Chapter 10

GURREK

I shouldn’t punish Sita for Merka’s meddling. And I don’t blame the little human, not at all. But just hearing the word cock fall from her lips had done something to me.

I was back where I began, the time that Sita bent over in front of me and I couldn’t help reacting to it. At just that one word, I’d gotten thick and heavy inside my trousers, and I thought I might spring apart.

It’s been harder and harder lately to leave those feelings locked up. They bang at the walls of their confines, desperate to escape. When Sita smiles, her face lighting up as she successfully learns a new way to communicate, I feel light and airy. For someone who’s lost so much, she’s able to find joy in small things. It appears she and Merka have become friends, which pleases me. At least she has someone else to help her through this transition.

And then, tonight, when she told me she hungered for my cock—a phrase constructed from a slang word for meat —all my blood heated to the point of boiling. It was so forward, so utterly lascivious, that I had to be imagining that she was saying it.

Still, I instantly fantasized about what I would do if Sita were truly propositioning me. Would I accept? What then?

But she wasn’t doing any such thing. Merka, that hag, had planted a seed in her poor, unsuspecting mouth. She looked so innocent as she said it, smiling widely, believing she was complimenting my meal.

Sita would never proposition me. She never wanted to come here, and she only chose me because she wanted an orc who would never try to get between her legs.

And that’s the orc I’ll be for her.

That night, when I’m alone in my room, I lie back on the bed and pull out my cock. I try not to picture my little human wife as I ferociously pump my length, but she appears again and again, no longer wearing her tattered clothes. I bite my lip and wince as a powerful orgasm rips through my body, and I spray into the air. It falls to my belly, and I wipe it away with shame.

The leaves are falling fast, so I make a point the following day of stealing some of Sita’s clothes while she’s gone before I head off to the clothier. The brother and sister duo, who work cloth and leather respectively, will need something to work from as her body is much smaller than an orc’s. I would hate for her to end up wearing a giant sack.

They are both astonished by the size of the dress that’s nearly coming apart at the seams.

“How can anyone be so small?” the sister says. “She is like a youngling!”

Once again, I’m reminded of how different Sita is—how little she belongs here. Moments like these, I believe it would be best to send her home, back to where she came from. I don’t understand Rulag’s plan at all, and I wish I could overrule him. Perhaps I should simply take her back to her village myself and pretend she escaped.

But the idea of it, of losing Sita, cranks a tight string in my chest until I can’t breathe.

“How many garments would you like?” the clothier asks.

“She will need an entire wardrobe. Thick clothes for winter, and light clothes for summer. She gets cold easily, so I would appreciate if one outfit were fleece-lined.”

The brother’s eyebrows shoot up. “This will cost you a lot, Gurrek.”

I sigh with resignation. I knew that would be the case coming in here, but having it affirmed makes me realize how much more work I’ll need to take on.

But I need Sita to be warm. I need her to be comfortable. It speaks poorly of me that my wife dresses in rags, like I can’t properly care for her. Merka hasn’t commented, not yet, but I see the way Sita shivers when a breeze comes up. The winter will be long and cold, and the last thing I want is for her to suffer in it.

“Tell me how much,” I finally say. The clothier writes up an estimate for everything—pants, dresses, shirts and a long cloak.

“Any color preferences?” She starts writing out a number, and my head spins as it grows.

Colors? All of Sita’s clothes are plain brown or beige, and most of it is stained. Of course I don’t know what colors she likes, because I’ve never asked her.

But I think I know what would look good on her. Her skin has a reddish tone that would shine in a rust color. Deep green would suit her long, dark hair.

After I’ve listed everything off, I pay out of a bag of coins I’ve brought along with me, and this purchase nearly empties my bag. I still have savings at home, but I have a feeling this won’t be the end of it.

When I get back to the forge a few hours later, I work hard to make up the time I’ve lost. I’ll need to knock out at least a dozen more orders to recoup the coin I spent today, so I lose myself in the forge and do what I do best: pounding metal.

By the time I look up from my work, I find it’s nearly dark outside, but I didn’t notice by the light of the fire in the forge. Shit.

I get up quickly and head to Merka’s house, but it’s full dark by the time I get there. When I knock on the door, she answers alone.

“I already sent Sita home,” she says.

“Alone?” I’m aghast.

“It’s not that far. She waited and waited, you know, but you never came.”

I imagine Sita standing inside the door to Merka’s house, her face looking more and more wilted as time went by and I never came to pick her up.

“Fuck!” The word just bursts out of me. “No matter what I fucking do, I get it wrong!”

Merka stares at me, eyes wide. “Gurrek? What do you mean?”

“Everything!” I could simply tear out my hair. “I keep ruining it. I ruin it and ruin it. I hurt her and hurt her. Over and over again, until we both die.”

“Oh, Gurrek.” Merka’s tone is pitying, and I hate that even more. “That’s not true. Sita speaks highly of you.”

Somehow, that is even worse. While I treat her as a nuisance, as another drain on my funds, she speaks highly of me.

“Why won’t you let her in?” Merka asks.

