“Go, Atox. Claim your female and see if she can bear a youngling for you. And then you will see that this plan of yours will not save us.” Ossa turns, her braid whipping against me—intentionally—as she heads into the woods to clear the traps we use to catch small game.
I do not have the energy to pursue her, not that it would do any good. Ossa is a stubborn female, which is why she survived our father, why we all did. In some ways, she’s been a mother to me and Baxen after our father killed our mother. Perhaps that is why I let her speak to me as she does, because of all she endured as the eldest child of Narzik The Cruel.
Eager to claim my female, I move through the tunnels with renewed energy. The day has been long, the night even longer. After giving my female to Verig to escort to our settlement, I followed Fotak’s trail to a camp hidden on the outskirts of our territory. The embers from a fire were still warm, but there was no evidence of who had been there or what species. Someone has been watching my people and killed Fotak to keep their identity hidden.
When I push the door to my chamber open, I hear a cry which slices through me like a knife to the heart. The cry of my female. I should not worry over her, but I do. Too much is at stake here.
My female’s scent allows me to home in on her location. On the floor, between the bed and the door. With the slight glow of light discs in the tunnels behind me, my eyes take a moment longer to adjust to the pitch-black chamber.
“Aaatttoxxx?” Her tiny voice struggles with my name. I haven’t given her permission to call me by my personal name, but that discussion will wait.
“Vek,” I curse as I tap the light disc by the door. Dim light fills the chamber. My female isn’tsittingon the floor, she’s huddled there, pale, and shaking.
Quickly, I search the chamber for any sign that someone else is here, but the room and the few possessions I own are as I’d left them yesterday. The only possession of mine that is not fine is my female.
I crouch before her to examine her for wounds. Her face lifts. Stunningly dark eyes meet mine. The beauty there amazes me each time I look into her eyes, but I growl, disgusted at myself for being weak. Beauty is a false way of looking at the world, a trap that will weaken even the strongest of graks.
I lift her up, still amazed at how small and light she is, almost like a youngling, except she is clearly full grown. Her breasts, curves, and the slick folds I enjoyed touching atop my gorja leave no doubt. This female is ripe for bearing younglings.
As I gather her in my arms, she clings to me, burying her face between my neck and shoulder. I feel a protectiveness toward her. There is a vulnerability in her I hadn’t seen earlier.
Orcs detest vulnerability, and yet hers appeals to me. Perhaps because it is balanced by courage. This female stood up to me when we first met in the market and then again at the lake. Only the very foolish and very brave confront a grak.
This time, however, she does not seek to escape my hold. Something or someone has scared her, or she would not cling to me. Her arms clutch at mine, as if all the differences between our people—between us—no longer exist. In this moment, we are not enemies, or even orc and human, but male and female, two halves of a whole.
Holding my female without fighting gives me hope that taking other human females to save our species is the right move. From Ossa and Verig to the elders of our people, so many have voiced their concern and their contempt at diluting our genes. I held strong throughout the debates, despite my own misgivings.Showing any doubt, then or now, will destroy any chance of my plan working.
My female feels so small curled against me. As I sift through her hair, checking for wounds, she lifts her head, her face streaked with that wetness I saw earlier today.
“Are you injured, female?”
“I’m afraid of the dark.”
Fearing the dark? How very… weak. I cannot comprehend this. Will our younglings be as weak? My female will have to overcome her fears, like any other orc.
“We teach our younglings to ignore their fears or harness them to slaughter the enemy. Fear has no other purpose, than serving as a weapon.” I put my female on the bed and walk to my wall of weapons.
“I don’t want to fear the dark,” she says as I remove my weapons harness and scabbard and hang them on an empty hook.
I stand in the middle of my chamber, debating what to do. I have too much invested in this one female. And she smells so vekking good. I draw my forefinger to my mouth, licking it for what has to be the hundredth time since I ran it through her slick folds. The taste of her is long gone, but not the memory. I will not give up on her.
“What are you doing?” she asks, cocking her head, no longer shaking. Once I engaged the light discs, she calmed.
“You will not fear the dark,” I say.
“You can’t order a person to stop fearing something.”
“I certainly can. I am grak. Cease this behavior. It is dangerous and weak.”
“Like me?” she shoots back with a challenge to her voice. Her fire has returned.
I plan to get burned.
“Pash,” I say, shutting the lights with a simple command, thrusting the chamber into complete darkness.
“W-why did you do that?”
“You will conquer your fear.”
