Obsidian Arborweave Shoulders across the table with a disgruntled snort. "I really should just become a moonkin. These shoulders let you summon flaming treants. Think about it! Trees on fire! They attack things. That's enough of a draw for anyone."
Throgg only stared into his mug.
"How is he?" the Gilnean asked quietly.
"Getting there," Throgg responded. "Stopped cursing. Stopped sweating. Just resting now. Still breathing. Last time, cursing and sweating lasted much longer."
"It was good that he did it, you know," the druid said slowly. "You'd have died. Lolegolas will make it through this, but it's not like you come back from being dead. It was a fair trade."
"I'd do same," Throgg sighed, downing his pale ale quickly. "But my job is to watch out for the little elf, not make him do these things for me. I'm the tank. That's how it works."
"You're allowed to trade, from time to time," the Gilnean countered. "It's fair."
"No," Throgg said firmly. "I take the hits. That's what the tank does."
"Well, maybe the flaming trees can do that next time."