Rambleon Birdsong set out from Dolanaar with Hazardelf at his side, though the rogue's company lasted only a handful of minutes before their paths split. It was Zenn's business that had brought him into Teldrassil to begin with, and that errand closed quickly. From there the work only multiplied: Dolanaar's people had furbolg trouble at Starbreeze Village, corruption to answer for among the Gnarlpine, and Denalan needed word of the earth itself. Rambleon moved through the trouble efficiently, his bow finding nightsabers and webwood lurkers, gardeners and warriors and an ursa among the furbolgs, until the breeze over Starbreeze Village had quieted and Gnarlpine Corruption lay ready to be answered too.
At Lake Al'Ameth he found the work turned strange and solitary — timberlings, one after another, seeds and sprouts to be gathered from creatures that should not, by any right, have walked. He wrote it down himself, plain as the water: *alone at the lake slayin timberlings*. There was no one to share the quiet of it, only the lake and the counting — eight seeds, then twelve sprouts, the tally climbing while the hours slipped past ten. When the last sprout fell, something in him settled into place; he felt the shift of level nine arrive like a held breath finally let out, unremarkable and earned.
The Cleft brought better company. Tiamaat, a druid, joined him there and the two of them spent the better part of an hour working through webwood infestation, cutting down the befouled things by the score until even Xethorr the Wicked fell beneath their combined effort. It was the kind of partnership that made the killing feel less like chore and more like purpose — someone at his back, someone to nod to when Twisted Hatred was finally, properly finished. Dolanaar welcomed him back with Gnarlpine bounty closed and Relics of Wakening waiting to be looked into.
The night's last hours belonged to Darnassus, all moonlit corridors and doubling back — Warrior's Terrace and the Cenarion Enclave and the Temple of the Moon, in and out, chasing down Rellian Greenspyre with a timberling seed cupped in his palm like something faintly absurd to be carrying through a city of that beauty. Tumors awaited him now, one more thread picked up before the night wound down. Tiamaat found him again near the Enclave, if only briefly, before they parted ways once more. Rambleon left Darnassus's terraces still walking, the night not yet properly closed, but the ledger of it already full.