Chapter 2
KHALA
I’d been watching the orc for hours while hiding in the bushy black ash tree at the edge of the small clearing in front of his log cabin.
I had watched him yesterday, too, when he killed the boar that I’d accidentally startled while it was digging for rodents and acorns between the roots of an old oak tree.
The boar would’ve most certainly killed me had the orc not showed up just in time. Thankfully, while the orc fought the beast, I got a chance to climb up the oak tree, hiding from sight. The orc ended up saving my life, even though he didn’t know it.
However, I hadn’t been stalking him to express my gratitude. The reason for my watching the orc was simple. I was hungry, and he had food.
Surviving in the woods on my own proved much harder than I could’ve ever imagined. I’d been scavenging for food for six weeks now, growing increasingly hungrier every day.
After losing my knife to a scary looking snake-medusa creature in the swamp about a week ago, I had no weapons.
I’d been eating mostly berries and mushrooms, but only the kind I could recognize.
Since I wasn’t thoroughly familiar with the local plant life, I was afraid of eating something poisonous and dying, which would be a sad ending to my far-from-wonderful life.
The orc had been a busy man. If I could even call an orc a man, of course.
Coming from the Avilet Kingdom in the world of Helfallow, I had never seen a bog orc before.
They were a reclusive kind, living in the remote Wetlands.
I’d read about them, and knew that they were primitive creatures, living in the mostly uncivilized Wetlands, in a tribally structured society.
Or in other words, they were sentient beings but hardly intelligent.
This one seemed to live on his own. I hadn’t seen anyone else around his cabin.
His dwelling was old, made with thick oak logs darkened by time.
But the orc kept the place clean. In addition to the fire pit with a metal grate where the orc had cooked most of his meals, there was a wide wooden barrel tub propped over a river rock oven.
After killing the boar, he’d hauled it to his cabin, butchered it, and had been processing and preserving the meat ever since. The orc clearly didn’t shy away from hard physical labor and worked tirelessly, taking no breaks, which gave me no chance to steal even a morsel of food.
Yesterday, he’d soaked and cleaned the intestines and seasoned the boar’s blood with herbs and garlic in a bucket. Today, he seemed to be ready to make some blood sausage with it.
“Looks good,” he approved, stirring the mixture of the seasoned blood and cooked buckwheat with a large wooden spoon.
He’d been talking to himself often during the day, and I wondered if he needed to break up the silence because he wasn’t used to being alone. I’d done that myself while working on my projects back home…when I still had a home.
Watching him proved mesmerizing. The orc worked methodically, organizing his tasks in a very efficient way.
My order-loving mind appreciated his neatness and attention to detail.
My food-starved stomach, however, spasmed impatiently, urging me to finally steal something to eat.
From watching him kill that boar, I knew the orc could move fast. I also saw how strong he was. He’d smashed the boar’s skull in with a couple of blows. He could surely snap my neck between his fingers, too, if he caught me stealing from him.
“Well, let’s do this,” he said in a deep rumbling voice, rolling up the long sleeves of his embroidered linen tunic.
He filled the boar’s intestines with the seasoned blood and buckwheat mixture, then fried the blood sausage over the coals in a covered cast iron pan.
A mouth-watering aroma filled the air. My empty stomach twisted in painful knots, making me feel like crying. I was so hungry, I could eat my own tongue.
Entranced, I watched as he put a piece of fried blood sausage on a plate along with a thick slice of bread and a generous heap of pickled cabbage. At the sight of food, my mouth watered so much, I had to swallow nonstop, lest I drown in my own saliva.
Sitting by the fire, the orc cut the sausage with a large hunting knife, then ate it piece by piece. My eyes followed every morsel of food he put in his mouth, while I was practically whimpering inside from hunger.
This was torture.
I prayed he’d go inside the cabin to fetch something, so I could grab a piece of sausage too, but he remained by the fire, cleaning up after dinner.
To the right of the fire pit was a wide wooden barrel on a built-in stove.
The orc filled the barrel with water from the creek nearby, looking like he had no plans to leave the clearing any time soon.
He didn’t even take the leftover sausage in, just put the thick appetizing coils of it into a wide ceramic pot, covered it with the matching lid, then set the pot on the steps by the door.
My attention stayed with the pot while my mind was working on a plan to get to it.
The orc used a big flat rock by the fire pit as a stepping stool to get to the wooden barrel on top and check the water.
“Good enough,” he muttered, getting off the rock.
Next, he pulled his tunic off. And for a moment, I even forgot about the pot with the sausage, staring at the undressing orc with stunned fascination.
The orc was built almost like a boar himself, with wide shoulders and a huge barrel chest. A scar crossed his face. His skull was bald like my knee, but all his hair seemed to have migrated downwards, covering his chest with a thick rug of short pine-green curls.
I closed my eyes when he pulled down his pants, but curiosity got the best of me. I’d never seen a bog orc before, certainly not a naked one. As if on its own, one of my eyelids lifted a little, then the other one followed.
