Page 60 of That’s My Orc, Tusk Off

“I need you to understand something,” I said. “It’s not that you struggled with the decision. It’s that you didn’t think I was worth struggling with it alongside you.”

His eyes opened. “That’s not⁠—”

“That’s what it feels like, Traig. You processed this alone because some part of you still doesn’t believe I’m really your partner in this. You believe it in theory. You say the right words. But when it mattered, you kept me out. Either I manage things in this office or I don’t. You need to step back from the things you’ve delegated to me, things, I’ll add, that you’ve told me I’m qualified to handle. You need to let me deal with them. I’m sure I’ll make mistakes. Everyone does. You’ll tell me what I did wrong, and that’s how I’ll learn.”

He’d been carrying this for days, processing it alone because he’d been afraid of what it meant if I was right. Afraid enough that our partnership came second to his need for control.

“You think they’re bonded too, don’t you?” I said.

“I think I don’t know.” He looked at me directly. “I think my practices aren’t set up to understand what you saw. I think I need you to tell me what you see.”

Everything tilted.

I leaned forward. “It’s not friendship or herd behavior. They need each other.”

He closed his eyes, but he opened them again.

“Let’s see how it goes this afternoon,” he said. “We don’t have to decide now.”

“Okay.”

The first family arrived at ten, two parents in their thirties, two kids under ten bouncing in the back seat.

Traig and I met them at the door, him tightening his spine, me rehearsing how best to show the family what we had to offer while remaining professional. My first in-person chance to show I could handle the human front of the rescue league.

“Welcome to the Creature Rescue League,” I said. “I’m Willa and this is Traig. We’re excited to share the puddlewumps with you.”

The father shook Traig’s hand first, then mine. “Jim Bellows. This is my wife, Samantha, and our kids, Rex and Rina.”

Rina, maybe seven, tugged her mother’s sleeve. “Can we see them now? Please?”

Samantha laughed. “Let’s let the nice people explain things first, okay?”

We walked them through the adoption process while heading toward the puddlewump enclosure. Traig covered their diet, habitat needs, and behavioral quirks.

I handled the softer parts.

“They’re semi-liquid, which means they can squeeze under doors and reform on the other side,” I said. “It’s adorable until you find one in your bathtub at three in the morning.”

Samantha laughed. Jim made a note on his phone.

The puddlewumps were housed in a reinforced pen with a pool and several hiding spots. Two of them, Biscuit and Gravy, because Drogar had named them, sat on a rock, wobbling in the morning sun.

Rina pressed against the fence. “They look like water balloons.”

“They do, right?” I said.

Rex, about nine, looked up at Traig. “Do they bite?”

“No teeth,” Traig said. “They’re filter feeders. Completely safe for handling.”

I opened the gate and stepped inside, crouching near Biscuit.

The puddlewump wobbled toward me, its translucent body catching the light. I scooped it up and carried it to the fence.

“You can touch,” I told Rina.

She reached through the rails, stroking Biscuit’s side.