10. Tark
Chapter 10
Tark
G racie stood near the door, her soft smile stretching out toward me like sunlight over a frost-covered field. I clutched the edge of the table to keep from rising to my feet again. My instincts raged.
What was I supposed to do?
Should I stand, meet her halfway, offer her my hands, my strength, my everything?
Probably not.
I held myself still. Had I already done too much by bursting into her room uninvited, clutching a bag of muffins I’d made for her myself?
That smile, though. She didn’t look upset. Not one bit. If anything, seeing that look on her face gave me hope, fragile and trembling like the breath of a youngling sorhox.
Her steps were light as she crossed the room, the quiet squeak of her sneakers on the wooden floor holding a strange rhythm that soothed and unsettled me all at once. When she sat across from me, I swallowed hard, biting back all the words I didn’t know how to say. This was important. This moment. If I ruined it, she’d leave.
Sharga flapped his wings and squawked. I stood and gently lifted him off my shoulder, placing him on the counter where he could keep eating his muffin. He loved my cooking almost as much as… Well, I didn’t know yet if Gracie liked all my cooking. Just the meal I’d made last night.
Making sure I didn’t trip on the smooth floorboards—something that happened much too often, I washed my hands at the sink and moved back to the table to drop into my seat. Carefully, with the ease I’d use with a spooked mishra beast, I reached for a plate to serve her.
“These are dartling muffins,” I said, my voice rougher than I wanted it to be. “I made them fresh. Just for you. This morning. I got up early and…”
I was talking too much. My brother Greel said almost nothing, and when we were young, I’d struggled to fill the gaps, often saying too much and none of it with much of any meaning. Please, my parents would say. Just stop talking for one moment . They hadn’t been mean about it, but I took everything hard. That was my nature.
Maybe silence held its own value after all.
I plucked one of the muffins from the stack and placed it on the small, human plate in front of her. I didn’t realize my hands were shaking until I tried pouring her tea. A few drops landed on the table before I fixed my grip. “Would you… Would you like sorhox milk in this, or do you prefer the tea as it is?”
There wasn't even a hint of laughter in her expression, and that reassured me. “No milk, thanks. I like it black.”
I nodded, setting down the teapot with precise care. She lifted the cup, steam curling in lazy wisps toward her face. I felt something in me break when she closed her eyes and inhaled the aroma like it was something special.
Maybe I could one day be equally special to her.
“And the muffins?” I asked, leaning forward. “Do they look acceptable?”
She tilted her head, examining the greenish pastry. Her delicate brows rose, one higher than the other, and she arched an intrigued look in my direction. “Do I want to know why they’re green?”
I straightened, folding my hands in my lap. “Dartlings grow deep below the soil in dark caves. They cling to the roots of the gnarling trees. The fruit pods absorb the light of bioluminescent moss that grows near the roots. It gives them their green hue and a tangy sweetness unlike anything else. But only those who are careful in their harvesting can gather dartlings ripe enough to use. The under-ripe ones are bitter, and the over-ripe ones turn to mush.”
Gracie lifted her muffin, eyeing it down her nose. “Sounds like a delicate balance.”
“Very much so. My brothers used to dare each other to eat the bitter ones as younglings. The face it causes is…” I paused, considering how best to describe it, and then settled on a word I’d heard humans use. “Memorable.”
That earned me her chime of laughter, and the sound burrowed into me, warm and bright as a hearth on a cold winter’s night. My fingers tightened in my lap. Please, may she always laugh with me and not at me.
She turned her attention back to the muffin, and I forced myself not to lean forward any further. Every muscle in me tensed, as though her opinion of the muffin would decide the fate of our bond.
“They’re made from dartling pods,” I said, grateful my voice didn’t crack or falter. Maybe I was finally getting comfortable below my green skin. “The pods grow underground, all curled up like a fist, and you’ve got to sing to them if you want them to open and release their berries. Low, steady notes, like a hum. It’s the vibration that does it, actually. Not the singing itself. It shakes them loose. My aunt taught me.”
“The one who showed you how to cook?” She eyed the rest of the muffins. I'd eaten three already before I left, but she only ate one.
“Yes, that aunt.”
Finally, she broke away a small piece with her fingertips and brought it to her lips. The way her mouth closed around the bite, the slight quirk of her shoulder as she chewed. It was all I could focus on. Time stretched unbearably long before her eyes popped wide.
