Page 6 of Claimed By Stone
In my dream, this beautiful creature came to life.
Admiring art wasn't something new for me. I could get lost studying the great art. Though I'd never left my clan, I'd spentmy life poring over these books. Preserving our history and learning about the world and art outside. I'd never given much thought to seeing the art in these books for myself. But with how entrancing I found the statue before me, it might be time to journey and see what the world has to give. Even as I felt that I know I'm meant for this mountain.
I am one of four siblings. Khuldruk, our clan chief, is a natural-born leader. Frema is a fierce warrior and leads our troops. Our brother, Drax, had left the mountain for the modern cities of the south years ago. Yet through it all, I chose to remain here with my books. Most orcs didn't understand my choice, but they didn't question it.
I've never questioned it. I knew my role and loved my role.
Yet as I looked at this statue, I began to feel a calling to something different, though I didn't yet know what it was.
This statue had sat in this room since I was young. I don’t know where she came from. While I had always admired its beauty, it wasn't to this extent. My thoughts were becoming obsessive.
As I sat at my desk, with the journals and maps opened before me, my eyes were still wandering to the statue. The gentle slopes of the smooth marble seemed to become a new addiction for me. I stood and walked closer before letting my hands run over the smooth, cool marble. I traced my hands up over the smooth curves of her face. Why did I feel like kissing a statue?
Maybe Frema was right. Perhaps I did need to leave this room and find a partner to enjoy a good rut with... But even the thought of that felt wrong.
While I would not be finding a rut partner, it was time to get out of this room. I would just go to the great hall and visit with my clan. The celebratory mood since Khuldruk’s return and the slow returning magic had kept the great room full of music and games. It would be good to go and take some notes to enterinto the journal I kept of the comings and goings of our strong, wonderful mountain.
Chapter 6
Unknown
It happened again. I felt like I was waking up. Only this time, again, I was more awake than the previous one.
I heard it again, the sounds of the sleeping orc. Only this time I couldn't see him.
Slowly, I turned until I finally saw him. He was kicked back in a chair, his feet propped on a stool. His arms were crossed over his broad chest as his head was tucked down, eyes closed, giving soft little snores.
It was only then that I realized I could move. I looked at my hands. These human hands, where stone had been before.
What was happening?
I began to move more of my body. I felt fully awake. More awake than I'd felt in a lifetime. Moving felt foreign. It was as if my very joints and muscles had to remember how to move again.
Carefully, I stepped down off the platform that I'd been standing on for who knows how long.
There was something about the orc that I couldn’t explain. It was as if I knew him. But surely that wasn't possible, I would be able to recognize him if I’d met this handsome orc before. An earthy scent lingered as I drew closer. But there was something more complex to his scent. He smelled earthy, yes, but he alsosmelled like old books. It was intoxicating. I wanted to wrap myself in it.
Even as I moved closer, I had to fight the urge to reach out and caress his broad, green shoulder. The candlelight danced across his skin, casting a warm golden glow across his chest. The rise and fall of his chest in the light was even more intoxicating than his scent.
That's when I noticed the scrolls strewn out before him. There were dozens of them in an array of languages. Some of the languages I could read. Some I only recognized. While others were utterly foreign to me, like tangled branches I'd yet to climb.
I leaned in closer, giving in to the curiosity tugging at me and reaching for one of the scrolls, when the orc stirred.
I froze.
When I looked up, his body was still slumped in sleep, but his eyes were open. Deep, chocolate brown. Steady. And watching.
"Are you real?" he muttered, low and gravelly, his voice like stone sliding against stone.
"Am I real?" I echoed, the words feeling strange in my mouth. "I suppose I haven't given it much thought. But I am here, wherever here is, and so are you."
He sat up and looked at me, eyes wide, lips parted. In the soft candlelight, the tips of his tusks caught the gleam of gold. A puff of breath stirred the loose strand of hair that had fallen across his face.
"How is this possible?" he asked, voice rough with sleep and disbelief.
"I don’t know," I whispered, and truly, I didn't—not really.
He said nothing, just watched me with awe, the expression softening every line on his face.
