2. Traig
CHAPTER TWO
TRAIG
Ialways used the time it took to walk to my cottage for going through my day. I would review any intakes, the medical supply levels from images I’d taken with my phone, and think about what I’d do the following day.
As I took the path through the woods leading to the row of cottages where my friends and I lived, a low, rhythmic flapping behind me broke my focus.
I turned to find Fred the grumbletoad floating above the gravel path, his tiny wings fluttering.
“Fred,” I said, my voice firm. “Enclosure four. Now.”
Fred grumbled, though it didn’t sound like a pleased grumble to me. He bobbed up and down, his tiny legs dangling.
I turned and continued toward my cottage. He followed, bumping into trees, flying just behind my left shoulder. When I reached my door, I turned again.
“You’re a social creature, but this is a private home,” I said. “You have your own place with the other creatures.”
Fred knocked into the doorframe and let out a higher-pitched grumble that did sound like satisfaction.
I sighed. It was late. Bringing him back would take more time than I’d like. “One night only,” I said, opening the door. “For behavioral observation purposes. I’ll document your sleep patterns and put them in triplicate. And give copies to Laina and Drogar in the morning.”
Fred flew inside and to my kitchen, floating toward the corner above my empty kitchen chair, grumbling.
I followed and after washing up, diced billabog root with careful, even cuts, feeding a few pieces to my “guest”. Usually, cooking soothed me. Tonight, I kept making uneven chunks, and I didn’t like it.
The knife hit the cutting board in steady intervals. Everything appeared in order. Except the cuts weren’t coming out right.
I kept seeing Willa. How she’d frowned at my filing system. The way she’d moaned with joy while she ate the food Drogar prepared. And her legs dangling from the break room chair.
I set the knife down with a clatter.
This was ridiculous. There was nothing unusual about her.
She was an employee. Brovish had made the right decision in hiring her, and I’d eventually told him so.
Her instincts with the phone intake had been sound.
Her questions during orientation made sense.
She’d read most of the manual and hadn’t complained about the filing system even though her face had suggested she wanted to.
I scraped the billabog into the pan and added oil.
She’d laughed when I said sixty-five pages as if I’d made a joke instead of stating a fact.
The oil heated. I added spices, chunks of rooledar meat, and stirred.
Her skin was warm light brown, and smooth. Her tight curls framed her face, and she’d tucked one side behind her ear twice during orientation. A nervous habit, maybe.
I hadn’t been able to drag my gaze away from her rich brown eyes behind her glasses that made her appear incredibly intelligent.
I added ground carataugh to the pan.
Humans were so much smaller than orcs. The top of Willa’s head had barely passed my elbow.
Yet Brovish and Laina didn’t find this a problem.
Neither did many of the orcs who’d taken human mates.
Willa was equally tiny, though a bit taller than Laina.
And curvy. She’d climbed into the break room chair with both hands on the seat and settled, looking sweet with her feet dangling in the air.
Tomorrow, I’d tell Brovish that we should purchase human-scale seating. Laina had probably been dealing with the same issue for months.
I’d forgotten to mention it until now.
That was all.
I stirred the mixture until the meat had cooked through, then scooped some up onto a plate, adding a piece of vrindal I’d toasted and spread thickly with butter. Butter was a human thing, but I loved it. I put it on almost anything, to my friends’ amusement.
When Fred’s grumble rose in volume, I picked out some of the vegetables and put them on a smaller dish for him, placing it on the counter. He floated over and started to eat.
“Do not get used to me cooking for you,” I told him.
His grumbles grew louder.
That reminded me of how Willa had held her bread at lunch. She’d turned it in her hands before taking a bite, measuring its weight and texture before committing.
She’d asked three questions during the orientation.
Four, if I counted the one about the filing system that she’d phrased as a clarification rather than a true question.
She’d tucked her hair behind her ear multiple times.
The left side, not the right. She’d smiled at every orc she met, but the smile had shifted slightly with each one.
Wider for Brovish, softer for Laina, and more cautious for me until I’d answered her question about intake protocols. Only then had it warmed.
I needed to stop thinking about things like this. I’d read it was good to leave work behind. Yet, here I was, thinking about our new office manager.
I sat at my table that had two chairs, though no one had ever sat in the second one, and ate quickly. The food tasted good. I’d made the dish correctly. The seasoning held the right balance of spiciness and salt.
