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She swings again, a bit more controlled this time, though still too slow. “Loosen your shoulders,” I coach. “You’re holding your breath. Let it flow.”

Her next attempt improves, the wooden head slicing through the air in a ragged arc that at least resembles a proper strike. Some of the onlookers seem bored, but others watch with grudging interest.

“She’s persistent,” Karzug remarks from the sidelines, having arrived to oversee the drills.

I can’t help a small nod. Lirienne’s brows furrow in concentration, and sweat beads at her temple under the morning sun. She refuses to give up, even as her arms tremble with the unfamiliar weight.

“That’s enough,” I finally say, placing a hand on the haft to lower the weapon. “We’re not trying to make you an orc warrior. Just letting you feel what it’s like.”

Relief and disappointment mingle in her expression. She hands the practice axe back, cheeks flushed. “Thank you,” she murmurs, voice breathless. “I— I appreciate you letting me try.”

I incline my head. “Courage isn’t about being the strongest. It’s about facing what you fear anyway.”

Her gaze flicks to mine, softening. A moment passes between us, awareness crackling like static. Then I turn my attention back to the training yard.

“All right,” I bellow, addressing the assembled warriors. “Form pairs! Let’s see standard drills. Practice your timing—listen for your opponent’s breathing, watch their footing.”

At once, the orcs snap into motion. Wooden axes clash against wooden shields, staves thud in practiced rhythms. Lirienne stands beside me, still catching her breath, observing the synchronized chaos.

“They take this very seriously,” she notes, scanning the fighters.

“We must,” I reply. “Life in the clan isn’t gentle. If we don’t hone our skills, we perish. Orcs have survived this long because we won’t be outmatched, not by beasts, not by humans, not even by dark elves.”

She nods, a distant shadow crossing her features at the mention of dark elves—likely recalling the clan’s history of bloodshed against them. “And yet, you’re trying to make peace with humans,” she says softly, as though the contradiction lingers in her mind.

I tense. “Humans aren’t the only threat out there. If forging peace with your kind keeps my clan from bleeding itself dry, I’ll take that chance.”

Her expression gentles. “That’s… admirable, Ghorzag.”

I shrug, uncomfortable with praise. “We’ll see if it holds.”

When the sun crests overhead, the training session ends, and the warriors disperse to cool down or fetch their midday meal.Karzug oversees the distribution of water skins and rations, while Lirienne and I linger near a bench beneath a scraggly oak tree that offers meager shade.

A small group of orc children wanders over, as they often do when training concludes. Their wide eyes fixate on Lirienne—her hair, her smaller frame. One particularly inquisitive child, a boy called Sargu, points to the wooden axe resting in the rack.

“Did you really try to swing that?” he asks, voice high with curiosity.

Lirienne nods, smiling. “I did. I’m not very good at it yet.”

The children giggle, and one girl chimes in, “It’s heavy, right? I can barely lift it, and I’m an orc!”

They crowd closer, asking questions that range from innocent to surprisingly probing:

“Are all humans as small as you?”

“Do humans eat raw meat, too?”

“Why do humans wear such thin boots?”

She answers with patience, sometimes laughing at their wide-eyed astonishment. I observe from a step away, arms folded, noticing how easily she adapts to their curiosity. Unlike some older orcs, these children harbor less hostility. They haven’t been fully shaped by the clan’s wariness or tradition.

At one point, a little girl with pigtails tugs Lirienne’s hand. “Are you really gonna marry Chieftain Ghorzag?” she asks, mischief shining in her eyes.

A hush falls. I tense, cutting a sharp glance at the child, but she stares back with guileless innocence. Lirienne’s cheeks turn pink. She glances at me briefly—our eyes meeting in a flash of shared unease—before replying gently, “I… well, your chieftain and I have an arrangement for peace.”

It is a diplomatic answer, the best one can offer in front of children. Sargu wrinkles his nose. “That means yes,” he announces, much to the others’ delight.

They giggle, and Lirienne musters a sheepish smile. I clear my throat, stepping in. “Enough questions,” I say, though not harshly. “Go get your midday meal, or you’ll miss out.”