Chapter Seven
Vraag
Friday morning brings an unexpected cold front.
I notice it immediately as I step from my apartment: the sharp bite in the air, the crystalline quality of sunlight that suggests temperatures well below seasonal norms. The weather app on my phone confirms that it’s twenty degrees colder than yesterday.
My uniform includes a heavy winter coat for such conditions—standard issue tactical gear, reinforced at stress points and treated with the same clan oils I habitually apply to all my protective garments.
It’s excessive for a brief walk from car to building, but protocols suggest preparedness for extended outdoor duty in all conditions.
Arriving at Sunshine Valley Elementary forty-five minutes early as usual, I conduct my perimeter check with methodical attention.
The early frost makes the grass crunch underfoot as I inspect gates, windows, and access points.
All secure. The reinforcement I installed on Ms. Walker’s classroom window mid-week holds, the new mechanism solid where the old one flexed. I check it twice.
“Vraaaaag! By the ancestors, do you ever sleep?”
Grulk’s booming voice carries across the empty parking lot as he approaches, a steaming travel mug clutched in his massive hand. Unlike me, he’s added several non-regulation items to his maintenance uniform—a knitted scarf in clashing colors and what appears to be a homemade hat with earflaps.
“Some of us take our positions seriously,” I respond, continuing my inspection.
“Always the dedicated warrior,” he chuckles, falling into step beside me. His breath forms small clouds in the cold air. “Though I notice your patrols always end near the kindergarten wing.”
I ignore this comment, focusing on checking the perimeter fence tension.
“HammerFall gathering tomorrow night,” he continues, undeterred by my silence. “Feast of First Frost. Good food, better company.” His elbow nudges my ribs with surprising force. “You should bring your intended.”
The term stops me cold. I turn to face him directly.
“My what?”
Grulk grins, tusks gleaming in the early morning light. “The little teacher. The one who wore your protective gear. Don’t play ignorant, StoneWatch.”
“Ms. Walker returned my poncho last week,” I state firmly. “And she is not my intended.”
“Ah, but she kept it long enough for your scent to mark her,” Grulk counters, tapping his nose knowingly. “And now you watch her area like a war-wolf guards its den.”
“I’m assigned to that area,” I insist. “The attempted break-in—”
“Yes, yes, security protocols.” Grulk waves dismissively. “Call it what you like, but your clan scent doesn’t lie.”
I straighten to my full height, staring down at him. “You’re misinterpreting professional concern for personal interest. An integration violation I take seriously.”
Grulk’s expression shifts, his usual teasing manner replaced with something more thoughtful. “Eight years since the Emergence, Vraag. Eight years of ‘integration protocols’ and ‘professional distance.’ When do we start living again? When do we acknowledge that this world is now our home?”
The question strikes deeper than I care to admit. Before I can formulate a response, movement at the main entrance catches my attention. Early-arriving teachers, including Ms. Walker, hurrying through the cold toward the building.
Even from this distance, I can see she’s underdressed for the sudden temperature drop—a light jacket instead of a proper coat, no gloves or hat. She hugs herself against the cold, walking quickly with her head down against the biting wind.
“Your eyes track her like a hunter,” Grulk observes quietly. “Whether you admit it or not.”
“She’s cold,” I say, already moving in her direction, leaving Grulk chuckling behind me.
I intercept Ms. Walker on her way to the staff entrance.
“Good morning, Mr. Vraag,” she greets me, her voice slightly breathless from the cold. “Quite the temperature drop, isn’t it?”
“You’re underdressed for current conditions,” I state, noting the rosy blush on her cheeks.
She laughs, the sound creating a small cloud in the frigid air. “Thanks for the assessment, Captain Obvious. The forecast said it wouldn’t get this cold until tonight. By the time I realized how cold it was, I was out the door and running late.”
Without conscious thought, I’m already removing my heavy tactical coat. “Here.”
The effect is immediate. She exhales, a quiet sound of relief, and pulls the coat closer around herself.
“This is like wearing a heated blanket,” she murmurs. “Thank you, but aren’t you cold now?”
“Orc metabolism runs hotter than humans,” I say. “My uniform layers are sufficient.”
She nods, still tugging the coat tighter, clearly comfortable now. The sight sends a sharp, possessive satisfaction through me. She’s wrapped in my protection, my scent already saturating the fabric of her clothes. Any orc who passes her will know it.
Mine. Not the startled flash I had in the hallway—this is older, quieter, and worse.
A settled knowing that has no business being settled at all.
I have known this woman for a few weeks.
I have handed her a coat in the rain. And now some part of me that has nothing to do with reason has simply decided.
My jaw tightens against the instinct. Eight years of making myself smaller, quieter, less. All of it feels very thin right now.
The force of my reaction unsettles me more than the impulse itself.
We enter the building together, the coat making her look almost comically bundled beside me. In the warmer air of the hallway, color returns to her cheeks.
“I’ll give it back once I warm up,” she says, pushing her arms through the oversized sleeves so she can free her hands.
“Keep it until you leave,” I reply. “The heating system is probably still adjusting to the temperature drop.”
She hesitates, then nods. “That’s actually really thoughtful. Thank you.”
As we walk toward her classroom, I become acutely aware of the significance of what I’ve just done. Offering personal protection garments once might be explained as practical assistance. Twice establishes a pattern that, in StoneWatch tradition, signals clear intent.
And now she walks beside me, wrapped in my coat, my clan scent infusing the fabric of her clothes and, by extension, marking her. To any orc who encounters her today, the message will be unmistakable.
Grulk’s words echo in my mind, “Your intended.”
The most honorable course would be to explain the cultural implications immediately, yet I find myself reluctant to do so. Such a conversation would create awkwardness where there is currently easy companionship.
