“But,” Korik said, still frowning in obvious confusion. “Then... How old are you?”
Varen faked an offended gasp, then laughed. “One hundred and... four. I think. You’d be surprised how quickly you lose track.”
Korik was silent for a long moment, consternation still on his face. Varen supposed that for an orc, whose life expectancy would be about a hundred years or so, it might be difficult to consider a hundred-year-old elf to still be in his prime. Well, maybe notprime, but a healthy middle age–not that it made much difference for elves.
“I’m thirty,” Korik finally blurted out, frowning. “I’m closer to your...baby brotherthan to you.”
Varen laughed again, waving his hand. “And our prince and his husband are younger than both of us. It’s fine. Age means little to elves the way it might to you. Once you’re an adult, we’re basically all the same until you’re closer to two hundred.That’swhen you start really getting old.”
That got the orc to chuckle, though his brows were still furrowed. “Well, then, which was the lie?”
“My first job was, in fact, washing dishes for the local tavern,” Varen replied, grinning. Korik laughed again. “Your turn.”
The orc ran a nervous hand over the braid of his hair that draped over his shoulder, thinking about what he would say.
“My familiar is a cat. I won’t eat anything with coriander. And,” Korik said, then faltered. “Er, I like to dance.”
A grin split Varen’s face. The lie seemed painfully obvious, but he mostly wanted to hear more about the cat. Familiars seemed like the sort of thing only used by powerful mages sequestered away in towers, not something a healer might have; but Korik was full of surprises, he supposed. “Something tells me youdon’tlike to dance. Tell me about your familiar.”
“That obvious?” Korik sighed, then glanced over at him. “She’s a calico cat. Her name is Roz.”
“I’ve always been curious about familiars. Did you choose a cat, or is that just how it happened?” Varen asked, leaning forward. Korik shrugged.
“That’s just how she appeared,” he said. A small smile curled around his tusks, making Varen’s heart flutter. “She’s a calico, so I named her Roz after arozira, a type of material made by stitching together smaller pieces of fur or fabric to make a bigger piece. Similar to a quilt. So it sort of looks like a calico pattern.”
Varen grinned. “They say your familiar is similar to your own personality and disposition. I suppose you are a bit like a cat, aren’t you?”
Korik flushed, golden eyes narrowing. “How?”
“You’re slow to warm up, that’s for sure,” Varen laughed, leaning back. Korik frowned, and he added quickly, “But you’re observant and smart. I would say you like helping people, but I think that’s more of a dog trait, isn’t it?”
“I... I suppose,” Korik stammered. He hesitated, then added, “I summoned her when I was much younger, so... Maybe if I had to summon a new familiar, it would be different now.”
Varen considered it for a moment. “I could see you still being a cat.”
Korik chuckled at that, shrugging. “Maybe. What about you?”
“Me? A familiar?” Varen asked. He was not well-versed in the type of magic needed to create a familiar—most of what he knew was augmenting the abilities of his body. He had never needed the sort of magic that summoned things, nor benefited from a familiar, since hewasn’ta wizard cooped up in a tower with the need of an assistant. But it was fun to consider what animal might represent him best. “Perhaps an owl. Very wise, moves silently through the wilderness, one of nature’s most efficient hunters. And they can either be very formidable, orverycute.”
He grinned over at Korik, who rolled his eyes. “Well? Does that seem like an accurate assessment?”
“I was thinking of a different bird,” Korik said flatly. “A peacock, always preening and strutting.”
Varen nearly burst out laughing, but gasped in fake shock. “Oh, you think I’mbeautiful, then?”
Korik let out a strangled noise, color rising in his face as his joke was flipped back on him. The poor orc clearly didn’t know what to say as he looked away, stammering something intelligible.
“No, you’re right, I can see it,” Varen added, before Korik could get too uncomfortable with his salacious grin. “Although I think having a peacock following me around would be rather unwieldy. I’d never be able to sneak anywhere again.”
Korik nodded, looking relieved to have moved on. They were quiet for a little while, with the howls of the wind outside occasionally breaking the silence.
“Well,” Varen sighed, folding his arms behind his head and leaning back. “Any other ideas?”
Part of him wanted to sleep the hours away, but the thought of going back to sleep just a few hours after getting up seemed impossible. So they passed the time with more word games, then telling jokes—Korik was not very good at those—and eventually telling stories back and forth.
Varen was surprised at how similar many of their campfire stories were: tales that had been passed down across generations, likely just myths now, but had perhaps once had a grain of truth to them. Korik told him a story about Iri the Truth-Teller, who was visited by the gods when she sang to them, pleading to save her clan that was threatened by a plague. He thought it sounded very much like the myth of the Godsinger Erinden, who sang to the gods for the soul of his twin, dead from a sickness, until they wept with him and granted her life anew. When he told the story, Korik agreed they seemed similar, so they compared others to root out their similarities.
He supposed he should not have been so surprised. Though their nations had been at war for hundreds of years, there must have been a time even before that: when they had not been enemies, but neighbors, sharing geography and culture alike. Eventually, those shared stories morphed into the myths told over campfires, or while wandering the wilderness, like divergent species with a common ancestor. He wondered how many centuries it had been since an elf and an orc had sat together, sharing the myths of their people with each other.