Then I realized the issue.
My cottage was too quiet. That was the problem. I’d just never noticed that before.
I dragged my tablet closer and opened tomorrow’s task list. Intake processing.
Enclosure protocols. The driftwhisp feeding schedule that needed updating.
I’d do that now while I had time to think without interruption.
Without someone frowning at my filing cabinets and disrupting my carefully maintained systems.
After I’d handled the driftwhisp issue, I got up and washed the dishes. I left the kitchen, stopping in the center of the adjacent living area.
Fred fluttered in behind me, landing on the back of my sofa.
Watching me.
“This is my space,” I said. “I built it to my specifications. Everything here works exactly as I need it to.”
Fred tilted his head, clearly listening, his grumbles growing louder.
My home had solid walls, good insulation, and it was far enough from the other buildings that I could think without interruption.
Then why couldn’t I settle?
I tightened my grip on my tablet and left my home, striding back toward the rescue building with Fred drifting behind me.
I’d already organized the supply room. Reorganized it. Done it again. No one had disrupted it since my last reorganization, thankfully. But there was no harm in making sure the latest supply delivery had been placed in the proper locations.
I’d show Willa the room tomorrow, and it needed to look just right.
When I reached the building, I took Fred around to the back and the pen Drogar had built for him, urging him inside. I ignored how his grumbles thinned to almost nothing while securing the gate.
“You can’t sleep with me tonight,” I said.
His grumbles faded to nothing as I turned and went inside the building.
A short time later, I stood in the doorway with my label maker and told myself this wasn’t a bad thing to do.
The medical supplies shelf had various colored labels, alphabetical within categories. Color-coded by expiration date ranges. Anyone could navigate it.
I printed a new label: Medical Supplies—Sutures—Absorbable—Size 3-0—Exp. Date Range…
The current label said Sutures - 3-0 - Absorbable. It wasn’t specific enough, and it didn’t include the expiration date.
The new one was more specific. More thorough.
I peeled off the old label and applied the new one, smoothing it flat with my thumb.
Better.
I moved to the next shelf.
This was a helpful thing to do for my friends. They’d find tracking inventory more efficient. Me being here late had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Willa had looked at my filing system like it was written in a language she didn’t speak.
I couldn’t stop thinking about how her forehead had creased when she opened the third drawer.
I printed another label.
“How many pages was the manual?” someone said behind me.
Greth didn’t need volume to fill a room.
“Sixty-five,” I said, smoothing the new label onto a bin of gauze rolls, glancing his way. “Sixty-seven now, with a new appendix.”
“Laina’s was zero pages.”
“Krem handled it for me.”
Greth lifted his eyebrows.
The tallest of us, he was broader than me, and he used silence the way other orcs used words. I sometimes found it infuriating.
Like now.
I set the label maker down on an empty space on the shelf. “It’s good she’s here. Brovish made the right decision in hiring her.”
“Mm.”
“She’s efficient.”
“Mm.”
“Organized. Friendly. She showed good instincts with a phone intake today.”
The worst part about Greth was that he didn’t need to speak to make his point. His left eyebrow did all the work.
“She’s going to rearrange the filing system,” I said.
“Good.”
“It’s actually not. The current system works.”
“For you.”
He was right, which made him even worse to argue with.
“Your parents controlled every bit of your life,” he said.
We didn’t talk about my family. Not even Drogar, who asked about everything, pushed open that door.
I turned back to the shelf and picked up the label maker. “That’s not what this is about.”
“No?”
“This is about maintaining consistent standards across facility operations. If I don’t establish clear protocols now, before the staff expands further, we’ll end up with chaos.”
“You like chaos,” Greth said. “We all do. That’s why we’re here.”
I wanted to argue. The words lined up on my tongue. I just couldn’t get them out.
“Your filing system makes Krem cry,” he said.
“Krem doesn’t cry.”
“On the inside.”
I printed another label with a jerk of my hand.
“You don’t have to be like your parents,” Greth said. “You know that.”
My throat had tightened in a way I didn’t appreciate.
“Willa smiled at you,” he said. “You smiled back.”
“I didn’t—”
“Your mouth moved upward.”
My mouth had moved. I’d felt it happen, the muscles shifting without my permission, and I’d had no idea what to do about it, so I’d done nothing.
Greth turned and left.