Routine
Hannah
After Drokahr and I spoke, we settled into a comfortable daily rhythm. Mornings often began tangled in bed, him softly snoring into my hair. Sometimes we ate breakfast in our tent, sometimes in the dining tent, talking to members of his clan.
I met others like Halvar, the camp’s scout – a young, agile-looking Orc always on the move. Orcs usually greeted each other with curt nods or grunts. For those of higher rank, however, we paused and bowed, showing respect. I gradually learned who I had to bow to.
Whenever Drokahr trained, I followed, watching closely.
The training grounds were the most frequented place in the camp during the day.
The clanging of metal on metal rang through the air, mingling with the earthy scent of trampled grass and smoke from nearby fires.
Most of the time, he practised with Solen.
During our time on the training grounds, I also had a chance to watch Mor fight.
She was a force of nature herself. I once watched her practise with another Orc – a bald, beefy one called Kar.
She landed blow after blow, attacking from left, right, and centre.
I had a hard time keeping up. Her countless braids flew around her head with every movement; if not for her battle cries, it almost looked like she was dancing.
It made me self-conscious, realising I would never be as strong as she was.
I mentioned it to Drokahr one evening after dinner as we walked back to our tent.
“You do not fight. I fight and protect you,” was his answer. I didn’t know what to say.
Wherever Mor went, Tom was right there. Drokahr was still moody when I spoke to him.
Sometimes he would silently stand behind me, arms crossed, brushing my back occasionally, listening in.
I didn’t mind. From what I had learned about his clan, Orcs were territorial about their possessions. If watching eased his mind, so be it.
Through Solen, I discovered more about Drokahr’s past.
His father had owned a smithery, which passed to his brother Malek after his father died of illness.
Drokahr had spent his childhood training to be a warrior, learning weapons, strategy, war, and loyalty from the moment he could walk.
I began to see beyond the broody Orc – a child shaped by duty, now a man who carried that discipline in every movement.
“Drokahr would always scold me for sneaking into the kitchen after dinner, stealing another bowl of food,” he snickered, “but he never told on me, and sometimes he would even give me half of his portion!”
“Otherwise, you would have complained all night long,” Drokahr answered.
We sat together in the soft grass, the two of them taking a break from practice. Together, we enjoyed the sun shining down upon us, Drokahr’s shoulder brushing mine occasionally.
“Or that one time at the spring festival, when I got so drunk he stayed by my side the entire time. Even when I wanted to run off into the forest, climbing trees, he would drag me back to bed, threatening to tie me down!”
We both laughed; even Drokahr chuckled at that.
I looked at him, happy to see this carefree, gentle side of him.
Even the small moments revealed his softer side.
When I started washing our clothes in the nearby stream, insisting I could do it myself, he stayed close, watching me.
I lifted the basket, now heavy with all the wet clothing.
Seeing me struggle, he immediately came to my side, taking the basket from my hands.
“Hey! Let me help you!” I shouted, running after him.
“No.”
“But I want to!”
“No.”
“Drokahr!”
At that, he placed the basket on the ground.
“You one side. I one side,” he said, pointing at the basket handles. This was a compromise I could live with. Together, we carried the basket back to our tent and hung the laundry. I liked having him near – this gentle giant whose presence felt comforting.
On one of the last warm summer days, Drokahr and I made our way through the forest.
At breakfast, he told me it was time to prepare for the cold season.
“We have to make preparations ourselves. We will collect wood for our fireplace.”
Enjoying the gentle breeze, we worked on our tasks – Drokahr chopping wood while I collected the pieces and put them in our basket.
We worked together until the basket was full. Both of us were sweating by the end.
“I need to wash off, I’m drenched,” I said, tugging at my damp shirt.
As we continued on, the forest opened up into a clearing, revealing a small pond. “Drokahr, let’s take a swim,” I said excitedly, pointing at it.
“No.”
“Oh, come on, it’ll be fun. I feel disgusting,” I said, already making my way towards the pond.
Tipping my toes into the water it felt cool and refreshing. I sighed happily, wading in further.
“Stop.”
I turned to see him standing at the edge, looking displeased.
“It’ll be fine,” I assured him, moving deeper in.
He grumbled and growled, crossing his arms over his chest.
I was already chest-deep when I took a deep breath and went underwater.
It felt heavenly against my heated skin, cooling me instantly.
I surfaced again, drawing in a deep breath.
Turning towards him, I saw him standing knee-deep in the water, eyes wide, looking horrified.
Wondering what had him so worked up, I remembered how he hadn’t crossed the river during our chase. I felt a little ashamed of myself, realising I had tried to coax him into a situation he didn’t understand. Maybe I’ll teach him how to swim next spring, I thought as I made my way back to him.
“Hey, are you alri—hey!” I started, but stopped abruptly as he wrapped his large hands around my waist and pulled me against him.
Too stunned to speak, he hoisted me onto his hip and marched out of the water.
Picking up the basket full of wood, he balanced it on his other hip, not dropping me, and made his way back to camp.
“Drokahr?” I asked, unsure what this meant.
“Don’t do that again,” he grumbled, not looking at me.
It dawned on me that he probably didn’t like the idea of me doing something he couldn’t do.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly, hoping to ease the tension between us.
