4. Chapter 4
Chapter four
S ahginoth finished his food as quickly as he could and excused himself with a few shouted words, hurrying from the hut in only his tunic and pants.
He could not sit beside her any longer and pretend he was not staring at her plump, heavy breasts, the way her tunic strained over them, the nipples hard against the fabric in the cold. This was unlike him. He did not look at women in this way, or men either. But there was something about her that drew him in.
He couldn't fathom why she was here. She was lush, tall, strong. Her hair fell down her back in soft dark waves and his fingers itched to touch it. When she walked, her hips swayed slightly, her thick round arse begging to be touched. He'd managed to spend a day as immune to her as he was to all women, but his self-control was quickly wearing thin. Were the human men so blind none of them had the sense to wed her and keep her for himself? But then, hadn't she told him a story of human women seeking sanctuary in orc territory from their cruel husbands?
He paused as he stomped through the snow, his breath catching. She had a husband, didn't she?
A cruel one.
His hands curled into fists, his teeth grinding together. He turned back towards his hut, took one step, then stopped. Perhaps she didn't wish to speak of it. Perhaps the memories were too painful for her. He valued his own privacy, enjoyed keeping his own council, and she seemed to be the same. He could not push her to reveal more of her past than she was comfortable with. She would feel obligated to tell him because he'd taken her in. He would not do that to her.
He turned back around and headed for Zarhu's hut. He was overdue to visit her, and she would berate him if he kept the gossip of their new villager from her any longer. Ducking through the door flap, he called out.
The old woman stirred from her pile of furs by the fire, the blankets wrapped around her in layers, only her face and hands poking out. "About time," she snapped, patting the rug beside her and setting out two cups. He sat beside her and she poured him a steaming cup of tea. He took a sip, the liquid warming him quickly.
"Did you go down the mountains and steal a woman?" she asked.
He choked, coughing tea onto the sleeve of his tunic. "No," he gasped.
"I didn't think so. You've never been the type." He frowned at her, but she only shrugged. She was right. He'd never been one to chase after females. "So where did you find that human?" she demanded.
"She was looking for orc settlements," he said.
She narrowed her shrewd gaze on him. "What for?"
Gyrda's story was not his to tell, but Zarhu would demand it one way or another. "She was tired of living among her own kind," he said.
She sniffed. "And she couldn't move to a different city? She had to come here?"
He shrugged. "I think she likes it here. She used to hunt in the mountains with her father."
"So, you like this woman."
Sahginoth sipped his tea, raising an eyebrow at her. She clicked her tongue at him, spreading her wrinkled hands with an innocent smile. "Your granny would want to know."
"My grandmother is not here."
"Of course she is," Zarhu snapped. "She's always watching you." It was a terrifying thought. He'd loved his grandmother, but the idea of her spirit watching his every move was beyond disconcerting. Had she seen how hard his cock was while he ate dinner beside the human? He'd rather her spirit not be near him at all.
"I have to meet her," Zarhu announced. "Your granny would want me to approve of her."
"I'm not mating her," Sahginoth growled. "But I will bring her to meet you." He stared her down. "You will not make her uncomfortable," he demanded. "And you will have to speak very loudly. She does not hear well."
The old woman's expression shifted, her eyes going wide before she stared into the fire. "I wondered why you were shouting so much," she said. "Very unlike you." She frowned, humming in thought. "No wonder she left the humans," she mused.
"What do you mean?"
"It is a quieter life, here." She smiled up at him. "I will be very kind to her. What does she need? She can't have much of her own if she climbed the mountains alone to get here." She pulled a chest towards them and opened it, sewing materials spilling out. She held up a bolt of thick green wool. "This would look well with her dark hair."
She was right, the color bringing out the rich near-black brown of Gyrda's hair when the old woman held the bolt of cloth against her the next day. "What do you think?" Zarhu asked Sahginoth.
He sat across the fire from them, shrugging. It looked well, but anything would look well on Gyrda. He liked her in her worn brown tunic and leggings. He liked her in her thick fur coat. He would like her in green just as well. Zarhu clicked her tongue in admonishment and rolled her eyes at him. She'd taken an immediate liking to Gyrda.
"It is kind of you," Gyrda said, her expression worried. "But there is no need. I can sew my own clothing."
"Nonsense," the old woman shouted. "I make clothing for many in the village. I will enjoy it." She gestured to the rabbit they'd brought her that Gyrda had collected from her snares in the early morning before Sahginoth even woke. "Bring me more rabbits and I will clothe you like a queen."
Gyrda smiled and nodded as Zarhu took her measurements. The old woman finished, brandishing her shears and shooing them out so she could begin cutting cloth. They walked slowly around the outside of the village, the snow packed around the huts melting in the warm afternoon sun. "She is very fond of you," Gyrda said.
