The orc — Joarr, damn it,Joarr— shot her a suspicious look over his shoulder, and for a long moment he didn’t reply. But Gwyn kept waiting, following, and finally he shrugged. “Ach,” he said. “Bautul are oft… the horde. The hungry orcs you humans so fear. They fight, and take, and think as one.”
Well, that sounded horrifying, and Gwyn couldn’t deny the compulsive shiver down her back. “Lovely,” she said thinly. “So how doyoufit in, then?”
The orc’s shoulders stiffened again, and too late Gwyn realized what she’d just implied. That this orc — Joarr — was somehow different than that. Better than that, even. Because he’d refused to fight Roy. He hadn’t taken anything from Gwyn that she hadn’t wanted to give. He’d cared for her great-aunt’s garden. And he certainly seemed like an independent type, more than willing to operate and think for himself.
“I’m not suggesting that there’s anything wrong with not fitting in,” Gwyn continued, flatter than before. “I mean, if you’ve truly been spying on me for months, you’ve obviously encounteredmyfamily, right? Or my many close friends?”
Joarr didn’t reply, but again, Gwyn almost thought she saw his shoulders settle, his steps slowing. His head lifting, almost as if he were smelling the air — and then, without warning, he abruptly veered sideways, off the path, toward a distant clump of trees.
Gwyn blinked, but accordingly followed, and soon found him standing beneath an old oak tree, and slicing something off the trunk with his claws. Something lush and yellow, growing in horizontal fronds upon the tree, and — wait, those were mushrooms.Sulphur shelfmushrooms, in fact, notoriously difficult to find, and also extremely delicious.
“How did you know those were there?” Gwyn asked breathlessly, her mouth already watering. “Surely you couldn’tsmellthem, at that distance?”
The orc — Joarr — was smirking at her, apparently fully back to his smug self again. And before Gwyn could follow, he’d dumped the yellow fronds into her hands, and then snapped around behind her, tugging at her sling. And when he stepped away again —wait— he was holding hercrossbow. Not only that, but he’d somehow swiped all the bolts too, which were now sticking out from between his long fingers in a deadly-looking fan of pointy steel.
“Wait,” Gwyn snapped. “That’smycrossbow, orc. What are you —”
But before she could finish, Joarr had —vanished. Or wait, not vanished, because there was a distinctive rustling sound from above — and when Gwyn’s head jerked up, he was up in thetree. And not only in it, but standing tall and easy on a thin trembling branch, directly above her head.
Gwyn yelped and leapt sideways, before the fool fell on her — but as she stared, he took one long, flying leap, and landed in the next tree over. Balancing just as effortlessly on that branch, and then closing his eyes, and visibly inhaling. As if he were again… smelling. As if he were…hunting?
But yes, surely, that was what he was doing. Leaping from branch to branch above her, as easily as if it were solid earth beneath his feet. Moving further and further away, until all she saw was a distant shadow, and a trembling spray of pine —
And then she heard the distinctivesnapof the bow firing — and then the sight of the branch wildly waving, as Joarr leapt out of the tree, onto the ground below. And when Gwyn rushed over, still clutching the mushrooms to her unsteadily thumping heart, he was kneeling over what looked like a dead grouse, and deftly skinning it with his sharp black claws.
“Need dry wood for fire,” he said, without glancing up, as his bloody fingers tossed a disgusting-looking morsel into his mouth. “Lest you wish to eat this fresh?”
Gwyn made a face, and again, likely should have protested — but shewashungry, and if he was offering to cook for her, she certainly didn’t need to complain. So she carefully set aside her mushrooms, and went to work. Collecting dry twigs and roots from around the nearby trees, and piling them together on a large, flat stone.
Joarr soon joined her, now carrying a fully-skinned bird carcass in his claws. And though he offered no comment on Gwyn’s wood, he promptly knelt beside her little pyre, and after a few sharp snaps of his claws in the sunlight, it somehow sparked into sputtering flame.
Gwyn gasped aloud, her eyes wide, and that was surely another smirk on Joarr’s face as he set to making an impromptu little spit. And then he skewered the mushrooms together with the grouse on the spit, and soon was casually spinning it all over the fire, while the mouthwatering scent of cooking poultry wafted through the air.
“I smell sage, to the east,” he said, with a meaningful jerk of his head. “You find, ach?”
Gwyn didn’t even think about protesting this time, and instead just nodded, and went to search in the direction he’d indicated. Scanning all around for the conditions sage best liked — decent elevation, lots of sun — and sure enough, finding a clump of it in a grassy little clearing.
She returned to Joarr in good time, and he accepted the bunch of sage without comment. And then, to her vague astonishment, he promptly raised a handful to his mouth, tore off a large chunk, and beganchewing.
Gwyn watched with uncertain fascination — did orcs truly enjoy eating raw herbs, too? — until he actually spat out a clump of chewed-up sage into his hand, and then beganrubbingit onto the cookingfood.
“Oh,disgusting,” she muttered, and in return Joarr shot her a disapproving look, and purposefully bit off more sage. Showing rather more of his sharp teeth than was necessary as he chewed, and then deliberately spitting out another mouthful of mushy green into his hand, and rubbing it onto the grouse.
“I cook for you, youeat,” he said, jabbing a claw toward her. “You no yet eat this day, ach?”
Gwyn opened her mouth to counter that, but then belatedly realized that no, in fact, she hadn’t yet eaten today. And Joarr surely caught that, and he rubbed more chewed-up sage on the grouse, which now smelled so damned delicious that her stomach audibly growled.
“Ach?” he repeated, now pointing his finger toward her waist. “Also, you already taste my mouth. You kiss and drink me dry with owntongue. You can no be fool enough to sayfoodis worse?”
Gods curse the smug asshole, and his delicious-smelling cooking, and the way Gwyn’s stomach was flopping with something that wasn’t entirely hunger. The way sheagaincouldn’t even seem to argue, not even as Joarr peeled off a piece of steaming meat with his claws, and handed it over the fire toward her.
She made a face at him, but when he kept waiting, his black brows raised, she finally reached out, and snatched the meat into her fingers. And before she could properly consider what was on it, she stuffed it into her mouth, and chewed.
Andoh, it was good. Tender and juicy and succulent, the flavours made even richer with the sage’s seasoning. So delectable that she actually moaned as she swallowed, her mouth watering, her eyes fluttering closed.
Joarr’s laugh broke through her thoughts, the sound low and mocking and close — but when Gwyn jerked to glare at him, the look in his eyes was more amused than scornful, and he was holding out a piece of mushroom, dangling it toward her. And she eagerly snatched and ate it this time, revelling in its rich, savoury flavour, and fighting back the odious, rising temptation to return Joarr’s smug, teasing smile.
But then she was somehow smiling anyway, her fingers brushing his claws as she accepted another chunk of meat across the fire. And then they were just eating together, their gazes occasionally catching, almost feeling — easy. Companionable, even. As though that same mutual understanding had slipped over them, drawing them closer together, and next…
