Page 40 of Her Rugged Orcs

I remember how those eyes used to soften when they met mine, how she would lean into my touch as naturally asbreathing. Now she maintains a careful distance, building walls I don't know how to scale.

"We should rest," Murok calls from behind. "The descent's getting steeper."

At our evening camp, she sits alone, just close enough to be part of the group but far enough to make her isolation clear. The firelight catches the hollows of her cheeks and the shadows under her eyes. She's not sleeping well. Neither am I.

"Eat," I say softly, offering her a portion of the rabbit Grash caught.

She takes it without looking at me, her fingers careful not to brush mine. "Thank you," she whispers, the words hollow.

I crouch beside her, close enough to catch her scent but not so near that she'll flee. "Eira."

"Don't." She shakes her head, pale hair falling forward to shield her face. "Just don't."

My chest aches. I want to let her know that I was wrong, that doubt is a poison I wish I could purge from my blood. But words have never been my strength, and now they feel more useless than ever.

Later that night, I take the first watch, pretending not to notice how she relaxes slightly when she’s sleeping.

"I miss you," I whisper in her direction, words I can't say when she's awake.

The wind carries my confession away, leaving only silence in its wake.

The settlement lies just days ahead, but with each step closer, she drifts further away. I've fought in wars, survived countless battles, but nothing has prepared me for this – the slow torture of watching someone you love and want to be with shut you out completely.

The flames soon dance before my eyes, casting shadows across our small camp. Eira sleeps alone on the far side, curledinto herself like a wounded animal. My chest squeezes at the distance she's placed between us – not just physical space, but something deeper, more painful.

"Eira just needs space," Murok mutters, poking at the fire with a stick. The sparks rise into the night air, matching the frustration in his eyes.

Grash's massive form shifts restlessly beside me. "We gave her plenty of space this past week. Look where it got us." His voice rumbles with barely contained anger, but I hear the hurt beneath it.

I remain silent, watching her. The mountain wind picks up, and she shivers in her sleep, her blonde hair catching the firelight. Without conscious thought, I'm already moving, my cloak in hand. Each step toward her is measured, careful – like approaching a spooked deer.

My shadow falls across her sleeping form as I drape the cloak over her shoulders. The fabric settles, and for a brief moment, I fear she'll wake and reject even this small offering. Instead, her fingers curl into the material, pulling it closer. Something in my chest loosens at the sight.

"You're too soft with her," Grash grumbles behind me.

I turn my head slightly, fixing him with a stare that silences him immediately. There's nothing soft about the way I feel for her. It's as sharp as any blade, as unyielding as mountain stone.

When I return to the fire, Murok gives me a knowing look. "The wall she's built won't come down easily."

"Then we break it down," I say, my voice certain. It's the most I've spoken all evening, but these words need saying. "Stone by stone if we must."

The fire crackles between us, and across the camp, Eira sighs in her sleep, still clutching my cloak. That small sound draws my attention like a beacon. She may have built walls to keep us out,but I've scaled higher barriers than this. I've killed for her. I'll wait for her. And when she's ready, I'll be here.

The mountain path curves beside a rushing river the following day, its waters as turbulent as the emotions churning inside me. I watch Eira drift between us like smoke – present but untouchable. Her steps are precise, calculated to maintain distance while staying within sight.

A branch snaps under Grash's heavy boot, and I catch the slight flinch in Eira's shoulders before she forces herself still again. My fingers curl into fists at my sides. I want to reach for her, to pull her close and prove our devotion with actions since words have failed us. But I know better. She's like a wild thing now – approach too fast and she'll bolt.

The rushing water drowns out most sounds, but not Murok's frustrated exhale as he quickens his pace to intercept her. I hang back, watching, my eyes tracking every micro-expression that crosses her face.

"We really need to talk," Murok says, planting himself directly in her path. His voice carries that tone he uses when trying to negotiate, smooth and reasonable.

"No, we really don't." Her voice hits me like ice water – flat, empty, stripped of all the warmth that used to color her words when she spoke to us. She sidesteps him with fluid grace, but I notice the tremor in her hands before she clenches them.

Beside me, Grash's massive frame radiates tension. His fists open and close rhythmically, desperate for action but finding no enemy to fight. This isn't a battle that can be won with brute force, and it's killing him.

"Eira, let us fix this," Murok tries again, his voice dropping lower, gentler. It's the voice that used to make her smile, used to draw her closer.

She turns, and the sight of her face takes the breath out of me. Those green eyes that once looked at us with such light andlife now blaze with an inferno of hurt and grief so deep it makes my heart clench. Her hair whips around her face in the mountain wind as she fixes us all with that devastating gaze.

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