The soil was not an object in Thrallâ€™s palm. It was, he realized, as much a part of him as his fingers were a part of his hand, unique in and of themselves but pieces of the greater whole. The orcâ€™s spirit descended into the earth beneath him and then into the depths of Hyjal. He experienced every stone and grain of sand as if it were an extension of himself. The chaotic earth elementals, whom he had for so long struggled to calm, embraced him as one of their own. The mountain was alive with activity. Shamanâ€”Aggra among themâ€”whispered to the earth in a harmonizing chorus that soothed Thrallâ€™s spirit just as it did the elements.
Elsewhere, druids guided Nordrassilâ€™s roots ever deeper into Azeroth. The orcâ€™s essence moved alongside them, where jagged rocks and chunks of granite had crumbled to soft dirt so that the World Tree could nurture itself and in turn strengthen the earth. He drifted through the cycle of healing, invigorated. Thrallâ€™s spirit reached the foothills of the mountain. This was the farthest he had dared to go before. His awareness of his physical body was as distant as it had been in his previous attempts. The orc focused on the faint sensation of soil in his hand, repeating Yseraâ€™s sage lesson. This is Azeroth… This world is one body. Emboldened by the words, Thrall purged all reservations from his heart and plunged into Azeroth.
His essence raced headlong through the leagues and leagues of earth that unfurled around him. He moved through the sun-baked soil of Durotar and then to the muddy banks of the Swamp of Sorrows. All the lands, no matter how remote or distinct, were connected in a way that he had never comprehended. Apart from the areas he knew, Thrall encountered other places and oddities in Azeroth of which he had been ignorant. Somewhere in the Great Sea was a mysterious island shrouded in mists… Beneath the Eastern Kingdoms, a presence stirred in the mountains of Khaz Modan. The spirit there was strong, but it was not an elemental.