“Whoa,” she said, holding the rest of the muffin up. “Tark, this is wonderful. It’s sweet and tangy and fluffy and like nothing I’ve ever tasted before.” She took another bite, this one larger, humming as she swallowed.
My chest swelled, pride rushing through me. “You like it?”
“Like it? I love it.” She tore off another piece and popped it into her mouth. “Seriously, you could turn these into a business on their own.”
Her words settled over me like a balm, soothing my nerves that had been coiled as tight as fencing wire since I’d gotten up early and started making them. I hadn’t realized how much I needed her approval; how much it mattered to me that she found joy in something I’d done for her. My fingers flexed, rising to clutch the edge of the table while I fought the urge to tell her how much I valued her opinion. Would she think me strange or too eager if I did something like that?
Gracie licked a crumb from the corner of her lips, and my breath froze in my lungs. “If these are an example of what you can bake, Tark, you really need to reconsider opening a restaurant. A bakery. Both!”
Hope unfurled in my chest like the first bloom of spring in the caves far below the human's surface. “You think so?” My voice was quieter now, hollowed out by the weight of her praise.
She nodded again, taking a sip of her tea, then finished the last of her muffin, shooting me a grin while she chewed. “That. Was. Amazing,” she gushed.
Maybe she gushed. It looked like that was what she was doing, though I didn't know humans well. This was how Jessi and Rosey talked about Greel and Ostor, so it could be the same. Although, I wasn't a muffin. But neither were Greel and Ostor.
For a second, it didn’t feel like my heart was trying to claw its way out of my chest. I could see she was enjoying the meal in the way she leaned over the table, one hand balancing her tea while the other picked crumbs off her plate. She wasn’t being polite. She meant it when she said she liked what I’d made for her.
“Would you like another?” I asked.
She nodded fast, her smile lighting up her face, before her head tilted. “You truly sing to get the dartling pods to release their berries?”
“It's the only way to get them out. They resist otherwise.”
“They sound almost alive.”
I thought about that. “I suppose they are. They’re not creatures like sorhoxes, though, but a plant.”
She sipped her tea and nodded again.
Sharga finished his meal and took flight, weaving across the room and out into the open area beyond.
Her brow pensive, Gracie watched him. “Is he still in pain?”
“Not any longer. I found him by the road with a broken wing and healed him. When I set him free and urged him to go, he didn’t want to. He’s stayed with me ever since. Podar too.”
“Your bobcat. I’ve never met a bobcat, but I love cats in general. I’d have a thousand of them if I could.”
“I only have one.” Should I get more? I would if it would make Gracie want to be with me.
“I wasn’t allowed to have any while growing up, and since I travel for my influencer job, it hasn’t felt right to get one now. I wouldn’t want to board them or leave them alone.”
“Why couldn’t you have one while growing up?”
“I…” She pinched her lips with her teeth. “It wasn’t possible. My parents said no.” Her sigh puffed out. “Alright, I’ll explain some more. I grew up on TV.”
I blinked, trying to picture her sitting on such an appliance. “Oh.” Now I knew what she meant. “You mean you took part in the streaming images. Somehow.” I wasn’t sure how it all worked. I could make a video and post it, but I suspected whatever she’d done was more complex than that.
“Yes, streaming images. My parents are actors, and they got me started young. Reality TV can be a bitch, but it was their bitch, and they were eager to make it mine as well.” She traced her finger along a seam on the wooden table, not looking up. “I quit as soon as I could.”
“To be an influencer I could hire.”
Her lips curved into a sweet smile. “Yeah, that. If I’m successful, I won’t have to go back.”
“You didn’t enjoy being in streaming images?”
“Not one bit.”
If her success might be tied to mine, I would do all I could to make sure she didn’t follow my path into failure.
“No poems,” I blurted out
She frowned. “Sure. No…poems.”
We finished eating, me two more muffins and her finishing her second. But she was so much tinier than me. It was no wonder she didn't eat much more than a fristleen bird. By the time she’d pushed her plate away and reached into her back pocket for her phone, the knot in my gut had loosened enough that I could call it a good day so far.
“Let’s talk about your social media strategy,” she said. “You mentioned that you'd already set up profiles for Lonesome Creek on FaceSpace, Instaplug, and TickingClock.”
I tensed. I knew what was coming and already worried it wouldn’t be enough. She stepped into this like it was ground she owned, while I stood with my patchwork of attempts, already unraveling.
“I have.” Pray she didn't discover my major mistake. I’d deleted it. That meant it was gone forever. “I, um, haven't posted much. I'm not sure what to say.”
