According to Velen, the greenskins had begun construction on something that seemed to be monopolizing their time and resources. The project had apparently diverted their attention from hunting down the surviving draenei, at least for the time being. What the orcs were building, not far from their base citadel in the scorched lands, appeared to be some kind of gateway. Velen seemed to know a great deal more that he did not say, but he was after all a prophet, a seer. Nobundo thought the noble sage must know many things, things he and others were simply not wise enough to understand. Nobundo watched now as Korin waded into the water with her fishing spear.
Something about her appeared different. It seemed to him that her physique had changed in the past several weeks. Her forearms had grown slightly larger; her face looked drawn; and her posture had deteriorated. As improbable as it sounded, her tail seemed to have actually shrunk. Herac and Estes approached, and Nobundo could have sworn he saw similar transformations in them. He looked down at his own forearms. Was it his imagination, or did they appear swollen? He had not felt right ever since… ever since that night. But he had assumed he would recover in time. Now he was becoming increasingly worried.
Nobundo sat atop the mountains overlooking Zangarmarsh, eyes closed. He felt tired, tired to his very bones. He had come here to be alone. He had not seen Korin in several days. She and the other two had holed up in one of the caves, and when he enquired as to their condition, his enquiries were answered with unknowing shrugs. As for the one called Akama, he was still unresponsive, barely hanging on despite Rolc’s continued efforts. Something was drastically wrong. Nobundo knew it: he had seen the changes in himself and in the other survivors, Akama included. The rest of the camp knew it as well. They seemed to speak to him less and less, even Rolc. 
