Page 14 of Orc’s Little Human

SELENE

T he morning sun glints off the river's surface like scattered coins, and I watch Thali's small hands dart through the shallows with practiced ease.

She's hunting for the perfect stones again—ones with interesting shapes or colors that catch her eye.

Her moss-green skin gleams wet in the light, and she chatters constantly about everything and nothing.

"Look at this one, Selene!" She holds up a smooth gray rock shot through with veins of white. "It looks like lightning frozen in stone."

I can't help but smile at her enthusiasm.

These daily trips to the river have become our routine, our escape from the suffocating tension of the longhouse.

Out here, surrounded by running water and open sky, I can almost forget that I'm a prisoner.

Almost forget the weight of eyes watching my every move back at camp.

"It's beautiful," I tell her, and mean it. Thali beams at the praise, carefully adding the stone to her growing collection in the leather pouch at her waist.

The truth is, I look forward to these excursions as much as she does.

They're the only time I feel like I can breathe properly, when the walls don't seem to be closing in around me.

I've thought about using these moments to scout, to gather information about the surrounding area that might help me escape.

But every time the idea crosses my mind, I look at Thali's trusting face and know I can't risk it.

She'd follow me. No matter how dangerous, no matter how far, she'd try to come with me. And I won't be responsible for getting a child killed.

So instead, we collect rocks and shells, splash in the shallows, and pretend we're just two friends enjoying the morning air. It's a fragile kind of peace, but it's all I have.

"We should head back soon," I say, watching the sun climb higher. "Your brother will expect us before midday."

Thali nods, though she makes no move to leave the water yet. "Can we stop by the herb patches on the way? Korrath mentioned we were running low on gankoya root."

The request surprises me. Over the past week, Thali and I have fallen into the habit of gathering useful plants on our way back from the river.

Nothing major—just wild herbs that grow along the path, berries that haven't been picked over by the camp's foragers.

Small contributions that somehow make me feel less like dead weight.

What surprises me is that Korrath has noticed.

More than noticed—he actually seemed grateful yesterday when Thali brought home a pouch full of rirzed blossoms, mentioning how they'd help preserve the dried meat stores.

For a moment, his golden eyes had met mine with something that looked almost like appreciation.

"Of course," I tell her. "Though I'm not sure I can tell gankoya from regular grass yet."

Thali giggles. "That's why you have me. I've been learning plants since I could walk."

We make our way along the riverbank, Thali pointing out various useful specimens while I try to commit their appearances to memory.

The gankoya turns out to be a stubby plant with thick, segmented leaves that smell faintly of spice when crushed.

We gather enough to fill a small pouch, along with some wild onions and a handful of late-season berries.

It's peaceful work, meditative in a way that reminds me of better times. Before the camps, before the brands and betrayals, I used to help my mother tend our little garden. The memory comes with its usual sharp edge of loss, but for once it doesn't cut quite as deep.

"Selene?" Thali's voice carries a note of uncertainty that makes me look up from the herb patch.

Two orc warriors stand blocking the path ahead of us, their expressions ranging from amused to predatory. I recognize them from around the camp—Jorth and Mazg, mid-level guards who've always watched me with calculating eyes. Neither looks particularly friendly right now.

Ice floods my veins, but I force my face to remain calm. "Thali, come here."

She scrambles to my side immediately, her small hand finding mine. I can feel her trembling slightly, picking up on the danger even if she doesn't fully understand it.

"Well, well," Jorth says, his voice carrying the lazy confidence of someone who knows he holds all the power. He's younger than Korrath, maybe mid-twenties, with ritual scars covering his arms and tusks decorated with copper bands. "Look what we have here."

"Just the human and the chief's little sister," Mazg adds, stepping closer. He's bulkier than his companion, with gray-green skin mottled by old battle wounds. "Out for another one of their little adventures."

I take a careful step backward, pulling Thali with me. "We were just heading back to camp."

"Were you now?" Jorth's smile reveals teeth filed to sharp points. "That's interesting. Because I've been wondering something."

He circles us slowly, like a predator sizing up prey. My heart hammers against my ribs, but I keep my breathing steady. Show fear and they'll pounce. Show weakness and they'll tear you apart.

"I've been wondering," he continues, "what's so special about you that the war chief keeps you breathing. You don't look like much to me."

Mazg chuckles, the sound like gravel in a crusher. "Maybe we should find out for ourselves. Give you a proper test run before the chief decides you're not worth the trouble anymore."

The blood in my veins turns to liquid nitrogen. I've heard that tone before, in the camps, in the moments before everything went to hell. But I can't run, not with Thali beside me. Can't fight, not against two trained warriors.

All I can do is back away slowly and hope they don't decide to press the issue.

"Or maybe," Mazg says thoughtfully, "she's more dangerous than we thought. Maybe she's gotten into the chief's head somehow, made him weak."

"That would explain a lot," Jorth agrees. "The way he's been acting lately, keeping enemies alive, going soft on discipline. Maybe we should put her down as a favor to him."

"You can't touch her," Thali snaps suddenly, her young voice crackling with outrage. "She's under the chief's protection. You don't cross the chieftain."

Both warriors laugh, but there's something forced about the sound. Even they understand the truth in Thali's words. Korrath's authority is absolute within the clan, and challenging his decisions directly would be tantamount to rebellion.

"Smart little whelp," Jorth says, but he takes a half-step back. "But the chief's not here right now, is he?"

"He doesn't need to be," I say quietly, finding my voice again. "You know exactly what would happen if you touched either of us. The question is whether you think it's worth the consequences."

