Page 28 of Her Rugged Orcs

"Half a day behind us." I grab a stick, sketching a quick map in the dirt. "They've split into smaller groups, sweeping the forest in a pattern. Professional. Organized."

"We've been careful," Grash growls, his massive hands clenching into fists.

"Too careful for them to keep finding us this easily." I rake my fingers through my braids, frustration building in me. "Something's not right."

Dren emerges from the shadows, his eyes gleaming with understanding. He studies my crude map before speaking. "The tracks suggest they know exactly where to look."

"Exactly," I say, my frustration boiling over. "No wasted movement, no hesitation. They’re not guessing. Theyknow."

Eira still hasn’t turned, but her hands have stopped moving. She’s listening, but something about the way she’s holding herself feels different.

"We need to change course," I say, forcing myself to focus. "The direct route’s compromised. We’ll take the mountain pass east. It’s longer—adds a couple of weeks to the journey—but it’s the only way to shake them."

"Weeks?" Grash barks, his golden-brown eyes flashing. "Eira can’t handle that kind of climb, and you know it. She’s not built for it."

"She doesn’t have a choice," I snap back, my voice cutting through the air. "And neither do we. Unless you want to hand her over to the dark elves, we’re taking the pass."

Dren steps between us, his presence calm but commanding. "Murok’s right," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. "The mountains are our best chance. Eira will manage."

I glance at her again, my chest tightening. She’s still silent, still turned away. I want to ask her what’s wrong, but now’s not the time. We need to move, and we need to move fast.

"Pack up," I order, my voice brittle with tension. "Grash, take point. Dren, cover our backs. And Eira"—she finally turns to look at me, her green eyes wide but unreadable—"stay close. No wandering off."

She nods, but there’s a flicker of something in her expression—guilt? Fear? I can’t place it, and I don’t have time to figure it out. The dark elves are closing in, and I’ll be damned if I let them take her.

As the others start moving, I crouch by the fire, smothering it with dirt. My mind races, trying to piece together how they’re tracking us. Something’s wrong, and I’m missing it.

The mountain path soon winds before us. Each step takes us higher into terrain that will test even my endurance. My braids whip in the cold wind as I scan our surroundings, mapping escape routes and defensive positions out of habit.

Dren catches my eye, his silver gaze holding mine for a moment too long. A chill runs down my spine that has nothing to do with the altitude. He's noticed it too - something's definitely off.

I glance back at Eira, watching her pick her way carefully over the rocky ground. Since that night in the ruins, she's been different. Distant. The way she startles at sudden movements, how her eyes dart away when I catch her watching us. At first, I attributed it to confusion over her feelings, the natural aftermath of giving herself to three warriors in one night. But now...

"Keep up," I call back to her, my voice gruff. She jumps slightly, then hurries to close the gap between us.

"I'm fine," she snaps, but there's a tremor in her voice that wasn't there before.

Grash grunts from the front of our group. "We need to move. This exposed ridge is asking for trouble."

I watch Eira's reaction carefully. Her shoulders tense at the mention of trouble, but is it fear of the dark elves or something else? The tactician in me can't ignore the patterns anymore. The dark elves finding us too easily. Her changed behavior. The way she's been disappearing for short periods, claiming she needs privacy.

"It doesn't make sense," I mutter to myself, shaking my head. Why would she betray us to the dark elves? She'd be risking her own freedom, her own life. After everything they did to her...

But doubt gnaws at me like a hungry wolf. I've seen too many battles, too many betrayals to ignore my instincts. And right now, they're screaming at me that something is terribly amiss.

21

EIRA

The mountain path cuts into my feet as we trek higher, but that's not what bothers me. It's the whispers. The way they stop talking when I approach. The sudden distance in their eyes when they look at me. The mountain wind whips around us, but it's their coldness that chills me to the bone. Three days now since everything changed. Three days of suffocating silence and suspicious stares.

The worst part isn't the physical distance - it's the emotional void where their warmth used to be. No more gentle touches, no shared smiles, no protective gestures. They treat me like a prisoner they're escorting, not someone they once held close.

"Keep up," Murok snaps, his voice lacking its usual playful edge. "We can't afford delays."

My lungs burn as I force myself to match their relentless pace. When I stumble on loose rocks, no one reaches to steady me anymore. Dren, who used to stay close enough to catch me if I fell, now drifts like a ghost at the edges of our group, his eyes never meeting mine. Grash, who once carried me without hesitation, now marches ahead, his broad back a wall between us.

"Move," Grash grunts when I pause to catch my breath. His golden-brown eyes, once full of affection, now hold only suspicion.

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