“That's pretty common. It's hard to know exactly how to market yourself to reach the right audience. But you’ve got an amazing setup here, Tark. Dartling muffins alone could blow up with solid hashtags. But you’ve got to get the word out in the right way.”
I scratched the back of my neck, glancing at the crumb-covered plate in front of me. “Not with poems.” Why in all the fates had I said that again?
“Poems?” Her eyebrows lifted and she shook her head. “I think they can work with certain platforms, but I'm not sure yet if that's the right strategy for a Wild West tourist destination.” The skin around her eyes crinkled when she smiled. “Now, if you want to sing and post that, maybe something that'll resonate with the cowboy crowd, you might find yourself going viral.”
Was that truly all that it took? “I don't sing well. I could barely get the darkling pods to open.”
“Fortunately, people—and your fellow orcs—aren't horribly picky. Make a solid effort, and your sincerity will shine through. Being yourself is what's most important. You're offering a true experience here, and your social media profiles need to reflect that same authenticity.”
“I don't know how.” Truly, I sucked at this, though I'd never tell her that.
“That's why I've strolled into town, partner,” she said with a drawl.
It took me a moment to realize she was speaking the way humans did in the streaming images. Dungar believed they could be used as guidance for our behavior in this new, Wild West town, and I was finally beginning to think he was right. I’d study the images some more tonight. Anything if it would impress this woman I ached to call my own.
Gracie leaned back in her chair, her phone lying in her hand, waiting to take notes. “Okay,” she said, her tone all business now, though her bright, warm, and disarming smile still lingered. “Let's start with what you've managed so far. What kind of posts have you done? Is there anything specific you want to highlight?”
I hesitated, fighting the urge to fidget with the crumbs on the table. If I started picking at them, it would only draw attention to the fact that my answers were lacking. “Well, I, uh, put up some information.” I tried not to wince at how weak that sounded. I was not going to mention the heartfelt poem with my misfit friends—and misfit me bumbling around, trying to sound coherent. And failing. “About the town. And the opening. Just text and some dates, mostly.”
Her brows pinched, and my gut twisted into a tumbleweed that threatened to swallow whatever progress I’d made in calming myself. “Do you have any pictures on Instaplug? While I think TickingClock and FaceSpace are excellent options, especially if you repost your reels from TickingClock to FaceSpace, Instaplug is the perfect community for getting started. Everyone's warm and welcoming there.”
Truly? That wasn't what I'd seen.
“I might’ve used one of the saloon’s,” I said. “Dungar said it looked rugged, but Jessi thought it seemed somber. Which I think could mean boring.” I rubbed my chest, hoping that maybe a rogue patch of ceiling would collapse and save me before I drove myself deeper into this hole. No chance of that. If nothing else, we orcs did great construction. It thrived in our dark green blood. That ceiling wouldn’t fall even if a tornado swept through the room. “I probably should’ve hired you earlier. My brothers decided I’d be the best to handle this because I knew how to use my phone.”
“But social media is different, right?” she said, her tone gentle. At least she could feel the shame tightening my throat. “It’s a tool. What you need is the right presentation and timing and finding the correct audience.”
“Yes,” I said quickly, feeling genuinely grateful for how she framed it in a way that didn’t make me feel like a complete failure. “That’s exactly it.”
Her smile grew, the crinkles around her eyes returning as she held my gaze. “Trust me, Tark. You’re not alone in feeling overwhelmed by this kind of thing. Half of my job working with small businesses is teaching people how to start, let alone succeed. And,” she tapped her phone against her palm, “we’ll figure this out step by step. First, we’ll work on visuals. Pictures usually come early in posts. Words come later. If something catches the eye right away, it pulls people in. Really, that's the most important thing about this. Make people feel and they'll keep coming back for more.”
I nodded, holding onto her words like they were a lifeline, which they probably were. “You think pictures of the town or orcs would work best?”
Gracie tilted her head, nodding slowly. “Both. But the key is to tell a story with the pictures. Show people what makes this place unique. Why they should come here instead of going anywhere else. What’s the vibe? The charm? The heart of Lonesome Creek. And honestly…” She leaned forward, her voice dropping as if sharing a secret. “That muffin? That smile you gave me when I said I loved it? That’s the kind of stuff people connect with. Authenticity. You’re not just running a tourist town. You’re building something that matters to you. That’s what people want to see. They want to feel like they’re part of it.”
