Page 18 of Orc's Little Human
The single word carries enough warning to silence further argument, though I can see rebellion simmering in her amber eyes. She'll push this again later, when she thinks I'm in a better mood or distracted by clan business. It's what she always does when something matters to her.
What disturbs me is realizing that the human has already learned this pattern too. I catch the slight tightening around Selene's eyes, the way she files away this exchange for future reference. She's reading the dynamics between Thali and me, mapping the territory of our relationship like a scout preparing for invasion.
She's dangerous.The thought should be followed by action—a knife between the ribs, a quick trip to the execution pit. Simple solutions to complex problems. But my hands remain still, and the moment passes without violence.
Because beneath the careful calculation and obvious intelligence, beneath the defiance that should be crushed before it spreads, there's something else. Something in the way she looks at Thali—not with the calculating interest of someone planning manipulation, but with genuine warmth. As if my sister's enthusiasm touches some part of her that still remembers what innocence looks like.
Or she's better at this game than I thought.
The uncertainty gnaws at me like an infected wound. I pride myself on reading people quickly and accurately—it's kept me alive through more battles than I care to count. But this human refuses to fit into any category I understand. She's not broken enough to be dismissed, not compliant enough to be trusted, and not openly hostile enough to justify immediate execution.
She's a puzzle wrapped in contradiction, and puzzles have always been my weakness.
9
SELENE
The days blur together in a rhythm I don't want to acknowledge. Thali appears each morning like clockwork, her small hands carrying plates of food that smell better than anything I've tasted in months. She chatters while I eat, filling the silence with stories about camp life, about the time she caught her first fish, about the scar on Korrath's left tusk from when he defended their territory against raiders from the Ironjaw Clan.
I tell myself I'm only listening to gather information. Knowledge about this place, these people, might prove useful later. But the truth sits heavier in my chest—I'm starting to look forward to her visits. Starting to anticipate the way her amber eyes light up when she discovers something new to share.
"The mynahs are building nests in the bone spires again," she announces one morning, settling cross-legged on the furs beside my makeshift bed. "Korrath says they're too stupid to realize the bones make poor foundations, but I think they like the height. They can see danger coming from up there."
She tears off a piece of dark bread, handing half to me while keeping the other for herself. It's become our routine—sharingmeals like equals rather than captor and captive. The gesture should mean nothing, but something warm unfurls in my chest each time she does it.
"Smart birds," I manage, though my throat feels tight. When was the last time someone shared food with me? When was the last time anyone treated me like I mattered enough to include in their daily rituals?
Don't think about it. Don't let this matter.
But Thali makes it impossible to maintain distance. She shows me how to weave grass into simple patterns, her small fingers patient as she corrects my clumsy attempts. She brings me smooth stones from the creek, each one carefully selected for its color or interesting markings. What they mean, like ones for good luck or a strong harvest or friendship.
That last one catches in my throat when she says it, looking at me with complete certainty. As if friendship is just another fact of nature, like sunrise or the changing tides.
"I don't have friends," I tell her quietly, but she just tilts her head like she doesn't understand the concept of chosen solitude.
"Everyone has friends. Even Korrath has Varok, though they argue more than they agree."
The mention of her brother sends familiar tension through my shoulders. Korrath remains a constant, looming presence even when he's not in the room. I hear his voice through the walls—deep, commanding, always edged with authority that brooks no contradiction. Sometimes he passes through the main room while Thali and I are talking, his golden eyes sweeping over us with unreadable intensity before he continues about his business.
He never speaks to me directly. Never acknowledges my existence beyond ensuring I'm still breathing and contained. But I feel his attention like weight against my skin, heavy and assessing.
"Tell me about the shells again," Thali says, pulling my focus back to safer ground. "The ones that sing when the wind blows through them."
So I do. I tell her about conch shells large enough to hold in two hands, about the haunting sounds they make when air passes through their spiral chambers. I describe tide pools filled with creatures that build their homes from calcium and time, tiny architects creating beauty without conscious thought.
Her eyes grow wide with wonder, and something inside me cracks a little more.
This is dangerous. You're getting attached.
But knowing the risk doesn't stop me from continuing the stories, from watching her face light up with each new detail. Doesn't stop the warmth that spreads through my chest when she laughs at my description of hermit crabs fighting over prime real estate.
Three days later, she suggests we sneak out to find our own shells.
"There's a stream just past the eastern palisade," she whispers, even though Korrath left hours ago to oversee weapon training. "It flows down from the mountains and there's always interesting things washed up along the banks."
My first instinct is absolute refusal. I've seen enough of this camp to know it's filled with violence barely held in check. Men who would view an escaped human as entertainment, children who've been raised to see cruelty as normal. The thought of Thali exposed to that kind of danger makes my stomach clench.
But she's already moving toward the door, excitement vibrating through her small frame like contained lightning.
