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The stale flatbread drops from my nerveless fingers, for it is the same call of warning as I heard that last night in my village. My mind floats between denial and misplaced hope that a prince, accompanied by royal guardsmen, has come to liberate us.
“Attack!” A horn sounds. It strikes fear into my heart.
It is no prince who approaches, nor is it even humans who attack, but bears with monstrous fangs and mud-matted coats… abnormally large bears with blue eyes—shifters.
Screams rend the air as we scatter.
I weave left and right, dodging charging bears and raging orcs, desperately looking for safety. Finally I seek sanctuary from the melee by huddling beneath a wagon and making myself small.
As the frenzy engulfs the camp around me, as men and orcs fall amid the chaotic roars and shouts, I wonder whether I could escape.
I wonder whether Ishouldescape.
Am I a coward to hide, crouched behind a wagon wheel? What hope does a single woman have in such dangerous lands?
But what hope do I have if I stay?
None… and it’s this that drives me from the false safety of the wagon into a jagged run for the forest and freedom.
* * *
Doug
Reports of bear shifters following us came two days ago. Scouts were sent ahead to the nearest Krug guardpost to call for reinforcements, even as we hastened forward. An attack was always a possibility, albeit bold and unprecedented.
Now it is a reality.
My role is that of peacekeeper for bondservants, but when there is battling to be done, every able-bodied man or orc is called upon. I take up the club that rests at my hip and lose myself in the rush and roar of battle. Bear shifters are fast and vicious, but so too are orcs.
But, at this moment, we are outnumbered, and the outcome is far from certain.
The rain falls steadily, making the ground muddy and treacherous. As I fight against the vicious bears, I feel my inner beast. He has long lurked beneath the surface but does not often make his presence known. I sometimes catch glimpses into his mind. Although he is not restless to escape, he offers intuition at times. Over the last few days, since meeting Jasmine, I have felt him more. He likes her scent and the feminine curves of her body, how she is ripe for breeding, for carrying our child.
He thinks she is our mate.
For the first time in my life, I sense my beast wants out.
As the battle wages, my beast rails with increasing vigor against the orc. He doesn’t want to battle. No, he wants to charge for the bondservants’ section of the camp and protect our mate: a compulsion so strong, it is all I can do to hold it at bay.
I’m unsettled, moreso than I have ever been. I usually live life a day at a time. I expect little, and get little in return. Yet ever since meeting Jasmine, the tiny little human who let me pet her hand, emotions have been stirring inside, along with a dream of something more.
I am an ugly white orc—disfiguredand unfit to be a mate.
Yet none of this quashes my hope. I would dedicate my life to keeping her safe, to ensuring she had an extra crust, even a bit of jerky when available. I would care for her—lay down my life for her.
These aspirations are unattainable, yet they do not go away.
I was away from the bondservants when the attack began, and my battling has taken me further away still. My beast prowls within the confines of my mind, ever more restless and dissatisfied with my handling of this, as he urges me to seek her out.
Only, in the fight to survive, I find I am surrounded on all sides.
I smash my club into the closest bear, sending him crashing to the ground before I bludgeon him to death. The light of life leaves his eyes, but another bear takes his place.
As I lose myself in the fighting, I sense change is coming.
Change is not always bad.
It is not always good, either.
