Page 12 of Lost to the Orcs

I don’t know how to respond. I don’t even think I can. The devotion, the care that he shows me. All day and all night? Because let’s not forget, the male literally sits and takes watch all night long. I’m not sure if he’s even slept these three days.

“Good phase, lost one.” He sighs. The sun isn’t completely down but I can tell he knows about my censure. I don’t know how to say to him that he’s far too sweet. So damn sweet. But that doesn’t matter. Sweet can’t get me home. No matter how much it makes my chest ache at the thought of leaving; if there is a chance, I have to try.There isn’t a whole lot for me there but I can visit my parents’ graves. Maybe reconnect with my friends?

I lay down, hoping to fall asleep quickly. When in reality I’m not tired. I’m lost thinking about everything U’snar has told me. Lost, staring at him as he goes about sharpening knives I hadn’t really known he’d had. Just lost. I am the lost one.Hislost one.

Because that is what I am. I roll onto my back and stare up at the sky. At stars that are just coming into view. Ones I do not recognize. There is no ‘milky way’. Just two moons. One smaller thanmymoon and the otherreallysmaller than my moon. As if when all those asteroids collided with earth or even when the moon itself had, the left-over debris made a tiny moon and a big moon. But it’s so much more than that.

So much is different. I touch my neck and nearly yelp in horror as I remember that my locket is gone. But it’s dangling above me. U’snar apparently watching me and noticing my panic is giving it back. “Thank you.” My voice is watery but all he does is begin to hum. It’s a soothing song. I wish I could hear him sing. I feel like that would be even more soothing.

I put the necklace back on. I unlock the tiny mechanism with the key attached at its back. Within the little machine are two pictures. One of my father and mother, happy, dancing like they’d loved to do. And another with their arms around a gangly teenaged girl with a wild head of hair and a wide brilliant grin.

If I am from this world and only saw a dream weaver, why then, do I have my mother’s locket? But then again… “Oohsnar?” He grunts a hmm during his song. “Do you have pictures?”

“Pick-chures?”

“Like a painting. But it’s instant and happens with a bright FWAH of light.” Looking over at him as I describe it with my words and hands, I watch his smirk bloom.

“Sounds like magic.”

“I mean, it could be equated to it. But it’s just technology.”

“No instant paintings o’ pick-chures.” I stand and walk over to him. In his seated position I am just barely taller.

I hold my locket to him. “What about these?” In the picture of my mother and my father, she is wearing a creamy champagne dress, and the same color ribbon in her red hair. My father is wearing a tux witha cute blue boned bow tie. Our picture together, I’m wearing cutoff jeans and a tank top. My mother is also wearing pants and a simple V-neck t-shirt. Whereas my father is wearing blue jeans and a navy t-shirt. He really loved blue.

He stares at the photos as if they are magic themselves. Holding my family photo in front of him, I notice the awe in his expression. He’s not looking at my parents but at me. The gangly youth.

“This is you? As a child?”

“A teenager, but yes. I was a lot younger than I am now. More than 10 years or seasons, as you put it.”

He smiles caressing my cheek. “Not so long. I am 47 seasons.” I jerk my head to stare into his eyes and his smile broadens into a grin. “Too old, lost one? Jaedason is 70 seasons when ‘he snow falls.”

I laugh. “Gosh and here I thought you were my age. You don’t even have any grey hairs!”

“How many seasons Sunkissed? Are you but a babe?”

That has me snort. “Oh, heaven forbid. I’m nearly 30 seasons.”

He wiggles his brows, “Like us experienced?”

“No—

“I know how t’ use my tongue.”

“Oh my god—

“Make you sigh an’ moan from my fingers. Scream as youer nectar slides down my palm, onto my waiting tongue.” He smiles wickedly at me. If his words hadn’t made me wetter than a waterfall that look would have. I watch his nostrils flare as he scents me; licking his lips. “weel you let me taste?”

I don’t know what compelled me to do it. But as I watch him devour me with his eyes. My hand glides to my sex, just beneath the pants he let me borrow. I whimper when my fingers slide over the wet slick there. When I gather enough of my juices on my fingers, I bring them to his lips and slather them with it. He doesn’t move. Barely breathes. Except for the initial sharp intake of breath from his surprise.

When my hand pauses, hovering over his lips, his long thick tongue wraps around my fingers. Tasting me again and again until all that is on them is his saliva.

“Good night, U’snar.”

His tongue glides over his lips, once, twice. Before he seems capable of a response. “Good phase, Sunkissed.”

CHAPTER EIGHT: THE DREAM WEAVER

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