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“Am I not contributing?”
At first I assume he’s being sarcastic, but then I realize he’s genuine. There’s a frown of concern between his impressive brows, and he seems to be looking around our makeshift camp as if he’s searching for something else to do.
If I had both hands available, I’d tug my hair.
“Are you always like this?”
“Like…” Hurian blinks at me.
Does he really not know?
“Are you always this quiet?” I clarify. “I’ve been trying to make conversation with you all day, and you’re just…”
At first I’m afraid I’ve offended him, but Hurian huffs almost in laughter as he leans back.
“Yes.” He almost seems content to leave it at that, but something in my eyes must prompt him to expand. “Yes, I am always like this. Dealing with others isn’t something I do well.”
I can feel my eyebrows climb. “Everyone in the clan seems to like you, though?”
I would have heard if he’s disliked. Orcs aren’t known for hiding their disagreements. But he’s never been summoned to the Arena to settle any dispute, and everyone seems to clap him on the shoulder as he walks by. If anything, he seems like he’s quickly become one of the more admired orcs on base. I’ve seen him speaking with Loki more than once, and Loki isn’t known to suffer fools.
“Of course they like me.” He angles the meat back a bit to roast the last morsel of meat. “Vhala rambles on about architecture, Loki goes on about possible ways I can fit into the clan, Inzo goes on about Loki. I just want to sit in peace, and they take it for tacit agreement. I could teach classes in popularity.”
Oh, so he’s got jokes.
Not just jokes, but he’s observant about the clan dynamics. If he’s not doing well with others socially, it’s because he doesn’t want to, not because he’s incapable.
“So you’re telling me that you’re…what? Shy?”
This provokes a reaction, and a thrill spikes my heartbeat when he looks at me with disdain.
“I am notshy.” And back to staring mysteriously into the distance. Forget teaching classes on popularity, he could teach an entire workshop on how to artfully brood. “I am efficient with my words.”
Okay, where the hell did this guy even come from?
I don’t speak for a while. The fire crackles, and I wait for him to volunteer any other sort of information. It soon becomes clear that the fire is more likely to speak to me than him, at least without prompting.
“So, you’re not originally from Burning Sun. At least, I haven’t seen you around before recently.”
He grunts.
“Is that a ‘yes’ grunt or a ‘no’ grunt?”
He nods.
“You know, I’m not from the Burning Sun originally, either.” I don’t blame him for not wanting to talk about his past. Mine is grim enough that I prefer to skate around it whenever possible. There’s the Dana from Before, and the Dana from After.
But talking to other humans who also grew up as slaves has helped me process the giant tangle of memories and emotions that come with trauma. Maybe he just needs to take that first step and talk to someone about what’s bothering him.
“Are you from up north?”
He grunts again, this time even less enthusiastically.
“Is that a ‘yes’ grunt or–”
“It’s a ‘mind your own business’ grunt.”
For someone not good with words, he’s sure as hell direct when he wants to be. He deflects my questions with ease, so I back off. I don’t want to pry or make him uncomfortable. The little I do know—his arrival coincided with that of the Bloodscar clan, that he fought against them—makes me aware that his origin is a topic I should tread lightly around.
