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“Daddy.” The preferred human term falls from my mouth again, lost in my memory.
“Aye, my girl. Lost ye for a second there, eh?”
“I remembered something. I was unhappy that you were going to Serenity and I couldn’t go. So instead, you took me to Creede for the first time. Gave me the nametag to work in her stand.”
He chuckles. “And then I had to get another because wherever you went, Hisa was sure to go.”
And then Brachard is there too. “Give me a real hug, lass. Make up for that dagger hug I suffered through earlier, eh?”
I chuckle. “Sorry about that.”
“Scared me to death.” He encloses me in his muscular arms and I get a whiff of cinnamon. He and Bakog both have a penchant for the spicy toothpicks.
When he steps back, Brachard bellows loud enough for everyone to hear, “Bring out the ale! The entire village will celebrate that Shalia has taken her name back this day! Our Shally is home!”
The evening means a bonfire burning bright, which is kind of nice because the temperature has dropped again. Bales of hay have been scattered around and some of the males use them as back boards. Bakog is one who does, and pulls me to sit on his lap, a blanket around us. We share the bale with Tok and Hisa.
“Stinky little wee brats better have their capes on before the hot chocolate is done!” hollers Mag, her hair up in a bun now.
From under the blanket where they huddle, we can hear squeals and laughter. “I stink, Auntie Mag!” calls out a little girl voice.
“Me too!” calls out a familiar one.
Then the little boy jumps out of the fort they’ve built and comes running for my lap. I open the blanket for him to settle. “Shally! Know what Mag called ye?”
“Shalia, the king-slayer?” I ask hopefully, as I nuzzle his wispy green hair. Behind me, Bakog oomphs dramatically at the added weight, making him giggle.
“Nay. Shalia, the orc mate de-brainer.”
I wince and Mag winks at me before stirring the cauldron of chocolate near the flame.
“What?” Bakog bellows, his arm snaking around me to tickle a little belly as Latjo laughs. “I’m re-thinking being your sister’s mate.”
“No, you can’t, Bakog,” Latjo giggles. “’Tis too late.”
Then Silann comes crawling out of the fort and since my lap is full, he inserts his little butt onto Hisa’s lap, where she sits with Tok. She wraps her arms around my little brother and it’s obvious that this is very familiar for us all.
“’Tis okay, Bak,” Silann says seriously. “Grumpy said ye already lost yer brains for Shally long ago.”
Brachard laughs when I assume Bakog mock-glares from behind us.
It seems all the brats call the orc king grumpy for grandfather, which I’d assumed meant he was the village’s grumpy old orc. But considering I did almost de-brain him, I’ll just keep that tidbit to myself.
“Do ye know what yer gunna name our sister brat?” Latjo asks.
“Me?”
“Aye. Momma and Poppa say me and Silann can’t name her.” He glares at his brother.
“What? DeBrainer was a good name!” Silann turns to me. “We was gunna call her Deb for short.”
And all around us, the orcs and humans alike start laughing.
“But I tole Silann not to tell Mom and Poppa yet. Not ‘til I give ma lots of kisses first and make her see how lovely the name is. But after he spilt the kitty, Momma said we’s not breaking family tradition and only you get to name her brats.”
“Let the cat out of the bag,” I say, and I can’t help but kiss his little nose. “And I don’t know about naming her. I’m not so sure I did a great job with you and your brother’s names,” I tease.
“Uh, huh, Shally. They’s perfect,” Silann says. “We got Momma and Poppa’s names.”
