Chapter Five
Vraag
By midday, when the school settles into its predictable rhythm, I am inspecting the east gate when a familiar voice detonates across the lot.
“By the ancestors, do you ever stop working?” Grulk asks as he joins.
I continue my inspection, recording a note in my assessment log. “Some of us take our responsibilities seriously.”
“Midday patrol,” he muses. “Morning drop-off, afternoon sweep… funny how your route keeps looping past a certain kindergarten classroom.”
I straighten to my full height, staring down at him. Despite being an orc, Grulk stands several inches shorter than me, with the stockier build typical of HammerFall clan members. “Ms. Walker’s classroom was the target of a break-in attempt,” I state flatly. “It requires additional attention.”
“Additional attention,” Grulk repeats, tusked grin widening. “Is that what StoneWatch calls it now? Because from where I’m standing, it looked a lot like you watching her during drop-off this morning.”
“I was performing my duties,” I reply, surprised by how defensive the words sound.
“Right, right.” He leans against his cart, clearly enjoying himself. “And letting her wear your rain gear yesterday was just being helpful?”
My hands pause on the gate latch. “You were present during dismissal?”
“Fixing the drainage by the east entrance.” He taps his nose proudly. “HammerFall clan. We notice things.”
I resume my inspection, tightening the latch with more force than necessary. “She was getting soaked. I covered her. That was the immediate concern.”
“Covered her,” Grulk repeats, grinning. “You StoneWatch warriors always start there.”
“Say what you’re implying,” I snap, though I already know, and the knowledge sits uncomfortably close to thoughts I’ve been avoiding.
Grulk’s grin sharpens. “In HammerFall clan, as in your own, offering your protection garment carries meaning. You don’t do it casually. You don’t do it by accident.”
I straighten. “I know what it means where we come from.”
“Ah,” Grulk says, pleased. “But we’re not there now.”
“Exactly,” I say. “This is a different world. Different expectations.”
Grulk tilts his head, studying me. “Funny, then, that you treated the poncho the same way you would back home.”
I return my attention to the gate. “StoneWatch teaches consistency. Protection isn’t something we turn on and off.”
Grulk chuckles under his breath. “You can call it consistency if that helps you sleep at night.”
“And you can call it whatever you like,” I reply coolly.
He grins, satisfied. “I am. I’m calling it the beginning of trouble.”
The protective oil applied to clan gear is a habit so ingrained that I rarely register it at all, a subtle scent undetectable to humans but distinctive to orc olfactory receptors. “Force of habit,” I justify, and do not elaborate further.
“Sure, sure.” Grulk’s grin returns, tusks gleaming in the afternoon sun. “And I suppose you wouldn’t be interested to know I saw her treating it carefully this morning when she arrived, clutching it like a precious gift before hanging it on the back of her chair.”
The image lands with unexpected force, tightening something beneath my ribs. “Your imagination is overactive.”
“My nose doesn’t lie, warrior.” Grulk taps it again. “Your clan scent is all over her now. And she doesn’t seem to mind.” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively.
“This conversation is inappropriate,” I declare, closing my assessment log with perhaps more force than necessary.
“Oh! He’s getting defensive!” Grulk says, as if noting something of mild professional interest. “Next, you’ll be telling me your chest doesn’t tighten when she looks your way.”
I feel heat rising to my face, an unacceptable physical response. “StoneWatch warriors don’t respond in that manner.”
“But they do blush, apparently,” Grulk observes, laughing again. “Relax, Vraag. Human females are quite appealing; no shame in noticing. Many of our kind have found compatible mates among them.”
“I have work to do,” I announce, turning to continue my perimeter check.
“Of course, of course. Security duties.” Grulk’s voice follows me. “But when you decide to pursue her, come find me. HammerFall has successful human-courtship advice to share!”
His laughter echoes as I stride away, my thoughts far less orderly than I prefer.
His mention of courtship lodges uncomfortably, refusing to be dismissed as easily as it should.
I’ve been trained to maintain boundaries.
Yet my instinctive reaction to Grulk’s teasing wasn’t denial of attraction but denial of traditional intent, a distinction I am not prepared to examine.
I complete my afternoon rounds without returning to the kindergarten wing. The poncho is still in her classroom. It can stay there.
School dismissal begins in controlled chaos—voices rising, backpacks swinging, teachers herding small bodies toward the correct exits.
I position myself near the main hallway, monitoring the traffic flow as classes merge and separate.
Ms. Walker’s students emerge last, still buzzing with end-of-day energy.
She walks backward a few steps, guiding them toward the buses.
“Remember, walking feet,” she calls, smiling despite the noise.
A sudden shout breaks through the din. One of the children barrels past her, momentum unchecked. Ms. Walker pivots instinctively to intercept—too fast—and stumbles, her footing going out from under her.
I am already moving. My hand closes around her elbow, steady and sure, arresting her fall before she can pitch forward. The contact is brief but immediate. Heat flares along my arm, sharp and startling, like a current snapping through muscle and bone.
She stills. So do I.
For half a breath, we are very close. Her hand braces against my chest. I am acutely aware of the warmth of her palm through the fabric of my uniform, the faint hitch of her breath as she looks up at me.
“Are you alright?” I ask, my voice low and filled with concern.
“Yes, yes,” she says quickly, though she doesn’t move away at once. Her fingers curl slightly, as if she hasn’t quite registered where they are. “Thank you. I… I couldn’t catch my balance.”
“You’re steady now,” I say. The words are unnecessary. We both know it.
She steps back, color rising in her cheeks. “Good reflexes,” she adds lightly, attempting normalcy.
“It was nothing,” I reply. It was not nothing.
After she and the children walk away, a throat clears nearby. “Well,” Grulk says mildly, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, “that was interesting.”
I release a slow breath and turn toward him. “Child safety requires attentiveness.”
Grulk’s tusks show as he grins. “Sure. But that wasn’t a child.”
“She was at risk of falling.”
“Mm,” he hums. “Funny thing is, teachers trip all the time.” I say nothing. “Never seen you treat it like a battlefield rescue before.”
“Standard response.”
Grulk chuckles. “No. That was instinct.”
I fold my arms. “You are speculating.”
“Am I?” He tilts his head. “You leaned in. Squared up. Went still.”
“That is posture.”
“That,” Grulk says cheerfully, “is interest.”
Heat creeps up my neck. “This conversation is over.”
“Of course it is,” he agrees. “For now.”
As Ms. Walker returns to her classroom, our eyes meet briefly.
Something unspoken passes between us.
Grulk follows my gaze. “She felt it.”
“That is speculation.”
“She felt it,” he says easily. “As a human, she just doesn’t have a word for it yet.” He pushes off the wall and starts down the hall. “For the record,” he adds over his shoulder, “you didn’t claim her. Didn’t bare tusks. Didn’t swear anything.”
I remain still.
“Yet,” Grulk finishes, laughing as he walks away.