GARROSH: Seriously, shouldn’t you be up in Silvermoon pledging a sorority and dotting your I’s with little hearts or something?

MYLUNE: Oh no, silly Mr. Warchief, I never dot my I’s with hearts!

GARROSH: Why do I get the feeling…

MYLUNE: I wouldn’t want the other poor letters to feel like I don’t love them too!

GARROSH: …Yep.

HAMUUL: It’s been…a slow process here.

MYLUNE: Ohhhhhh look, a woodchuck! Isn’t he the sweetest and pudgiest and woodchuckerest little darling ever?

GARROSH: It’s like if Dontrag and Utvoch had a kid. Made of pink.

HAMUUL: Who?

GARROSH: Count yourself lucky.

MYLUNE: <hugging the woodchuck, who seems none too thrilled about the situation> So furry and cuddly and squirmy and fuzzy and SQUEE!

GARROSH: Hey, listen, Miley or whatever the fuck your name is, did you hear about the fires in Ashenvale?

MYLUNE: What? Fires?

GARROSH: Yeah, there was a huge fire in Ashenvale. All the deer and squirrels and bear cubs and…like…chipmunks with funny hats that you probably have a conniption over, they all fucking BURNED.

MYLUNE: <wide-eyed shock> They…they…

GARROSH: <aside to Runetotem> That oughta shut her up for a while.

HAMUUL: I don’t know if you thought this through.

MYLUNE: The…cute little animals…burned…?

Mylune’s eyes well up with tears, she throws her head back, and she starts to wail despondently. Her near-deafening crying grows louder and higher-pitched, climbing in octaves into a piercing screech. After a few seconds, her voice becomes inaudible, but she continues standing in place, visibly crying. A moment later, wolves begin howling in the distance.

GARROSH: Uh oh.

HAMUUL: As I said.

GARROSH: I…should maybe get going.

HAMUUL: Probably.

GARROSH: Yeah. I think I need to go stab a bunny or something.

HAMUUL: Thanks for making light of things being burned alive, by the way. That was thoughtful.

Awkward.