Joarr’s head jerked up and sideways, his breath dragging in deep — and in a blur of urgent movement, he sprang to his feet. Grasping for the remnants of the grouse before scattering the spit and the fire with his bare foot, and then — Gwyn twitched and stared — he yanked down his trousers, grabbed himself with deft familiarity, and relieved himself all over the orange embers until they fizzled into grey smoke.
Gwyn belatedly jerked backwards, scrunching her eyes shut, shoving that vision away — but it was still there, streaming through her thoughts. And so was the truth of the orc, kicking more leaves over the fire, entirely hiding it from view. And then, before she even realized he’d moved, he grasped her crossbow, fastened it into the sling, and hung it over his own shoulder.
“What is it?” Gwyn demanded at him, but she’d already dropped her voice, her gaze darting toward the thick forest all around them. And Joarr’s answer was already there, in the way he spun to face her again, his hands clutching tight to her arms. In the way his eyes had darted toward the north, and held there, while another sharp, purposeful inhale filled his bare chest.
“Men come,” he breathed, the words low and intent, his gaze snapping back down to hers. “They shall soon be upon us. You wish to stay and meet them, and go safe back to your home? Or run with me?”
Go safe back home, or…runwith him. Gwyn’s frantic eyes were searching his face, her heart hammering, her throat spasming. And somehow her hand was grasping at his taut arm, her nails digging into his skin. Holding him here while she studied him, searched for the truth hiding behind the urgency of his eyes.
He’d cooked for her. He’d fed her. He’d offered to help her save her garden. And now he was asking again, and waiting, and for some ridiculous, unfathomable reason, Gwyn’s other hand snapped up, jittery and cold, to stroke at that tooth, still hanging around his neck.
She needed to save her garden. She needed to find her own fate, her own way. She needed to…
“Run with you,” she whispered. “Now.”
12
Joarr’s curt nod was a blaring, inexplicable relief. Thudding with impossible weight through Gwyn’s chest, steadying her trembling hands and feet.
They would run. Together.
And when he swiftly turned and crouched before her, and jerked his head toward his bare back — the bow now hanging at his side — Gwyn instantly caught his meaning, and clambered on. Fighting to ignore the shift of warm skin and powerful muscle against her as he stood tall again, one hand clamping on her arm, the other gripping at her thigh, hoisting her closer, his weight bobbing on his feet —
And then he kicked off, and ran. Sprinting with staggering speed away from the path, deep into the suddenly close-feeling trees. Dashing and dodging and leaping, his long steps almost entirely silent on the forest floor beneath them, as Gwyn desperately clung to his flexing back, and fought to remember how to breathe.
She could hear distant noises behind them now, the telltale sound of voices and crackling brush, but Joarr didn’t spare a single glance back. Only kept sprinting through the trees, his shaggy hair streaking out behind him, tickling at Gwyn’s cheek and ear. Because somehow, her face was buried in the crook of his warm neck, her eyes peering up ahead over his shoulder. Almost as if drinking in the sight of the forest sweeping by, in flashing swells of deep grey and green.
And even as her heart kept thundering, her hands hot and sweaty against Joarr’s bare skin, there was an odd, hurtling whisper of… eagerness. Or, perhaps, even appreciation. Not only for the beauty of the soaring forest around her, but for the agile strength beneath her, the easy drive and certainty of his steps. The way his body smoothly shifted into one movement, and then the next, as though running barefoot through a dense forest — while carrying her extra weight on his back — was boundlessly simple, something he’d done his entire life.
And surely, hemusthave done it all his life, to acquire this level of grace and skill? And for the first time, it occurred to Gwyn that she should rather enjoy learning more about this orc’s past. About what had happened with his clan, and how he’d learned to cook, and why he knew so much about plants and mushrooms. And why he’d been the one spying on her, the one to come to her, when surely there were hundreds — or even thousands — of orcs at Orc Mountain?
A shout from behind them sliced through Gwyn’s thoughts, and she somehow felt more tension charging through Joarr’s body against her, more power and focus beneath his feet. As if this were one last push, driving him forward, and her heart skittered at the sight of what looked like aravineup ahead. And surely he wasn’t going to jump, surely —
But he wasn’t balking, wasn’t slowing down. And the distinctive sound of rushing water was coming closer and closer, and with it, more shouts from behind them. And even the sound of barking dogs, good gods, and were these unknown men trulyhuntingJoarr, as though he were prey? As if he were ananimal? Weren’t they supposed to be keeping a damnedpeace-treaty?!
But the ravine kept rushing ever closer, Joarr’s feet pounding the earth, his focus a single driving point. And Gwyn’s hands were digging into him, her heart screaming in her throat, he was going to jump, he was going tokillthem —
His leap into the air was pure barrelling terror, Gwyn’s face buried into his neck, her body clamped against his — until suddenly, her stomach was wildly surging, the world flashing upside-down, the sky charging toward her. And it took all her furiously shattering focus not to shriek aloud, to keep holding on, Joarr’s hands clutching painfully against her, oh gods oh gods ohgods—
Until all at once, it stopped. Stopped, with Gwyn right-side up again, her vision violently spinning, her heart hollering, her trembly body somehow still fastened to Joarr’s back. While beneath her, his body began moving again, but this time, walking with perfect balance on a very thin, very shakytree-branch.
He’d hurled them into atree?!
But yes, yes, they were in a tree. A dense, towering pine tree, and Joarr was already climbing them higher, his clawed hands gripping the branches above, his feet stepping with smooth, silent care. And below them, the distinctive sounds of dogs and men and crackling brush came ever closer, surely they would be discovered, surely —
But Joarr just kept climbing, stepping very slowly now, shifting his weight from branch to branch, moving steadily closer to the tree’s thick trunk. Until finally he was close enough to touch it, his hands spreading wide against the rough bark, his shoulders heaving with his soundless breaths.
They were well over halfway up the tree, and surely concealed by the dense branches below — but Gwyn still froze all over as the barks and voices surged all around them. Suggesting several dogs, and multiple men, and the clanking metal had to be armour,weapons— and wait, surely they hadn’t truly been ready tokillJoarr? For what, making a fire in aforest?!
“The slippery bastard jumped!” one of the men called, his voice so close that Gwyn badly flinched, almost losing her grip on Joarr’s back. Earning what actually felt like a sigh from his taut body beneath her, and in a flash of deft, silent movement, he twisted and shifted her weight, easing her around him.
It meant that she was clutching at his front, rather than his back, her arms and legs still circled around him, and he hoisted her up a little higher, one of his big hands spreading wide under her arse. And then, with unexpected gentleness, he leaned her back into the tree-trunk, enclosing her between its solid bark, and the still-shuddering heat of his body.
“The orc jumped intothat?!” another male voice demanded, from far too close beneath them. “Then maybe he’s already dead.”
Gwyn’s indignation flared with surprising strength, and with it was a sudden, powerful urge to glance downward, to try to identify these assholes — but before she could even blink, Joarr’s warm hand had clapped against her mouth. Jerking her back to stillness, her eyes snapped to his, his rich scent swirling into her lungs…
His head silently moved from side to side — clearly saying,No, don’t risk it— and Gwyn swallowed hard, and then nodded back. Earning what might have been a twitch of approval in his eyes, but he didn’t move his hand, or glance downwards, either. Just kept standing there, pinning her to a tree, his shoulders still rising and falling with his heavy, silent breaths.