He nodded. "She was friends with my grandmother. She helped raise me."
"You lived with your grandmother?"
"My parents died when I was little." She frowned at his mouth, half confusion and half sadness, her hand reaching out gently to rest on his arm, and he repeated himself. Her lips thinned, her fingers tightening on the sleeve of his coat. "I don't remember them," he said to stave off her pity. "Not well."
"But your grandmother is gone now, too, and you miss her."
He swallowed, nodding sharply. He did not speak of his grandmother with anyone but Zarhu anymore. She had died when he was a young man, and he'd thrown himself into the competition for the new village leader shortly after, seeking distraction and a way to prove himself. There were days he did not think of her. But when he did, the wound still ached as if it were fresh. She had been everything to him as a child. She'd taught him to hunt, cook, fight, mend his clothes. She'd taught him how to survive in the mountains, track the wild beasts. She'd taken him on trading expeditions to the human towns at the base of the mountains and taught him how to comport himself in strange lands, and she'd taught him how to stand up for himself and for others, to always keep a place in his heart for those in need. She'd molded him into a leader, and when she was gone, he'd been desperate to prove to himself and to her spirit that her work had not been in vain.
She'd been a quiet person, like him. There were days of his childhood where they barely shared a word between them. But she had never given him reason to doubt her love for him, and when she was gone he felt her loss keenly, the house they'd shared quiet and empty as a tomb. He could barely stomach sleeping in it at night, knowing that he would wake in the morning, in the bed he'd slept in his whole life, and she would not be there, across the fire from him as she had been every night since he'd been four and had come to live with her.
A few of his neighbors had good naturedly teased him about his loud snoring, and he took the excuse to move to the edge of the village and build himself a new hut that was not filled with her absence. He took her belongings with him so the memories remained, but the space was fresh. She'd never set foot in it, and he did not feel her absence as deeply. Finally, he could sleep well at night. And over time, while the pain of her loss did not necessarily hurt less, he felt it less often. It was less sharp. More of a bruise than a cut.
He did not know how to put that into words for the woman before him without shouting it to the whole village, but it seemed he didn't have to. There was understanding in her eyes, and a matching pain. Her hand slipped down his arm until her fingers wrapped around his. She squeezed slightly and his thumb brushed over her calloused palm, his body longing to lean into the touch, though he held himself still.
"I know," she said softly. "I understand. It was only my father and me my whole life, and I never wished for anything else. We hunted and trapped, sold meat to the butchers and hides to the tanners and furriers. We had a simple life, but it was a good one." She paused, her hand dropping from his. He missed the heat of her small fingers immediately. "He died when I was twenty-eight. It has been nine years now, without him."
He took a deep breath. "Her name was Yotul," he said.
She smiled up at him. "His name was Nils."
They stood there for a moment in silence. It was good to speak the names of the dead from time to time; remind them they were not forgotten. It was good for the living, too, to share remembrance with each other.
A hunting party passed by them, returning to the village with a few snowy white ptarmigans slung over their shoulders. The moment was broken, and they continued their walk around the village. Sahginoth showed her more than he'd been able the last few days. He showed her all the frozen meat stores she could use if she was unable to hunt enough meat for herself. They walked through the clear ice houses where the clan grew cold-hardy plants and mushrooms, the air inside warm and humid, and she marveled at the way the sun sparkled through the thick ice, the plants green and lush around them. He took her over the ridge beyond the plateau to the hot springs that bubbled and steamed from the ground even in the coldest days of winter. A few of the elders were bathing, the minerals soothing their old joints. Sahginoth introduced her, and she greeted them happily.
She liked everything she saw, her excitement genuine, and he couldn't stop himself from smiling as he showed her every corner of the village. He smiled even more that night when they roasted a few more rabbits and she told him stories of her father over dinner, of her childhood trekking the forests and lower mountains. By the time they lay down in their separate beds that night, his cheeks were sore from smiling, and he frowned to himself, unused to so much happiness in one day. He'd thought he was happy enough. He'd thought he was content, but perhaps that had been an illusion. Perhaps being content with the day-to-day happenings of life was not the same as happiness, and he'd forgotten what it felt like. This was more than he was used to feeling, his chest aching as if it held too many emotions. Yet he didn't want them to go away. He craved more, like a starving man who'd tasted food for the first time in weeks.
He'd planned to ask Gyrda if she would prefer to live with Zarhu. The old woman would welcome her company. But tonight, he'd hesitated and held his tongue. He didn't want her gone from his house. He didn't want to lose these feelings. He wanted more of them. He wanted to keep Gyrda for himself.
And she did not seem unhappy, so there was no reason for her to go. He would put off asking her. He would keep her close for as long as he could.