Page 7 of Her Orc Protector

I nodded, already wrapping Ellie closer against the evening chill. She was awake but quiet, one tiny hand curled against my collar.

"Good work on the catalogs today." He scratched his chin, leaving a new smudge of black across it.

I slipped out the front door. The evening air hit my face like cool water, and Ellie made a small sound of protest before burrowing deeper into the plum wrap.

"Issy!"

I tensed, then relaxed. Leilan stood at the corner, silver hair catching the last light. She had a basket hooked over one arm and a wool shawl drawn tight against the wind.

"I thought-" she started, then paused. Shifted her weight. "I'm heading to the market. If you wanted to come?"

My first instinct was no. Always no. The market meant people, eyes, questions. But I needed cloth for Ellie's diapers. Soap too. And my first week's pay sat heavy in my pocket.

"Just for a little while," Leilan added, like she could read my hesitation. "The cloth merchant stays open late on market days."

I glanced down at Ellie. She was alert now, watching the world with those solemn eyes that sometimes startled me with how much they saw and how quiet they were.

"Alright," I said. "But not long."

Leilan nodded, falling into step beside me as we turned toward the market. She didn't try to fill the silence with chatter, and I was grateful for that.

The market square opened up ahead of us like a bright wound in the dimming day. Lanterns strung between buildings cast pools of golden light across merchant stalls and wandering crowds. The air smelled of fresh bread and roasted nuts, woodsmoke and dried herbs, the sharp tang of winter approaching.

"The cloth merchant's this way," Leilan said, guiding us past a cart laden with steaming sweet buns. "She has good prices, especially near closing."

I followed, pressing one hand to Ellie's back through the wrap. She was watching everything, her little head turning to track the colors and movement around us. A child ran past with a wooden toy that sparked and fizzed, and Ellie's eyes went wide.

The fabric stall was tucked between a spice merchant and a charm-maker's booth. Bolts of cloth lined the walls in neat rows: linens, wool, soft cotton dyed in practical colors. The merchant was a short woman with strong arms and quick eyes. She nodded at Leilan like they knew each other.

"What's your need?" she asked me directly.

"Cloth for diapers," I said. "And maybe something warmer for wrapping."

She pulled down several bolts of fabric, laying them across her counter with practiced efficiency. "This one's good for soaking," she said, indicating a cream-colored cotton. "And this wool blend will keep warm without getting too heavy. Three silvers for both, cut to size."

I counted coins in my head. It would leave enough for soap, maybe a bit of dried fruit if I was careful. I nodded.

A small figure darted past the stall, barely reaching the height of the counter. A halfling child, maybe four or five, stopped and stared up at me with wide eyes.

"Is that a cabbage?" she asked, pointing at Ellie's wrapped form.

A laugh escaped me before I could stop it—short, startled, but real. Ellie chose that moment to peek her head out, and the child gasped in delight.

The merchant started measuring and cutting the fabric while I counted out coins. The weight of silver leaving my palm still made my chest tighten, but having something to show for it helped. Ellie would need these things. That made it worth it.

"Here," Leilan said suddenly, reaching past me to drop two coppers on the counter. "For a bit of that yellow flannel, too. Babies need soft things."

"You don't have to—"

"I know." She shrugged. "But I want to."

The words stuck in my throat. Kindness was still the hardest thing to swallow.

We moved from the fabric stall to a row of food vendors, the evening crowd thinning enough that I could breathe easier. Leilan bought roasted chestnuts wrapped in paper. When she offered me some, I took them.

"The nut seller's grandson is sweet on her," Leilan whispered, nodding toward the merchant's daughter at the soap stall."Brings her fresh flowers every morning, even though his grandmother says it's a waste of coin."

I watched the young woman arrange her wares, careful hands stacking squares of lavender soap into neat pyramids. She was humming something, cheeks pink from more than just the cool air. It felt strange to know these little stories, these threads of other people's lives.

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