Page 11 of Orc's Little Human
Everything here exists on the edge of violence.
In the first courtyard we pass, two warriors circle each other with drawn blades, blood already flowing from shallow cuts that decorate their arms. Others watch with casual interest, occasionally calling out suggestions or insults. When one fighter's guard drops, his opponent's blade opens a gash across his ribs that would send a human to a healer. The wounded orc just grins, tusks gleaming with savage pride.
"Honor combat," Thali explains when she notices my stare. "They're settling some argument about hunting rights."
The matter-of-fact way she discusses ritualized violence chills me. This is normal here. Expected. Children grow up watching blood flow for sport, learning that strength determines worth and weakness invites death.
We pass a training ground where younger orcs—some barely older than Thali—practice with weapons that could cleavea person in half. Their instructor barks corrections while demonstrating techniques that would be considered war crimes in human lands. One child, probably no more than twelve, executes a spinning attack that would have decapitated his practice dummy if it were alive.
Further on, a group hauls three figures in chains toward what can only be an execution ground. The prisoners stumble with exhaustion and despair, faces bearing the kind of hopeless resignation I remember from the camps. One trips, and his guard kicks him with casual brutality until he regains his feet.
That could be me tomorrow. Or next week. Or whenever Korrath grows tired of whatever game he's playing.
The thought sits in my stomach like swallowed ice, reminding me that Thali's kindness doesn't change my fundamental situation. I'm still a captive in a place where human life holds less value than the weapons used to end it. One wrong move, one moment of inattention, and I'll join those shuffling figures on their final walk.
But Thali tugs my sleeve, drawing my attention away from horrors I can't prevent. "This way. The path gets steep, but there's a rope to help."
The rope proves necessary as we descend a cliff face that would challenge an experienced climber. Thali navigates it with the confidence of long practice, while I focus on not looking down at waves that crash against rocks far below. The wind whips my hair into tangles, salt spray stinging my eyes, but after days of stale air the wildness feels like rebirth.
The cove, when we reach it, takes my breath away.
A perfect crescent of dark sand sheltered by towering cliff walls, scattered with shells and sea glass that catch the light like scattered jewels. Waves foam against the shore with rhythmic persistence, their sound drowning out the noise from theencampment above. For the first time since my capture, I feel like I can breathe properly.
"Isn't it beautiful?" Thali drops to her knees beside a tide pool, already searching for treasures with practiced efficiency. "I come here when Korrath gets too serious or the warriors start being stupid."
I watch her gather shells with childish enthusiasm, amber eyes bright with simple pleasure. She arranges them by size and color, creating patterns only she understands. When she finds a particularly perfect specimen—iridescent purple with delicate ridges—she holds it up for my approval like it's precious beyond measure.
"This one's special. Feel how smooth it is."
Despite every instinct warning me against lowering my guard, I find myself kneeling beside her in the sand. The shell is smooth, worn by countless tides into something approaching perfection. Holding it feels like touching a piece of the ocean's heart.
"It's lovely." The words come without calculation, honest appreciation for beauty that exists independent of the violence surrounding it.
Thali beams like I've given her the greatest gift imaginable. "You can keep it. As a present."
The simple generosity undoes something inside my chest, emotion threatening to spill past barriers I've built from necessity and pain. This child—this enemy child—offers friendship with the innocent directness of someone who hasn't learned that kindness can be weaponized.
Don't trust her. Don't trust anyone here. They're orcs, and you're prey.
But sitting here in the sand with salt wind tangling our hair, watching Thali arrange shells with artistic precision, it becomes harder to maintain the fear that's kept me alive this long. Sheasks questions about human customs with genuine curiosity, listens to my answers with the focus of someone truly interested in learning. When I mention gardens, she wants to know what flowers smell like. When I describe cities, she peppers me with questions about buildings that reach toward the sky.
"Korrath took me to see Ter'shav once," she says, referring to what I assume is another settlement. "But it was mostly just bigger longhouses and more warriors. Nothing like what you're describing."
The wistful note in her voice reveals depths of loneliness I recognize too well. She's isolated here, surrounded by adults who measure worth in violence and children trained for war. No wonder she's drawn to someone who represents a different way of living.
She's lonely. And you're lonely. That doesn't make this safe.
The internal warning comes just as Thali asks another question, this one more personal than the others.
"Do human families really stay together? Even when children grow up?"
The naked vulnerability in her voice makes my throat tight. "Sometimes. When they're lucky."
"What happened to yours?"
The question I've been dreading, delivered with the innocent directness that defines her. For a moment, I consider lying—creating some comfortable fiction about parents who died peacefully in their sleep, siblings scattered by time rather than violence. But something about her expectant face, about the trust she's placed in a stranger who should be her enemy, demands honesty.
"They're dead." The words taste like ashes. "Soldiers came to our village when I was sixteen. My parents tried to protect us, but..." I shrug, gesture helplessly at memories that never fade. "Sometimes trying isn't enough."
