Chapter 5 Thoktar
THOKTAR
Forla tends my nearly healed wounds with practiced hands, her touch sending heat through me that has nothing to do with fever. The intimacy of her attention—careful fingers checking bandages, gentle pressure testing the wound's edges—makes my breath catch in ways that have nothing to do with pain.
I'm strong enough to travel now. Strong enough to leave her in safety, to carry my danger away from this peaceful place before the Dark Elves' net closes around us. But the thought of walking away feels like tearing my own heart out with bare hands.
"It's healing well," she murmurs, tracing the scar tissue with a fingertip. "Better than I expected, actually. Your body wants to live."
"Does it?" The question escapes before I can stop it, raw and honest in the quiet barn. "Sometimes I'm not sure."
She looks up at me with those knowing eyes, seeing straight through the warrior's mask I wear for the world. "What do you mean?"
The words spill out before I can stop them, like water through a cracked dam.
About my brothers and the oath we swore to find each other no matter the cost. About the crushing weight of being the only survivor who knows they might still be alive, scattered across this hostile continent like seeds on barren ground.
About the guilt that eats at me worse than any poison.
"I was second-in-command," I tell her, voice rough with shame. "When the Dark Elves attacked our ship, it was my job to protect them. To keep the clan together. Instead, I watched them disappear beneath black waves while I clung to driftwood like a coward."
"You survived," she says softly. "That's not cowardice—that's hope."
"Hope?" I laugh bitterly. "I failed them, Forla. Gruk trusted me to help lead our people to safety, and I let them all drown. Seven brothers scattered to the winds or claimed by the sea, and I'm the only one searching. What kind of hope is that?"
She listens without judgment, her eyes bright with understanding tears. When I finish, she's quiet for a long moment, just breathing with me in the hay-scented silence.
"You're not responsible for the storm," she says finally. "Any more than I'm responsible for being born where slavers could find me."
Her wisdom cuts through my guilt like her touch cuts through my defenses. Simple truth spoken without artifice, wisdom earned through her own suffering. She understands survival's cruel mathematics, knows the difference between choice and circumstance.
"The Dark Elves destroyed your ship," she continues. "The sea scattered your clan. You didn't choose any of that—you just chose to keep fighting when it would have been easier to drown."
We see each other clearly in this moment—two damaged souls finding unexpected solace in a world that offers little mercy to the broken. The recognition creates something dangerous between us, something that makes my chest ache with possibility and fear.
"What about you?" I ask, needing to shift focus from my own pain. "What keeps you fighting when the nightmares come?"
Her smile is soft and sad. "Tomorrow. The chance that tomorrow might be better than today. And people like Talia and Brom, who chose kindness when they could have chosen indifference." She touches my arm gently. "People like you, who make me remember that survival isn't the same as living."
The admission hangs between us like a bridge neither of us is quite ready to cross. Her hand rests warm against my skin, and I can feel her pulse racing beneath my touch when I cover her fingers with mine.
"Forla," I whisper, her name a prayer on my lips.
When she reaches to check my forehead for fever one last time, I catch her hand in both of mine. Our eyes meet and hold across the small distance that separates us, and the air between us crackles with possibility and fear.
I see my own desperate need reflected in her dark eyes.
See the way her breath catches when I trace my thumb across her knuckles, feel the slight tremor that runs through her when I lean closer.
We're balanced on the edge of something that will change everything, both of us knowing we should step back and neither of us able to move.
"I should go," I murmur, but make no move to leave. "The Dark Elves—"
"I know." Her voice is barely a whisper. "But not yet. Please, not yet."
The plea undoes me completely. I lean forward, she doesn't pull away, and our lips meet in a kiss that tastes like hope and desperation, like everything we've found and everything we're about to lose.
Her mouth is soft beneath mine, tentative at first but growing bolder as I show her the gentleness beneath the warrior's exterior. She tastes like honey and herbs, like morning sunlight and the promise of peace I thought I'd lost forever.
When we break apart, both of us breathing hard, everything has changed. The air between us hums with new electricity, charged with possibilities that terrify and thrill in equal measure.
"This is dangerous," she whispers, but doesn't move away from my touch.
"I know." My forehead rests against hers, sharing breath and heartbeat in the golden barn light. "But I can't regret it. Whatever happens tomorrow, I can't regret this moment."
We both know this can't last. The Dark Elves are coming close, duty calls me back to my quest, and she has a life here that doesn't include wounded orc warriors with impossible dreams. But for now, in this stolen moment, we have each other.
For now, that's enough.
Her thumb traces my lower lip, and I catch it gently between my teeth, making her breath hitch. "Tomorrow you leave," she says, statement not question.
"Tomorrow I leave," I confirm, though the words feel like swallowing broken glass.
"Then tonight..."
"Tonight we pretend the world can wait."
I kiss her again, slower this time, savoring the taste and texture of something I'll carry with me long after I walk away. Her hands fist in my hair, pulling me closer, and for a minute I let myself believe in impossible things.
In futures where duty doesn't call me away from the woman who makes me want to be more than just a weapon.
In tomorrows where love might be enough to overcome the distance between our worlds.
In hope that tastes like honey on her lips.
But dawn will come, as it always does. And when it does, I'll have to choose between the woman who's become my heart and the brothers who need me to find them.
Tonight, though, I'll hold her close and pretend that choice doesn't exist.