I rationalize my silence as cultural sensitivity. Humans don’t share orc customs regarding protection garments. Ms. Walker would likely be embarrassed or uncomfortable learning she’d unknowingly participated in what my clan would consider the preliminary stages of a courtship ritual.
We reach her classroom, and she unlocks the door, still wrapped in my coat. Inside, she doesn’t immediately remove it, instead moving to prepare her day’s materials with the oversized garment still cocooning her small frame.
“This is seriously the warmest thing I’ve ever worn,” she comments, rolling up the sleeves for the third time as they slide down over her hands. “What’s it made of?”
“Standard tactical fabric with thermal regulation,” I explain, watching as she moves around the classroom in my coat. “Enhanced with protective treatments.”
“It smells nice,” she adds casually, then looks slightly embarrassed at the admission. “I mean, whatever treatment they use has a good scent. Like cedar and something spicy.”
I go very still.
The oils I use contain cedar extract and a spice blend close to what humans call cloves—a poor substitute for clan compounds from our world, but the closest approximation I’ve found. I have used them so long they no longer smell like anything to me.
They smell like something to her.
She moves through the classroom, still wrapped in my coat, completely unaware of what she’s just said. That she has noticed. That she likes it. That she is, in this moment, wearing my scent and telling me so without knowing that’s what she’s doing.
All that careful distance.
And she just walked through it as if it wasn’t there.
“Traditional… preservation method,” I manage, unwilling to explain that the scent she finds pleasant is specifically designed to mark what belongs to me.
“Well, it’s nice. Most men’s coats smell like awful cologne or nothing at all,” she says, and returns to her morning preparations.
Before I can respond, the classroom door bangs open with unexpected force. Grulk stands in the doorway, toolbox in hand, grinning broadly.
“Morning maintenance check, Ms. Walker,” he announces, eyes immediately fixing on the coat she wears.
His tusked smile widens impossibly further.
“Just need to verify your heating vent is functioning with this cold snap and check on the equipment in the adjoining A/V storage room. That new projector system they installed last month keeps tripping the circuit when teachers use it.”
“Oh, thank you,” she responds, seemingly oblivious to his knowing glance between her and me. “It does feel a bit chilly in here.”
“I see StoneWatch has provided an alternative heating solution,” Grulk says, nodding toward the coat with an exaggerated solemnity that barely masks his amusement.
I step forward, positioning myself subtly between them. “Don’t you have other classrooms to check, Grulk?”
“Yours was first on my list,” he counters innocently. “Can’t have our teachers getting cold, can we?”
As he kneels to examine the heating vent, he speaks in rapid Orcish, his voice low enough that Ms. Walker can’t hear, but I can.
“Traditional courtship coat-gift before even introducing her to the clan? Bold move, warrior. Your father wouldn’t approve.”
The words land harder than they should. I become acutely aware of Riona standing close enough that I can feel her warmth—still wrapped in my coat, my scent saturating the fabric around her. The awareness hits like a physical impact—too close, too intimate, too right.
“Temporary weather protection, nothing more,” I respond in the same language, my jaw tight.
“Tell that to your scent markers,” Grulk chuckles. “Every orc in a five-block radius will recognize your claim by midday.”
“There is no claim,” I insist, growing increasingly uncomfortable with his implications and having to stifle a growl.
Grulk rises, having made a show of adjusting something at the vent. “All fixed, Ms. Walker. The heat should improve soon.” He turns to me with a tusked grin. “As I was saying earlier, Vraag, the HammerFall gathering tomorrow night would welcome both of you. Good food, good company.”
Ms. Walker glances between us, clearly sensing an undercurrent she doesn’t understand. “Gathering?”
“First Frost Feast,” Grulk explains before I can intervene. “Traditional celebration. Plenty of food, music, and community. We host it at the cultural center on Oakridge Drive.”
“That sounds fascinating,” she says, looking genuinely interested. “I’ve always wanted to learn more about orc traditions.”
Grulk’s expression turns triumphant. “Perfect! Vraag can bring you as his—”
“Colleague,” I interject firmly, giving Grulk a warning look. “If you’re interested in cultural exchange.”
“I would be,” she says, and I can tell from her clipped tone that she’s noticed more than she’s letting on. “I’ve been curious about orc traditions since the Emergence, but there aren’t many opportunities for non-orcs to learn firsthand.”
“Then it’s settled!” Grulk declares, heading for the door before I can object further. “Vraag will bring you tomorrow night. Seven o’clock. Wear something comfortable; we celebrate properly.”
The door closes behind him, leaving an awkward silence. Ms. Walker looks at me expectantly.
“Is that… would that be okay?” she asks when I don’t immediately speak. “I don’t want to impose if it’s a private cultural event.”
I should explain. Should tell her about orc traditions regarding protection garments, about what arriving together at a clan gathering would signify, about how she’s currently wrapped in what any orc would recognize as a claim.
Instead, I hear myself say, “You would be welcome.”
“Great!” She smiles, and the sight of her genuine enthusiasm does something strange to my breathing.
“I should resume my security rounds,” I say finally, needing distance to clear my thoughts.
“Of course.” She smiles again, still wrapped in my coat. “And thank you again for this. It’s saving my life today.”
As I depart to continue my patrol, my thoughts remain in disarray. I’ve allowed a misunderstanding to develop—one that grows more complicated with each hour she spends marked with my scent, each interaction that any orc would read as deliberate intent.
The honorable course would be to explain everything immediately: the significance of the coat, the implications of attending a clan gathering together, the meaning other orcs would attach to her wearing my scent.
Yet as I patrol the empty morning hallways, I hesitate. Years of maintaining protocol, of perfect integration compliance, of keeping humans at an enforced distance.
Perhaps Grulk has a point. When do we start living again?
The question follows me as I complete my rounds, with no easy answer in sight.