Page 38 of Her Rugged Orcs

I notice how they keep their distance now, even as they protect me. Dren shadows our steps like a ghost, his eyes alert for danger, but he hasn't met my gaze since the rescue. Something hangs in the air around us.

Grash's chest rises and falls against my cheek as we climb higher. His eyes remain fixed ahead, none of his usual teasing or gruff affection present. When we reach the clearing, he sets me down with mechanical precision, careful not to let his hands linger.

"I'll take first watch," Dren murmurs, melting into the shadows of a nearby pine.

My wrists throb where the ropes cut deep, and Murok approaches with fresh water and fabric scraps. His movements are efficient as he tends my wounds, but gone is the playful banter, replaced by tense silence.

"Rest while you can," Murok finally says. "We move in an hour."

I cross my arms, fighting the urge to demand answers. The way they look at me - it's like they're trying to solve a puzzle they're not sure they want to complete.

Grash settles nearby, close enough to protect but far enough that I feel the distance. He begins sharpening his blade. The familiar motion should be comforting, but something about his rigid posture sets my nerves on edge.

I should be grateful - I am grateful. But as the sun climbs higher and their silence grows heavier, I can't shake the feeling that they're holding something back.

I curl into myself further, watching them move around me like I'm made of glass - or perhaps poison. The morning air bites at my skin, but it's their distance that makes me shiver. Why save someone you don't trust? Why kill for someone you suspect of betrayal?

"Do you trust me?" The words slip out before I can stop them, barely a whisper in the clearing. My eyes find each of them in turn, searching for something, anything.

Grash's hands still on his axe. His golden-brown eyes meet mine, then drop away. The hesitation in his face shatters something inside me. This massive orc who carried me through forests, who killed for me without hesitation, can't even answer a simple question.

My throat tightens. "Grash?"

He runs a hand over his face, the tribal tattoos on his arm shifting with the movement. "Eira..."

"I want to," Murok cuts in, his voice measured as he adjusts his braids. His blue eyes pierce mine with that tactical assessment I've come to know. "But the evidence-"

"What evidence?" My voice cracks. "That I ran? Of course I ran! You all looked at me like I was-" I can't finish. Like I was nothing. Like I was a traitor.

Dren remains in the shadows of the pines, his eyes unreadable. His silence crushes me more than any words could. He who held me through the night, who touched me with such gentleness - now he won't even speak.

I fight back tears. "I should hate you," I whisper. "I should hate you for doubting me after everything."

But I don't move. I don't run. Instead, I stay rooted in this spot, watching these three impossible orcs who've turned my world upside down. Who rescued me twice now - once from the pits, once from my own foolishness. Who look at me with doubt but still killed to keep me safe.

The contradiction tears at me. I hate them for their suspicion, for the way they guard their words around me now. But I love them for coming after me anyway, for wanting to believe in me despite their doubts.

28

GRASH

The mountain path twists ahead like a serpent, forcing us to take yet another detour. My muscles burn with frustration. We could reach the settlement in half the time if we took the direct route, but the dark elves' pursuit leaves us no choice.

"I can walk," Eira says, her voice carrying that edge of pride I've come to know. "You don't need to keep offering to carry me."

My hands itch to lift her anyway, to feel her warmth against my chest. The memory of her scent – wild earth and rain – makes my throat tight. But I grunt in acknowledgment, keeping my distance even as my instinct screams to hold her close.

Murok leads the way, his braids swaying as he picks our route. Dren brings up the rear, silent as always. The doubt between us still hangs thick as mountain fog. Did she really betray us to the dark elves? My mind says maybe, but my blood says she's mine to protect regardless.

She stumbles, catching herself on a boulder. I reach for her automatically, but she flinches away. The gesture cuts deeply.

"I said I can manage," she snaps, but her voice breaks on the last word.

I watch her straighten her shoulders, noticing how she keeps her gaze fixed on the ground. She hasn't met my eyes since dawn, and each averted glance feels like another crack in whatever we were building between us. Something's breaking inside her – I can see it in the tight line of her jaw, the way her fingers tremble before she clenches them into fists.

"Eira-" I start, but she quickens her pace, putting more distance between us.

My muscles tighten. I want to grab her, make her look at me, tell her... what? That I trust her when I'm not completely sure myself? That I want her even with this shadow between us?

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