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They nod, though I suspect the adrenaline of the game might override caution. Still, I stand watch, calling out an occasional warning if someone pushes too close to a precarious stack. The children seem startled, at times, to have a human scolding them for reckless behavior—but they also don’t argue, apparently acknowledging my genuine concern.

Midway through their rambunctious play, a tall orc youth wanders by. He looks about fourteen or fifteen in human terms—halfway to an adult in orc culture. Upon seeing me, he slows, scowling. “Why is she here?”

Sargu answers proudly, “She’s watching us, so no one gets hurt.”

The older youth snorts. “We don’t need a human babysitter.” He turns his glare on me. “Go back to your potions or whatever it is you do.”

I feel a flush creep up my neck, but I steady myself. “They asked me to supervise. If you’d rather me leave, you can take responsibility for them. Make sure they don’t break a limb.”

He falters, uncertain. Looking at the younger kids, he shrugs dismissively. “Fine. Do what you want,” he mutters, stalking away. The children don’t seem fazed; they resume their game immediately, chasing each other in circles.

It’s a start, I think, exhaling slowly. It isn’t acceptance, but at least he hasn’t tried to chase me off or pick a fight. Little by little, I’m coming to see that orcish aggression often masks deeper emotions—pride, insecurity, fear of the unknown.

As dusk falls, the children drift back to their families. I return to my tent, wiping sweat from my brow. The day has been surprisingly full: tending a toothache, investigating orchard sabotage, supervising a cluster of playful orc kids. It is a bizarre tapestry of tasks, yet it all feels… oddly natural.

I light a small lantern within my tent, its warm glow illuminating the sparse interior: a bedroll, a chest for my belongings, and a sturdy table where I keep my few herbal supplies. My stomach growls—I missed the typical evening meal in the main hall.

Just as I contemplate heading out to scavenge some leftovers, a sharp rap sounds on the tent post. “Lirienne,” a low voice calls.

“Come in,” I reply, surprised.

The canvas lifts, revealing Ghorzag. He steps inside, ducking slightly to accommodate his height, the lantern’s light catching the tattoos on his broad arms. My heartbeat quickens at his sudden presence—he rarely visits me directly. Usually, we meet in public spaces, wary of the clan’s watchful stares.

“Busy?” he asks, scanning the tent’s interior. His deep gaze flicks from the table to my bedroll, then back to me.

I shake my head, stepping aside to give him room. “No. Just thinking about food, actually.”

He half-smiles—a small twitch of his lips. “I thought you might be hungry.” He gestures behind him, and I notice a small, cloth-wrapped bundle in his hand. “Cook saved a portion of stew and bread. I asked him to set it aside for you.”

Warmth floods my cheeks. “That’s… very considerate of you.”

He shrugs as if dismissing my gratitude, yet I catch the flicker of pride in his expression. “You’re part of the clan now, even if some refuse to see it.”

I take the bundle, unwrapping it to reveal a steaming chunk of savory meat, a slab of dense bread, and a small bowl of stewthat smells heavenly. My stomach growls in earnest, and I shoot him a sheepish look. “Thank you,” I repeat, more softly this time.

He inclines his head, stepping to the side so I can set the food on my table. My tiny tent feels even smaller with him inside it. His presence looms—towering and muscular, carrying an air of quiet authority.

I find myself wanting to fill the silence, to ask about the orchard investigation or to express my gratitude for including me in the day’s activities. Yet words tangle in my throat. Instead, I motion to the table, offering, “Do you want to share any of this? If you haven’t eaten yet, that is.”

He shakes his head, crossing his arms. “I’ve eaten. The orchard kept me busy.”

Right. Concern tightens my chest. “Any new leads?”

His expression darkens. “We found evidence of deliberate digging upstream—tools left behind, footprints that might belong to a smaller orc or a halfling of some sort. Nothing conclusive, but enough to confirm sabotage.”

A chill runs through me. “So it’s definitely not just random disaster.”

He meets my gaze, eyes narrowed with grim certainty. “It seems we have a saboteur determined to incite fear and blame you for it. Or blame me for forging this alliance.”

I swallow hard, the stew’s aroma suddenly less comforting. “Are you… in danger?”

He huffs a low breath. “Danger is part of my existence as chieftain. But you—” He pauses, voice dipping. “I worry they’ll try to corner you. If you see anything strange, come to me or Karzug immediately.”

I nod. “I will.”

For a moment, we stand there, the faint glow of the lantern highlighting the etched lines of his face, the swirl of inked tattoos on his forearms. Tension and something else crackle in the air—the same pull I felt in the training yard, the unspoken awareness that neither of us can fully articulate.

“You’re handling clan life better than I expected,” he says at last, voice quieter. “I saw you with the children. And you’ve helped more warriors than I can count.”