For a long moment, we stand frozen in tableau—two warriors weighing their options against a human woman and a child. The only sounds are the river flowing behind us and the distant calls of birds in the trees.

Finally, Mazg spits into the dirt. "Not worth the trouble," he mutters. "Yet."

They step aside, allowing us to pass, but I can feel their eyes burning into my back as we hurry down the path. Thali's hand stays locked in mine, her small fingers gripping tight enough to cut off circulation.

We don't speak until we're safely within sight of the longhouse. Only then does Thali release my hand, her shoulders sagging with relief.

"Are you all right?" I ask, crouching down to meet her eyes.

She nods, but I can see the fear lingering in her amber gaze. "They were just trying to scare us. They wouldn't really... they know better."

"Of course they do," I agree, though the words taste like ash. The truth is, I'm not sure what those men might do if they caught us alone and far enough from camp. The only thing that saved us was Korrath's reputation and their uncertainty about how far they could push.

But that protection feels thinner now, more fragile than it did this morning.

Fear has settled into my bones like winter cold, and it's still there hours later when I hear Korrath's heavy footsteps approaching the longhouse. I'm sitting by the fire, trying to focus on mending one of Thali's tunics, but my hands shake so badly I keep pricking my fingers with the needle.

Thali notices, of course. She's been watching me with worried eyes since we returned, though she hasn't said anything. Smart girl—she knows something's wrong even if she doesn't understand what.

The door opens and Korrath steps inside, bringing the scents of weapon oil and cold air. His golden eyes sweep the room, taking in the domestic scene, before settling on me with uncomfortable intensity.

"You're shaking," he observes, his voice carefully neutral.

I set down the needle and thread, hiding my trembling hands in my lap. "Just cold."

"The fire's hot enough to melt iron." He moves closer, and I catch the way his nostrils flare slightly. Testing the air for signs of distress, reading emotions the way a hunter reads tracks.

Thali looks between us, clearly sensing the tension. "I'll go organize my stones," she announces, gathering her collection and disappearing into her room with the door closing behind her.

Smart girl. She knows when adults need to talk.

Korrath settles into the chair across from me, his massive frame making the furniture creak. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened." The lie comes automatically, a reflex born from years of surviving by keeping my mouth shut. But my voice cracks on the words, betraying me.

His eyes narrow. "Try again."

I want to tell him. The urge surprises me with its intensity—this desperate need to share the burden, to let someone else carry the weight of fear for just a moment. But admitting weakness feels like handing him a weapon to use against me.

"We ran into some of your guards on the way back from the river," I say finally. "They were... curious about your protection."

Something dangerous flickers behind his golden gaze. "Which guards?"

"Does it matter? They didn't actually do anything." I stand abruptly, needing to move, needing to burn off the nervous energy that's been building all afternoon. "Just made it clear that they think you're making a mistake keeping me alive."

"Their opinions carry no weight."

"Don't they?" I whirl to face him, anger finally overwhelming caution. "Because from where I sit, it seems like a lot of people in your clan think the same thing. That I'm some kind of weakness you can't afford."

Korrath rises slowly, his full height casting shadows across the room. But instead of the intimidation I expect, there's something almost careful in his movements. Like he's trying not to spook a wounded animal.

"You're under my protection," he says quietly. "That should be enough."

"Should be." The words taste bitter. "But it's not, is it? Every day I stay here, every day you don't kill me or break me or whatever it is they expect, your authority gets questioned a little more."

The fire crackles between us, casting dancing shadows on the walls. I can see weapons gleaming in the flickering light—constant reminders of the violence that rules this place.

"So why?" The question tears itself from my throat before I can stop it. "Why keep me alive if it's causing you so much trouble? What's the point?"

He doesn't answer immediately, and the silence stretches between us like a blade. When he finally speaks, his voice is rough with something I can't identify.

"I don't know."

The honesty in those three words hits me like a physical blow. I'd expected lies, or threats, or cold calculation. Not this raw admission of uncertainty from a man who radiates absolute control.

"That's not good enough," I whisper. "Not when people are talking about putting me down as a favor to you. Not when your own guards think I'm somehow corrupting you."

"They're wrong."

"Are they?" I step closer, close enough to see the flecks of bronze in his golden eyes. "Because I look at you sometimes and I see something I don't understand. Something that shouldn't exist between a war chief and his prisoner."

The air between us feels charged, electric with unspoken tension. I can smell the metallic scent of magic that always clings to him, can see the way his pupils dilate as I move closer.

This is dangerous. Everything about this moment screams danger—from the way he's looking at me to the rapid pulse I can see beating in his throat. But I can't seem to stop myself.

"So tell me," I breathe, close enough now that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. "What am I to you? Prisoner? Pet? Some kind of sick entertainment?"

His jaw clenches, muscles jumping beneath scarred green skin. For a moment I think he might actually answer, might give me the truth I'm desperate to hear.

Instead, his hand moves to cup my cheek, thumb tracing the line of my cheekbone with surprising gentleness.

"You're trouble," he says quietly, his voice rougher than stone. "The kind of trouble that gets people killed."

My breath catches in my throat. The warmth of his palm against my skin sends shivers racing down my spine, and I hate how right it feels. Hate how my body wants to lean into his touch despite everything.

"Then maybe you should kill me," I whisper. "Save yourself the headache."

His thumb stills against my skin. "Maybe I should."

But he doesn't move away. Doesn't drop his hand or step back or do any of the things a smart man would do. Instead, he stares down at me with those molten gold eyes, and I can see my own confusion reflected back at me.

Whatever this is between us, whatever force keeps drawing us together despite every rational reason to stay apart, it's getting stronger. More dangerous.

And I have no idea what that means for either of us.