Page 33 of Her Orc Healer

Chapter 9

Kazrekledmethroughthe winding streets of Everwood, past the last row of buildings where the city gave way to open fields and the hush of the riverside. The River Alden cut through the city like a lifeline, its waters dark and steady, fed by the distant mountains. It was wide, slow-moving near the banks, but its depths were deceptive. Traders used it to carry goods to the neighboring towns, while children waded in the shallows on warm afternoons, their laughter echoing through the trees.

We followed a narrow footpath along the river’s edge. The breeze carried the scent of water and autumn leaves, crisp and clean.

For the first time in what felt like days, I took a full breath.

"I used to come here as a girl," I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them. The sound of my own voice felt strange after so much silence. "Finn and I. We'd build dams out of sticks and stones, pretend we were river spirits controlling the flow." A faint smile touched my lips. "They never lasted long, of course. The river always won."

Kazrek made a low sound, something like amusement, though his expression remained thoughtful as he watched the slow-moving current. “Rivers usually do.”

He paused, then added, “The rivers in my clanlands were faster. Colder. My father taught me to fish there. He said a warrior must be patient and understand the flow.”

A pang of something—envy, perhaps?—twisted in my chest. “Perhaps I should learn,” I mused aloud. “So I can teach Maeve.”

Kazrek’s gaze met mine. “I could teach you both.”

The offer hung in the air between us, simple yet profound. I opened my mouth to reply, to deflect, to point out that I hardly had time for such leisurely pursuits, but the words wouldn’t come. I simply nodded, a strange tightness in my throat.

A little further down the path, tucked beneath the shade of a sprawling alder tree, a large, flat rock jutted out over the riverbank, smoothed by years of wind and water. Kazrek led me there, setting the basket down gently before spreading a thick woolen blanket across the rock’s surface. The air smelled of damp earth and the faint, spicy aroma of the food he’d packed.

I sat stiffly on the edge of the blanket, my hands clasped in my lap. It felt strange, this stillness, this lack of purpose. It had been so long since I’d simply sat and done nothing that I wasn’t quite sure what to do with myself.

Kazrek, seemingly unbothered by my awkwardness, unpacked the basket. He pulled out a loaf of crusty bread, a wedge of sharp cheese, a cluster of plump grapes, and a small clay jar filled with something that smelled deliciously of roasted vegetables and herbs. He handed me a piece of bread and a portion of the stew, his fingers brushing against mine in the exchange.

The warmth lingered.

I dipped the bread into the stew, the rich broth soaking into the crust. It was delicious—hearty and flavorful, with just a hint of spice. "This is good," I mumbled, feeling my cheeks flush at the inadequacy of the compliment. “Thank you.”

Kazrek grunted in acknowledgment, his gaze fixed on the river. He ate slowly, methodically, as if savoring each bite. I watched him, noticing how the muscles in his forearms flexed as he tore off another piece of bread.

The silence stretched, punctuated only by the gentle lapping of the water against the riverbank. It wasn't uncomfortable, but it held a certain charged stillness, a sense of unspoken things hovering just beneath the surface.

“You said your clanlands… were they far from here?” I asked, breaking the quiet.

"Across the Spine Mountains," he said. “Many days’ journey.”

“Have you been back?”

He shook his head. “Not since the war.”

I nodded, letting the quiet take over again. We ate. Leaves rustled overhead, and the stew’s warmth lingered in my belly.

“The stew,” he said after a while, still watching the river. “It’s my mother’s. She said it was meant to steady the body.”

“Was she a healer too?”

He shook his head slightly. “No. But she was good at fixing things. People. Moods. Torn shirts.”

I smiled. “Oh, so just the important things.”

That earned a small glance. Not quite a smile, but close. “She used to say food solved more arguments than words ever could.”

“That sounds familiar,” I said. “My father believed the same thing about tea and ink.”

He arched a brow. “Ink?”

“Mmhmm.” I picked at the hem of the blanket. “He used to say a well-made ink could keep a peace treaty from falling apart.”

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