Fury
Drokahr
She sure knew how to surprise me. Hannah did well in front of Solkar.
I was proud of how well she handled herself, how clearly she answered, how respectful she was.
A pet was a direct reflection of its owner.
Everything she did would reflect on me as well, so I was nervous when we entered Solkar’s tent, but knowing what I know now, my worry was unfounded.
Walking toward the training grounds, I was in a good mood—not only because of her, but because I could finally show her my skills, my strength. She needed to understand the honour of being chosen as my pet.
“This is the training ground. Warriors train alone or with each other,” I started explaining. “You will sit over there.” I pointed to a small bench at the edge of the grounds. She nodded and left.
I greeted a few of the other Orcs before making my way over to the weapon stand.
I preferred an axe—it was swift, brutal, the perfect weapon for war.
Once I had chosen one, I turned to look for Hannah.
She was sitting on the bench as instructed, but annoyance shot through me when I saw Solen standing right in front of her, talking. With a low growl, I strode across.
Solen seemed lost in his story, his hands flailing wildly. Hannah looked unsure, but her gaze eventually fell past Solen and onto me. Her face softened, and I allowed myself a small relief. Solen turned, spotting me, and greeted me cheerfully.
“Drokahr! Finally! Since you were busy, I took the opportunity to introduce myself to your new pet,” he grinned.
I was irritated by his words and by how familiar he acted toward her. “Have you now?” I said, my tone low and threatening.
“And what did you talk about?”
“He introduced himself. Told me how well you fight,” I heard Hannah say. I looked down at her calm, gentle expression, and it made me cool slightly.
“A true Orc warrior,” Solen laughed, grabbing my shoulder and shaking me. My anger faded further when I heard her hum in agreement.
Leaving Hannah on the bench, Solen and I returned to the weapon stand. I stole one last glance at her—she was watching me. Her eyes followed my every move.
I focused on Solen and began training. I swung, blocked, attacked—all natural for me, honed through countless hours. War had been part of me since I was small. Preparing for battle meant sharpening my skills, reflexes, and movements endlessly. My axe became like a second arm I commanded at will.
As we moved across the dirt, evading Solen’s attacks, I saw her watching. Her eyes fixed on me. It thrilled me. I attacked more viciously, losing myself in the rhythm, sounds fading until I landed blow after blow. Solen stumbled and fell.
“I give up,” he groaned.
Elated, I looked up, expecting pride on her face. My stomach dropped. Next to her sat a human man—Mor’s pet, Tom. They were talking. Her face turned toward him, her attention fully on him. He spoke; she listened, nodding now and then. Her expression softened, then she laughed. He laughed too.
I saw red. Blinding rage shot through me. My pulse quickened. My teeth clenched. I could hear Solen patting me on the shoulder, but my fury drowned it out. How dare he make her laugh? Her smile, her laughter—belonged to me. To me alone.
I threw my axe at the weapon stand, toppling it over, and stormed away.