Page 6 of Orc’s Little Human

SELENE

T he first thing Thali brings me this morning is water.

Not the murky, questionable liquid I expected from an orc encampment, but clean water in a wooden cup carved with intricate patterns. She sets it on the fur-covered ground beside me with ceremonial care, like she's performing some sacred ritual.

"You must be thirsty." Her amber-gold eyes study my face with unsettling intensity. "You can trust me and Korrath. I promise."

Korrath. The name sends an unwelcome shiver down my spine, memories of molten gold eyes and scarred tusks flooding back despite my efforts to push them away.

I haven't seen him since he locked me in this room, and I spent all night wondering when he'll return to claim whatever prize he thinks I represent.

"Thank you." The words scrape out of my throat, rough from disuse and dehydration. I take the cup with hands that shake slightly, pride warring with desperation. Pride loses. The water tastes like salvation.

Thali settles cross-legged on the furs across from me, wild black hair adorned with feathers and bone charms that click softly when she moves.

She's smaller than I initially thought, all knobby knees and sharp elbows beneath her patchwork tunic.

Young enough that her tusks are barely beginning to push through, just tiny ivory points that catch the light from the oil lamp.

"Are you hungry? I brought bread and dried taura meat. Oh, and some fialon berries I found yesterday." She produces items from hidden pockets with the enthusiasm of a child showing off treasures. "The berries are really good—sweet, not tart like when they're green."

The casual generosity confuses me more than outright cruelty would. I understand violence, manipulation, the calculated kindness that comes with expectations attached. But this feels different. Genuine. Like she actually cares whether I starve.

"Why are you helping me?"

The question hangs between us while she arranges food on a wooden plate with careful precision. Her small hands move with surprising grace, each berry placed just so, bread torn into equal pieces. When she finishes, she looks up with eyes that hold depths I didn't expect from someone so young.

"Because you're sad. And scared. And nobody should be alone when they're both."

The simple honesty hits harder than any blow I've endured. For a moment, my carefully constructed walls threaten to crumble, emotion clawing at my throat with desperate fingers. I force it down, wrap numbness around my chest like armor.

She's a child. An orc child. This doesn't mean anything.

But even as I think it, I'm reaching for the bread she's offered, accepting kindness I don't understand from an enemy who should want me dead.

The next day brings clothes.

Thali appears early, arms full of fabric that smells faintly of woodsmoke and something herbal. She spreads the garments across the furs with the same careful attention she gave the food—a tunic of soft brown leather, pants that might actually fit, even undergarments that look clean.

"These were my mother's." She runs small fingers along the tunic's embroidered edges, tracing patterns I don't recognize. "She died when I was born, but Korrath kept some of her things. Said I might want them someday."

The casual mention of death, the matter-of-fact way she discusses losing her mother—it reminds me that this child has known loss in ways I'm only beginning to understand. My own grief over family feels suddenly selfish, hollow compared to growing up without ever knowing a mother's touch.

"They're beautiful." The lie comes easily, though part of me is surprised to find it's not entirely false. The leather is supple, well-crafted, decorated with geometric designs that speak of patient skill. "Are you sure you want me to have them?"

"You can't keep wearing those rags." She gestures at my torn dress with practical disdain. "Besides, you're about her size. Korrath said so."

Korrath again. I wonder what else he's said about me, what observations he's shared with his sister. The thought of him studying me closely enough to judge my size makes my skin prickle with awareness I don't want to examine.

"There's a bathing room through that door." Thali points to a curtained alcove I hadn't noticed before. "Hot water, soap, everything you need. Take your time—I'll wait out here."

The bath proves to be a revelation.

Not the crude bucket and cold water I expected, but an actual tub carved from dark stone, filled with water that steams invitingly. Soap that smells of rirzed herb instead of lye. Even a cloth for washing that's softer than anything I've touched in months.

I sink into the heat with a groan that comes from somewhere deep in my bones, feeling weeks of accumulated grime and fear begin to dissolve.

