Page 4 of Orc's Little Human
"...should have left her for the worgs..."
"...weakness will be our ruin..."
The last one hits too close to home. Weakness brings ruin—first tenet of the Vraem Code. And what is this if not weakness? Letting sentiment override strategy, mercy corrupt judgment.
Varok's laugh cuts through the noise, sharp and bitter. "Generous of you, brother. Though I wonder what use a broken human has for the mighty Korrath Draegon."
The title drips with mockery, and I see several warriors shift uncomfortably. They know that tone. Know what it means when Varok decides to push boundaries that should stay fixed.
"Are you questioning my judgment?"
I let iron creep into my voice, the same tone I use before ordering executions. Varok's smirk falters, but only slightly. He's too clever to back down completely—that would show weakness in front of the clan. Too ambitious to submit without testing how far he can push.
"Never," he says, spreading his hands in surrender. "I'm simply... curious about your sudden interest in charity work."
The crowd holds its breath. Challenge and submission dance on the knife's edge, and everyone knows how quickly these moments can turn deadly. I've killed orcs for less than what Varok just implied.
But killing him now would fracture the clan. Too many warriors follow him, believe his vision of conquest over survival. Better to let him think he's won this round while I figure out what the hell I'm actually doing.
"My reasons are my own."
I reach past the girl's shoulder and grab the rope binding her wrists. She flinches at the contact but doesn't pull away—another sign of intelligence over instinct. The knots are tight enough to cut off circulation, and I make a mental note to find whoever tied them and demonstrate proper restraint techniques on their own wrists.
"Come."
I don't wait for a response, just turn and stride toward my longhouse. The girl stumbles but recovers quickly, matching my pace despite the obvious exhaustion weighing down her steps. Behind us, the crowd disperses with the reluctant shuffle of orcs denied entertainment.
My dwelling squats at the far end of the settlement, built into the cliff face where stone meets sky. Larger than the others—a necessity of leadership rather than luxury—but just as crude. Driftwood walls chinked with mud and scraps of hide. A roof that leaks when the storms blow in from the sea.
Home, such as it is.
I kick open the door hard enough to rattle the frame and drag the girl inside. The main room stretches before us—rough-hewn furniture, weapons hanging from wall pegs, a fire pit that fills the space with smoke and dancing shadows. She takes it all in with those sharp eyes, cataloging exits and potential weapons with the practiced gaze of someone who's learned to expect violence.
Definitely not just another refugee.
The thought should worry me more than it does. Instead, I find myself curious about what kind of life teaches that level of wariness. What kind of hell produces that particular combination of terror and defiance.
"This way."
I lead her down a narrow corridor lined with furs and bones—trophies from hunts, reminders of battles won and enemies defeated. She keeps close to the opposite wall, as far from me as the cramped space allows. Smart again.
The room I choose sits at the back of the longhouse, small and windowless but secure. A sleeping pallet, a wooden chest, not much else. It's where I keep things that need protecting—maps, weapons, plans that can't fall into the wrong hands.
Now, apparently, I'm adding humans to that list.
I cut her bonds with a quick slice of my blade, and she immediately starts rubbing circulation back into her wrists. Red welts mark where the rope bit deep, and I catch myself wondering how long she was tied before my warriors found her. How far she ran before exhaustion forced her to stop.
None of your business.
"Stay here," I growl, backing toward the door. "Don't try to leave. Don't try to run. My warriors would consider it entertainment to bring you back in pieces."
She nods once, sharp and businesslike. No pleading, no tears, no promises of good behavior. Just acknowledgment of reality and the terms of her survival.
I pause at the threshold, not even sure why I ask. "What is your name?"
Her voice is soft but doesn't shake. "Selene."
With a nod of my head, I slam the door behind me and slide the heavy bar into place. The sound echoes through the longhouse like a judgment, final and irrevocable. Whatever I just committed myself to, there's no taking it back now.