He grunted in response.
During dinner, I would hear stories about merchants, markets, and towns far away.
Curious, I asked Drokahr whether the colourful pillows in the sitting area had come from a merchant or a market.
To my surprise, he told me they were made by his brother’s mate, Nara.
She was apparently very skilled and could make anything out of fabric.
“If you would like, we can visit them,” he said.
“I would love that,” I replied, excited. The corners of his mouth pulled up slightly.
One day, while making our way through camp, we came across the gathering place. Seeing some Orcs piling up loads of firewood, I turned to Drokahr and asked, “What are they doing?”
“We will gather for the Founding Tale. Solkar will tell us about the lore of our ancestors,” he explained.
As day turned to night, we all gathered around the fire.
Solkar lit it, the flames reaching high into the sky.
Then he began to tell the story of Korill, the first Chief of the Kheelan Clan.
How he was a vicious warrior, winning battle after battle.
His might was so great that his clan’s chief felt threatened by him.
Attempting to get rid of Korill, he planned an ambush – but Korill, ever the wise Orc, saw it coming. He killed his attackers.
Refusing to return to his old camp, Korill set out alone.
Crossing rivers, mountains, and vast lands, he eventually settled here.
Hearing stories of this legendary warrior, Orcs from across the lands came to join him, fighting at his side.
Over time, a settlement grew, with quarters for warriors and families alike.
What had once been a single Orc became the Kheelan Clan as we knew it today.
Eventually, Korill died of old age at the end of summer. From then on, his death was remembered as the night the clan’s chief retold his story.
I was fascinated by the tale. Solkar, standing before the bonfire, gave it a dramatic presence.
He matched his voice to the rhythm of the story, making the retelling feel alive.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away. As the story went on, I grew cold.
Wearing only one of Drokahr’s shirts and sitting on the chilled grass, I began to shiver.
Beside me, Drokahr shifted, pulling me onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around me, drawing me into his warmth. I leaned into him as he buried his nose in my hair. Huddled together, we listened to Solkar and the tale of Korill.
As the seasons shifted, mornings and evenings grew colder. One day, Drokahr surprised me with leather trousers and boots. The trousers were adjustable, with stitched seams running down each thigh; the boots were sturdy, neither too warm nor too cold – perfect for the changing weather.
All these moments – learning about his past, discovering the camp, growing closer to him, getting to know the Orcs – slowly made me feel like I belonged. The thought of running away no longer crossed my mind. I wanted to make this work. I wanted to make this work… with Drokahr.
Drokahr
I enjoyed seeing Hannah getting accustomed to camp life. She was a curious, friendly, and overall joyful character, and I found myself not wanting to be apart from her. During practise, Solen would ask me about the other day when I stormed off, wanting to know what had made me so furious.
“I saw Mor’s pet and mine talking…,” I started, swinging my axe at him. He blocked it, now attacking himself.
“Possessive bastard,” he answered. “Don’t let this get out of control. The others are talking, you know.”
“Yes,” I answered curtly. Truth be told, I didn’t care.
Let them think what they wanted about me and Hannah.
I wanted her as part of my life, so when she asked about the pillows in our tent, I told her about my family: my brother and his mate Nara and their three sons; the oldest, Sen, being five summers old, and the twins, Muriel and Moril, born in spring.
It made me happy that she was so eager to meet them.
They meant a lot to me, being the only family I had left.
Noticing the slow shift in seasons, I decided to prepare for the cold season early. Knowing that it would be cold for quite a long time, Hannah and I made our way into the forest, collecting wood.
“I need to wash off, I’m drenched,” she complained on our way back.
Coming across a pond close to camp, she marched in.
I didn’t like it, but I knew that once she was settled on a matter, it was hard to keep her from doing it.
Still unsure how she kept afloat back at the river, I watched her with unease, my stomach tightening as she waded further.
Panic seized me as her head went under.
“No!” I screamed in horror, marching in after her, heart hammering.
She was drowning, I thought. Panic clawed at my chest, my breath quickening.
I needed to help her—I could not lose her.
My thoughts ran wild… until she surfaced.
Brushing her hair out of her face, she opened her eyes and smiled at me.
I stood there, paralysed with shock, blood roaring through my ears. As she drifted close enough for me to reach, I seized her, not wanting her a second longer in that pond, and marched off to camp. Where I knew she would be safe.
As the days grew shorter, we gathered around the annual bonfire.
I knew the story by heart, having heard it over and over again, yet it still inspired me.
Korill was the warrior I wanted to be: fearless, ruthless, and powerful.
Every Orc warrior strove to be like him.
For me, it was no different. So I listened to Solkar’s retelling.
Hannah sat in the grass next to me. Her eyes were wide, her mouth slightly open, and it was clear she was as captivated by the story as I was.
Pride filled me, knowing she appreciated my clan’s history.
The bonfire’s glow illuminated her features, casting light and shadow across her face. I could not look away.
In that moment, Solkar’s voice faded into the background; the only thing I saw was her.
Seeing her shiver jolted me back to reality.
I didn’t hesitate: I lifted her onto my lap, circling my arms around her small frame, keeping her close and warm.
Her hair smelled of the forest and summer flowers, and I held her like she was the most precious thing in the world.