For the first time since the merchant cart, since the death camps before that, I allow myself a moment of pure physical comfort.

The water cradles me like a gentle embrace, washing away more than just dirt.

When I emerge, clean and dressed in leather that fits like it was made for me, Thali claps her hands with delight.

"Much better! You look almost normal now."

"Almost normal" feels like the highest compliment I've received in years.

By the third day, I'm ready to risk everything for a glimpse of the sky.

"Please." I keep my voice low, aware that stone walls might carry sound to unwelcome ears. "Just for a few minutes. I need to see something besides these four walls."

Thali chews her lower lip, clearly torn between desire to help and whatever instructions her brother left.

She's been good company—chattering about clan life, asking endless questions about human customs, bringing me books written in orcish I can't read but appreciate anyway.

But the walls are closing in, suffocating me inch by inevitable inch.

"Korrath said you have to stay with me," she finally admits. "He didn't say you had to stay inside."

The loophole makes my heart race with desperate hope. "So we could go outside? Together?"

"I know a place." Excitement brightens her amber eyes. "A cove where I collect shells and pretty stones. It's not far, and nobody ever goes there during the day."

The promise of open air, of space to breathe without feeling trapped, overwhelms every instinct screaming warnings about venturing into an orc stronghold. I need this. Need it more than food or water or the dubious safety of these stone walls.

"Lead the way."

Sneaking out proves easier than expected.

Thali knows every shadow, every blind spot in the corridors.

She moves with liquid grace despite her youth, gesturing for silence with fingers that could belong to a seasoned scout.

I follow as closely as I dare, heart hammering against my ribs with each step that takes us further from my prison.

The first glimpse of Gor'thul steals my breath.

Bone palisades rise from cliff-carved stone like the remains of some ancient giant, bleached white and sharp enough to gut an unwary climber.

Longhouses crouch between them—structures built from driftwood and hide that speak of people who take what the sea provides and make it serve their needs.

Smoke rises from countless fires, carrying scents of roasted meat and something metallic I don't want to identify.

Everything here exists on the edge of violence.

In the first courtyard we pass, two warriors circle each other with drawn blades, blood already flowing from shallow cuts that decorate their arms. Others watch with casual interest, occasionally calling out suggestions or insults.

When one fighter's guard drops, his opponent's blade opens a gash across his ribs that would send a human to a healer.

The wounded orc just grins, tusks gleaming with savage pride.

"Honor combat," Thali explains when she notices my stare. "They're settling some argument about hunting rights."

The matter-of-fact way she discusses ritualized violence chills me. This is normal here. Expected. Children grow up watching blood flow for sport, learning that strength determines worth and weakness invites death.

We pass a training ground where younger orcs—some barely older than Thali—practice with weapons that could cleave a person in half.

Their instructor barks corrections while demonstrating techniques that would be considered war crimes in human lands.

One child, probably no more than twelve, executes a spinning attack that would have decapitated his practice dummy if it were alive.

Further on, a group hauls three figures in chains toward what can only be an execution ground.

The prisoners stumble with exhaustion and despair, faces bearing the kind of hopeless resignation I remember from the camps.

One trips, and his guard kicks him with casual brutality until he regains his feet.

That could be me tomorrow. Or next week. Or whenever Korrath grows tired of whatever game he's playing.

The thought sits in my stomach like swallowed ice, reminding me that Thali's kindness doesn't change my fundamental situation.

I'm still a captive in a place where human life holds less value than the weapons used to end it.

One wrong move, one moment of inattention, and I'll join those shuffling figures on their final walk.

But Thali tugs my sleeve, drawing my attention away from horrors I can't prevent. "This way. The path gets steep, but there's a rope to help."

The rope proves necessary as we descend a cliff face that would challenge an experienced climber.

Thali navigates it with the confidence of long practice, while I focus on not looking down at waves that crash against rocks far below.

The wind whips my hair into tangles, salt spray stinging my eyes, but after days of stale air the wildness feels like rebirth.

The cove, when we reach it, takes my breath away.