Butt-naked like the day he was born, save for the golden hoops and chains in his pointy ears, the orc was climbing into the large, wide barrel over the stove, with the obvious intention of using it as a bathtub.
Seeing a naked human man would likely send me running for the hills.
But the differences in the orc’s appearance compared to a human intrigued me.
His hard, round behind came in my view as he bent down and lifted a leg over the edge of the tub.
I tilted my head in admiration of the thick muscles moving under his forest-green skin.
With a long, contented grunt, the orc stretched in the tub. The water splashed out, steaming when it hit the hot oven below.
Envy gripped me when I imagined how wonderful that bath must feel.
I hadn’t bathed for weeks now. My skin itched under the bear hide I’d been wearing, since my fine clothes had long turned to rags.
Silk and lace didn’t hold well when one kept falling into swamps or had to run from predators through underbrush on a daily basis.
Leaning back against the edge of the tub, the orc faced the picturesque view of the creek and the forest, turning his back to the cabin and, most importantly, to the dish with the blood sausage on the cabin’s steps.
This was my chance.
I slipped out of the tree quietly. Mother used to chastise me for tree climbing when I was little, but the skill had saved my life more than once in the Wetlands now.
As stealthily as I could, I sneaked behind the orc toward the pot of deliciousness sitting on the steps of the cabin.
Grabbing the whole pot would’ve been faster, but I’d need both my hands to carry it, which would impede my running. It also looked quite heavy.
Carefully lifting the lid instead, I nearly passed out from the mouth-watering aroma coming from the warm links of the thick, juicy sausage. Anticipation surged through me, making me feel lightheaded. I grabbed as many as I could carry, even stuffing one piece into my mouth.
The sound of someone clearing their throat behind me made me freeze in horror.
Oh, no!
My heart leaped with alarm before crashing down into the pit of my empty stomach in despair. Gripped by dread, I slowly turned around.
The wet and very naked orc stood behind me with his hands on his hips.
Holy Queen of Gods, he was massive! Even his neck was as thick as a tree stump. His muscled thighs could probably support this entire cabin with me in it, and his huge fists could likely smash in a boar’s head if he ever forgot his mace.
He towered over me, dwarfing me. The lower part of his wooly chest was at my eye level, but for some incomprehensible reason, my gaze drifted lower, down the hair trail between his well-defined abdominal muscles and to the dark-green curls at his crotch.
Unsurprisingly, his cock was also huge. A beautiful sapphire ring circled his girth at the base, making my mouth drop open in shock. I’d never seen or heard of men wearing something like that. Apparently, the orc liked to bejewel not just his ears but also this body part for some reason.
Almost as thick as my forearm, his cock hung between his thighs, nearly reaching his knees. Thankfully, it remained flaccid. Clearly, the sight of me didn’t ignite any carnal desires in him.
And how could it? After weeks of surviving in the Wetlands, I looked like an unkempt, wretched creature, wearing a torn, dirty bear hide tied around me with an equally dirty rope. And now, I was caught stealing the sausage that the orc had worked hard to make.
The evidence of my crime was apparent with the thick piece of sausage sticking out from my mouth and two long pieces clasped in each hand.
“These are mine,” the orc boomed.
The power of his deep voice at its full volume was intensely intimidating, making my knees tremble in fear.
He held out his hand.
“Give it back,” he ordered in the tone of voice one would use to command a dog. “Now.”
His dark, bushy eyebrows shifted into a frown, and I knew I had no choice but to give up my loot if I wished to live another minute.
Slowly, so as not to provoke him into an attack, I put the sausage from my right hand onto his palm. It pained me to unclench my fingers from around it, but he’d definitely hurt me more if I disobeyed.
“That one too.” He tipped his chin at the piece clutched in my left hand.
I had to relinquish that piece, too, with my empty stomach weeping in grief.
“And this one,” he insisted relentlessly, stretching his hand to the piece I held in my mouth.
But my teeth had already pierced the sausage casing. The delicious juices had already coated my tongue. I couldn’t give it up now. Even death by his massive fist didn’t seem so terrible anymore if I got at least a bite to eat in exchange.
He gripped the end of the sausage that was sticking out of my mouth.
“Leave it,” he said firmly, in the same dog-training voice.
Lowering my head, I glared at him from under my brow and…growled. It was exactly the feral animal growl that a wild, unkempt creature like I’d become would make.
“Leave it, I said,” he repeated, the warning thickening in his voice.
But I could not unclench my teeth from around the sausage. To take it away from me, he’d have to rip my head off too.
“A vicious wild thing, aren’t you?” he muttered, tugging at the sausage to free it from my teeth.
I jerked my head in the opposite direction, growling again like a dog with a bone. The sausage ripped in half. One piece was left in his hand; the other one remained in my mouth.
Jumping away from him, I ran.
I bolted as fast as my weary legs would carry me, saving what, at that moment, was the biggest treasure of my life—the chewed-off piece of a blood sausage clamped between my teeth.