Page 22 of Orc's Little Human
The silence that follows feels heavy as stone. Grakul's knife stills against the whetstone. Onog's massive frame goes perfectly motionless. Even Mol's breathing seems to pause as the implications of my question settle between us.
Varok's smile is all teeth and promise. "Then you'll have chosen to put one human above the welfare of your entire clan. And we'll all have to decide what that means for our future."
The threat hangs in the air like smoke, visible and choking. Not direct enough to constitute open rebellion, but clear enough that everyone understands the stakes. My authority rests on the consent of these men, on their belief that I can lead them to survival and victory. Challenge that belief, and the whole structure comes tumbling down.
Magic surges beneath my skin, hot and demanding. The urge to reach for my blade, to remind them all exactly why they follow me, pounds through my veins like molten metal. But that path leads only to civil war, to the clan tearing itself apart while enemies circle like carrion birds.
Instead, I let the power build behind my eyes until they glow like forge fires in the darkness. Let it leak into my voice when I speak, turning each word into a weapon.
"I am war chief of the Blackmaw Clan," I say quietly, and the temperature in the room seems to drop several degrees. "I have led you through three successful raids this season. I have kept you fed, armed, and alive while larger clans bleed themselves dry fighting over scraps."
The golden fire in my gaze sweeps across each face in turn, marking them. Claiming them.
"My decisions are not subject to committee approval. If you question my judgment, challenge me properly or hold your tongues."
Grakul is the first to lower his eyes, followed quickly by Mol. Onog takes longer, but eventually his gaze drops as well. Only Varok maintains eye contact, amber meeting gold in a contest of wills that could shatter everything we've built.
Finally, he inclines his head in the barest suggestion of submission. "Of course, war chief. But the clan's concerns remain valid."
"The clan's concerns are noted," I reply, letting enough ice creep into my voice to freeze blood. "And will be addressed as I see fit."
I rise from my position by the fire, using my full height to loom over the seated figures. "Council is dismissed."
They file out in silence, but I can feel the weight of their displeasure like a physical thing. Varok is the last to leave, pausing at the entrance to look back with an expression that promises this conversation is far from over.
When I'm finally alone, I sink back down beside the dying fire and bury my face in my hands. The magic slowly ebbs from my system, leaving behind exhaustion and the bitter taste of pyrrhic victory.
I've won tonight's battle, but at the cost of isolating myself from my own inner circle. Varok will be watching for any sign of continued weakness, ready to strike the moment my authority wavers. The others will be questioning my decisions, wondering if their war chief has indeed lost his edge.
And through it all, Selene sleeps peacefully in the next room, unaware that her very existence is tearing my clan apart at the seams.
11
SELENE
The morning sun glints off the river's surface like scattered coins, and I watch Thali's small hands dart through the shallows with practiced ease. She's hunting for the perfect stones again—ones with interesting shapes or colors that catch her eye. Her moss-green skin gleams wet in the light, and she chatters constantly about everything and nothing.
"Look at this one, Selene!" She holds up a smooth gray rock shot through with veins of white. "It looks like lightning frozen in stone."
I can't help but smile at her enthusiasm. These daily trips to the river have become our routine, our escape from the suffocating tension of the longhouse. Out here, surrounded by running water and open sky, I can almost forget that I'm a prisoner. Almost forget the weight of eyes watching my every move back at camp.
"It's beautiful," I tell her, and mean it. Thali beams at the praise, carefully adding the stone to her growing collection in the leather pouch at her waist.
The truth is, I look forward to these excursions as much as she does. They're the only time I feel like I can breatheproperly, when the walls don't seem to be closing in around me. I've thought about using these moments to scout, to gather information about the surrounding area that might help me escape. But every time the idea crosses my mind, I look at Thali's trusting face and know I can't risk it.
She'd follow me. No matter how dangerous, no matter how far, she'd try to come with me. And I won't be responsible for getting a child killed.
So instead, we collect rocks and shells, splash in the shallows, and pretend we're just two friends enjoying the morning air. It's a fragile kind of peace, but it's all I have.
"We should head back soon," I say, watching the sun climb higher. "Your brother will expect us before midday."
Thali nods, though she makes no move to leave the water yet. "Can we stop by the herb patches on the way? Korrath mentioned we were running low on gankoya root."
The request surprises me. Over the past week, Thali and I have fallen into the habit of gathering useful plants on our way back from the river. Nothing major—just wild herbs that grow along the path, berries that haven't been picked over by the camp's foragers. Small contributions that somehow make me feel less like dead weight.
What surprises me is that Korrath has noticed. More than noticed—he actually seemed grateful yesterday when Thali brought home a pouch full of rirzed blossoms, mentioning how they'd help preserve the dried meat stores. For a moment, his golden eyes had met mine with something that looked almost like appreciation.
"Of course," I tell her. "Though I'm not sure I can tell gankoya from regular grass yet."
