Page 8 of Orc's Little Human
The admission comes with crystalline clarity, cutting through the fog of confusion that's clouded my thinking since yesterday's raid. This obsession, this protective rage that flares whenever I imagine harm coming to her—it's not natural. Not for an orc, not for someone who's spent his entire adult life viewing humans as resources to be exploited or obstacles to be removed.
Something is wrong with me. Something fundamental has shifted, some crucial piece of my identity fractured beyond repair. The chieftain who dragged her from that merchant cartwouldn't recognize the fool standing here at dawn, wrestling with concepts like mercy and protection.
But I can't bring myself to care about the wrongness. All that matters is keeping her safe, even from myself.
Especially from myself.
Standing here wrestling with my own thoughts accomplishes nothing. Better to face the day, lose myself in the familiar rhythms of leadership that have carried me through eight years of keeping this clan alive. I need to check the sentries, review our stores, plan the next raid—anything that doesn't involve obsessing over gray-blue eyes and copper hair.
I turn toward the door, already calculating which tasks demand immediate attention, when movement in the corridor catches my eye. A small figure creeps along the far wall with the exaggerated stealth of someone who thinks they're invisible. Wild black hair adorned with feathers and bone charms, bare feet silent against stone, a patchwork tunic that's seen better seasons.
Thali.
My sister moves like liquid shadow despite her youth, already displaying the natural grace that marks our bloodline. She pauses outside the third door down, the one I barred with my own hands last night, and produces something from the folds of her tunic. A key—where in the depths did she get a key?
"Thali."
My voice cuts through the morning quiet like drawn steel. She freezes mid-reach toward the lock, shoulders hunching with guilt that would be comical if I weren't so stunned by her audacity. Slowly, she turns to face me, amber-gold eyes wide with the kind of innocence that fools everyone except the brother who raised her.
"Oh. Morning, Korrath." She attempts a smile that doesn't quite hide the stubborn set of her jaw. "You're up early."
"What are you doing?"
The question comes out sharper than intended, carrying the edge of authority that makes seasoned warriors step back. But Thali is nine years old and fearless in the way only children can be. Instead of wilting under my glare, she straightens her spine and lifts her chin—a gesture so reminiscent of our father that something twists in my chest.
"Someone has to take care of her." She gestures toward the barred door with righteous indignation. "You locked her up without food or water. That's not how we treat guests."
"She's not a guest, Thali. She's?—"
"What? A prisoner?" Her voice climbs an octave, taking on the righteous fury that surfaces whenever she encounters something that offends her sense of justice. "Then why aren't you feeding your prisoner? Even captured enemies get bread and water, Korrath. You taught me that."
The accusation hits like a physical blow, driving home just how completely I've failed to think this through. Yesterday's impulse to protect her from Varok seemed so clear, so necessary. Lock her away, keep her safe, figure out the rest later. But I never considered the basics—food, water, the simple human needs that separate captivity from slow execution.
I scrub both hands down my face, feeling every one of my thirty-two years pressing against my shoulders like ancestral ghosts. "She's not a prisoner."
"Then what is she?"
The question hangs between us, deceptively simple yet impossible to answer. What is Selene? Not prisoner, not guest, not slave—something undefined that exists in the spaces between classifications. The human woman who looked at me without fear, who carries herself like broken nobility, who makes my blood sing with protective rage I don't understand.
"I don't know." The admission tastes like defeat on my tongue.
Thali studies me with the unsettling perception that marks our bloodline, reading emotions I thought I'd hidden behind stoic resolve. Her expression softens from indignation to something dangerously close to pity, and I realize how far I've fallen when a nine-year-old feels sorry for me.
"She's scared, Korrath. And hungry. I heard her stomach growling through the door."
Of course she did.My sister has always possessed hearing sharp enough to catch whispered conversations three longhouses away, a gift that's saved us from more than one midnight attack. If Selene's suffering, Thali would know about it before anyone else.
"You can't just keep her locked up forever," she continues, warming to her theme with the passion of youth convinced it knows better than experience. "That's what cowards do. Are you a coward?"
The question stings more than it should, carrying echoes of childhood taunts and coming-of-age trials where weakness meant death. I am many things—killer, chieftain, keeper of blood-forge magic that marks me as both blessed and cursed—but coward has never been among them.
"No."
"Then why are you acting like one?"
Because admitting what I really want would destroy everything we've built here. Because showing interest in a human female makes me vulnerable in ways that could get us all killed. Because the moment I acknowledge that Selene means something to me, Varok will use that knowledge like a weapon aimed at my throat.
But I can't say any of that to Thali. She sees the world in absolutes—right and wrong, kind and cruel, brave and cowardly.The complex calculations that govern clan leadership would only confuse her, steal away the innocence that's one of the few pure things left in this blood-soaked place.
