Chapter 4 #2
Sadly, Reizon would never leave me alone for as long as he lived, just as he would never abandon his ambitions.
If he was still alive, which I didn’t know for certain, he’d be looking for me.
But I couldn’t tell the orc the truth, not when Reizon might be raking the Wetlands with a fine-tooth comb in search of me.
I nodded silently in reply to the orc’s question, as if not speaking the words out loud made it less of a lie.
“Well,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “if it’s just you, and my place isn’t going to be overrun by a feral horde of wild things, then you can stay.”
Did he really mean it?
My heart leaped with hope. He must’ve seen it on my face because his lips curved in a smirk that made his scarred face look like he was winking at me.
“Seeing that you’ve already invaded my space anyway,” he added with a shrug, then tipped his chin at the kettle. “The tea will be ready soon.”
For a moment, I just sat there, fully absorbing his words. Was he not going to chase me away?
And the tea? Was he going to share his food with me?
The anticipation of having the hot liquid in my stomach spread through my body, warming me from the inside.
Then, a suspicion crawled into my chest. What would he want in return? No one gave something for nothing, and I had nothing to pay him with.
“Why?” I asked warily.
He stared at me for a moment, as if caught off guard by my question.
“Fuck if I know.” He scratched the back of his head. “It’s not like I always pick up strays in the woods. But you’re in a sorry state, even for a wild thing. And I have some food to spare. So…” he spread his arms wide. “I may as well feed you if you don’t give me any trouble.”
I wasn’t going to give him the kind of trouble he meant, but my potential to create huge problems for him simply for helping me remained high. As long as he didn’t know the truth about me, however, I believed he’d be safe.
The orc seemed to think I was one of the “apemen” that I’d also read about.
They lived far south of here and were essentially a slightly more advanced subspecies of monkeys.
They had no speech but could clothe themselves in leaves or furs to protect their bodies from the elements.
They also occasionally used rocks and sticks as tools.
If that was who the orc thought I was, I had no intention of proving him wrong. It might also spare me from any further questions.
“No trouble,” I said, sticking to brief answers to fit in better with my part as a “wild thing.”
A thin whistling sound from the kettle’s spout announced that the water had boiled.
“Alright then.” The orc moved the kettle away from the flames.
He brought two mugs with some loose tea, a plate with thin breakfast sausages, and a half loaf of bread.
The sight and smell of food made my mouth water. But since I had a proper dinner last night, thanks to the orc’s kindness, I was able to wait patiently instead of lunging for the sausage like the feral beast the orc thought I was.
“Go wash your hands, and we’ll have breakfast,” he said, tossing the sausages on the grill.
After I washed my hands under a bucket faucet nailed to a post nearby, the orc gave me a steaming mug of tea, and a plate piled high with toasted bread and fried sausage.
My heart swelled with gratitude as my stomach rumbled. I could’ve composed an epic poem to express how incredibly grateful his kindness made me feel. But “wild things” didn’t write poems, did they?
“Thanks,” I muttered, accepting the plate from him.
I noticed he wrinkled his nose and walked away from me quickly as soon as I took the plate, and mortification sliced through me, heating my face with shame.
After six weeks in the woods, I probably stunk like a rotting carcass left in a bog.
I had lived and slept in the dirty fur hide that I hadn’t taken off for ages.
I’d fallen into swamps, barely making out of them.
A bird pooped on me once when I was sleeping in the tree.
And I hadn’t had a bath for two months now.
The one time when I tried to bathe in a pond, I got attacked by a swarm of eight-legged rats. My skin still crawled with horror and disgust when I recalled their little feet clawing at my naked body as I ran away screaming.
The orc took a seat in the chair farthest away from mine.
“What’s your name?” he asked between bites of his breakfast.
Since real apemen didn’t speak, I was pretty sure they didn’t give each other names either.
But the orc didn’t seem to know much about the species he believed I belonged to.
Caution dictated I give him a fake name, but I didn’t want to lie to him again.
Lying to his face felt like an insult especially after he’d shown me so much kindness.
“I’m Khala,” I took the risk, giving him my real name.
Since my people knew so little about bog orcs, I figured that bog orcs wouldn’t know much about the Avilet Kingdom either. And I was right, there was no recognition on his face at the sound of my name.
“Khala,” he repeated, as if tasting it on his tongue. “It’s lovely. I didn’t know that wild things had such pretty names. I thought they addressed each other mostly by grunts or with punches.”
That was the notion I’d actually held about the bog orgs before meeting him. Based on that knowledge, his name would be something like Noot or Gruk.
“You?” I asked, pointing at his chest.
“My name?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Grat.” He proudly slapped himself on the chest.
I snorted a laugh. Not exactly a Noot or Gruk but close enough.
“What?” He sounded confused.
“Good name,” I assured him, hiding a smile. “Strong.”
“Strong,” he agreed with a confident grin.
Maybe it was the food in my belly and the warm cup of tea in my hands that made me feel better than ever, but I found his smile rather handsome. Even the crudely healed scar on his face didn’t spoil it. On the contrary, it made his smile look cheeky, whether or not he intended it.
“Well.” He got up after finishing his breakfast and pointed at the pile of logs next to his chopping block. “This wood isn’t going to chop itself.”
“Can I help?” I jumped to my feet, eager to repay him somehow.
“You?” He gave me a skeptical once-over. “No. The last thing I need is you chopping off your leg by accident, provided you can even lift my ax. How about doing the dishes instead? Come here, I’ll show you how.”
He took a metal bowl and splashed some hot water from the tea kettle into it.
“Look, you take a plate like this, then the dishcloth…” He demonstrated the process of washing a plate step by step, obviously believing I’d never seen it done before.
He wasn’t wrong. I never had to wash my own dishes before, but not for the reasons he thought. Not so long ago, I had plenty of servants doing everything for me, including washing the dishes.
Trying to keep downwind from him, so as not to offend him with my smell again, I dutifully watched his demonstration, then diligently scrubbed the plates like my life depended on it, because it really did. If Grat sent me away, I wasn’t sure how much longer I’d last in the Wetlands on my own.
“Good girl,” he rumbled approvingly when I presented him with the clean dishes. “If you learn everything as fast and work as hard, we’ll get along just fine.”