I swallowed hard, her words hitting deep. Something in the way she said it, like what I was doing mattered, like I mattered, felt like sunlight breaking through a stormy sky. I’d never thought about the town that way before. To me, it was just something we built to start a new life here on the surface. Something my brothers and I hoped wouldn’t collapse under the weight of our expectations. But the way she framed it, with her easy confidence and earnest tone, made it feel bigger than that. Made it feel possible.
“That Wild West theme you're going for? It’s gold if you know how to package it correctly,” she added.
My chest still felt too tight. Rustic charm, orc culture. Sure. But there were so many pieces to this place, so many pieces to me. What if I chose the wrong ones or missed something important? She made me realize this could be more than buildings and sorhoxes and orc food. It was to be a place where people could belong. Maybe we did have something special here. I'd been so caught up in getting it started, building one thing after another, managing the sorhoxes. Focusing on the tiny details rather than how others might see it all at once.
Wasn't this what I wanted, to be part of something bigger so I could avoid thinking about how small I was myself? There could be meaning in all this.
And maybe, meaning within me.
I dropped my fingers under the table. “I'll try to tell a story. Show them why Lonesome Creek matters.”
“Exactly.”
“I need to show them that this is a place where they can feel free.” My voice gained strength as I spoke. “Lonesome Creek isn’t about streaming images on a TV or bright city lights. It’s about finding peace. Being able to sit under the stars and feel like you’re the only person alive, if for one moment. Or hearing the creak of the saloon doors and feeling like you’ve stepped back in time. I want them to experience that. To remember it long after they’ve left and returned to their regular lives.”
“That’s beautiful, Tark. That's exactly the kind of feeling we can capture in your posts. People are going to love that. You’ve got heart, and trust me, that’s half the battle.”
I didn’t trust my voice not to splinter, betray the way part of me cracked just hearing her speak like I mattered. I’d spent so long just being useful, silencing my wants and needs. To hear someone say what I did could be enough? It made every part of me rise and ache all at once.
I took a deep breath and stilled my sore heart, nodding. “What's the plan then?”
“Well,” she said, straightening in her chair and lowering her phone onto the table beside her plate. “After we do the dishes, let's start with a tour. I need to see the town through your eyes. Show me what makes it special, not just the big attractions, but the little things too. The corners where the magic lives. I’ll take pictures while we walk around, and we’ll post as we go. That way, we can test the waters and see what resonates with people.”
A tour. That seemed manageable enough. I could talk about the things we’d built, the stories behind them. Maybe she’d understand what we were trying to do. More than that, maybe she’d see me in a way no one else had before.
“All right.”
We quickly washed the dishes and put them away.
“We could start on one end of town and work our way to the other,” Gracie said.
I glanced at Sharga, who had returned and perched himself on top of a cabinet and was preening his wings. “Come with us?”
With a chittering sound, he swooped down from the cabinet and landed on my shoulder, his claws digging into my shirt.
“It’s this way.” I gestured toward the door, acutely aware of my size as I held it open for her. She brushed past me, and her shoulder grazed my arm. It was nothing, nothing at all, but her simple touch felt like lightning under my skin.
The walk to the barn wasn’t far, but Gracie kept looking around, her eyes wide and curious. “The layout’s great. It’s like stepping onto the set of a movie. Did you and your brothers design all of this yourselves?”
“Mostly Dungar.” I pointed out a hitching post he’d insisted we carve rather than buy ready-made. “He’s got the vision for this kind of thing. I helped where I could.”
“And where was that?”
“Construction, mostly. I helped build the saloon, the hotel above, the general store, the restaurant and the jail.”
“So much work. It's impressive. You’re quite skilled.”
“I’ve spent some time making things like the benches and the signs.” I was gushing, but I couldn’t help it. I wanted to impress her so much.
“Show me everything, even the jail, though we can save that for last.” Her tone carried warmth like a secret meant only for me. “I’ve never been the ‘break the rules’ type, but I ached to break free. Let’s see what kind of trouble I’d get into in Lonesome Creek.” Her grin shot straight to my chest, and I fumbled for words, any words, to mask the way my pulse quickened. But before I could respond, she spoke again. “And after that, let’s find where you’d hide the best cloud-watching spot. If we’re going to sell a sense of freedom, Tark, I want to feel it all.”
It wasn’t her words. It was the way she said feel it , as if this was bigger than tourism or business plans. This truly meant something to her, and that stunned me.
And for the first time, I realized this tour wasn’t only for her.
It was also for me.