The question takes me by surprise. “She is probably in my house right now,” I grunt.

She rolls her eyes. “You are putting up a wall between you, and she feels it. Acutely. You are her only lifeline, you know. You’re the only thing she has here, since you will not let her out in the village, either.”

I glare at her. “She has you.”

Instead of pity this time, Merka’s lips twist up with anger. “I am not enough,” she snaps, and I’m taken aback by her ferocity. “She needs more than just a friend. She is lonely, Gurrek.”

“We see each other every day!”

“You know what I mean.”

I flinch. I do know, because it’s the same thing I feel. I wonder if Sita also dreams of touching, of exploring. But I’ve always assumed she doesn’t want that from me, that I would be taking advantage of her position as my ward. I would betray her trust in me.

“I never wanted her,” I say, straightening. “I didn’t sign up for this.”

“I know. But now this is the position you find yourself in.” She peers up at me. “Is it really so bad?”

I don’t know the answer to this question. Of course it’s not bad . Not when the little human compliments my food. Not when she learns a new phrase and smiles at me in accomplishment, or when she leaves Merka’s house, happy to see me waiting outside.

What’s bad is how much I want more. What’s terrible of me is how I long to touch her, to hold her, to do all sorts of lecherous things to her. How much I fantasize about her, how her scent drives me wild, how I scrub myself when I bathe to get the dirty feeling of my desire off me.

“No,” I finally say. “It’s not so bad.”

“Go home.” Merka straightens and shoos me away. “And stop being a gods-damned coward.”

With that, she slams the door in my face.

But she doesn’t understand. I can’t cross this line between us.

When I return home, I smell food even outside the front door. When I step inside, anticipating whatever meal Sita has planned, I find her sitting at the table in front of a multitude of heaping plates, her head resting on the table as if she’d fallen asleep.

She jumps up when she sees me. “Gurrek! Are you hungry?”

I try to force out a smile, though I’m still unsettled by what Merka said. “Yes.”

“I cooked many.”

I love how she tries but doesn’t always get it right.

When I sit down, the food’s not quite hot, which is my fault for losing track of time.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her as I serve myself some supper. “I lost myself in working. I meant to come get you at Merka’s house.”

Sita shakes her head, as if it was no bother—but her eyes don’t return to mine. “It’s all right. I walked.”

“I don’t like it when you walk alone.”

Sita bites her lip, shoulders hunched as she looks down at the table. “I know.”

“When the weather gets colder, the bears come down from the hills,” I tell her. She furrows her brow, trying to parse out what I’m saying. “Bears. Remember? I don’t want you to get hurt.”

She nods, looking even smaller. “I understand.”

I realize that I’m berating her for something that isn’t her fault, so I sigh and shake my head. “Merka should have walked you home,” I say in a gentler voice. That old woman ought to know my wife is too weak to protect herself.

“Merka is old.” Sita’s mouth forms a hard line, and her chin tilts up in defiance. “No bears.”

She’s never talked back to me before, and it takes me by surprise. I wonder if maybe she simply couldn’t before.

Strangely, I find it a relief. Now she has the words to say how she feels, and in a moment, I understand more about her. Sita doesn’t want to put an old woman at risk just to walk home. She’s trying to tell me that I’m treating her like a child when she isn’t one.

“All right, no bears,” I say, holding up my hands. “They probably won’t come out of the forest, anyway.”

She nods in agreement, and then we fall quiet as we eat. But an odd bubble of hope has risen inside me, now that she has the words to say her truths.

I want to know all of them.

A few days later, there comes a knock on the door of the forge. When I answer, I find both the clothier and the leatherworker carrying armfuls of clothing.

“We went a little overboard,” the clothier says. “You get a few pieces for free.”

I thank them both profusely, then they help me carry it back to the house. I fill the drawers of Sita’s dresser with undergarments, shirts, and pants, then hang up the two dresses—one red and one green—on hooks that I fashioned for her myself.

When I’m finished, I head back to the forge. As I work, though, all I can think about is what Sita will do when she sees it. After the way she responded to the new pair of shoes, I can’t wait to find out.

Even though I have so much to do, I leave the forge early because I’m antsy and end up waiting outside Merka’s house for a good half an hour while the sun sinks lower. Autumn is passing quickly—I can tell by how early it grows dark now. The final harvest is coming, which means a festival, of course.

When the door opens, I jump to standing straight because I’m overflowing with excitement to show Sita what I’ve procured for her. She and Merka are talking animatedly, and I’m pleased to see that she can now hold a simple conversation with a friend.

Sita’s face brightens when she spots me waiting, and waves goodbye to Merka as we head home.

“How was your day?” I ask as we walk. She tilts her head up to peer into my face.

“Good. Baby blanket almost adult blanket.”

I can’t help laughing again. Her smile widens.

“Did you learn a lot?”

She nods rapidly. “I can count!” She holds up her fingers and starts listing off numbers. “One, two, three, four, five.”

That will be useful. I praise her, and she beams proudly.

It feels... comfortable. Almost normal.

We walk the rest of the way in easy silence, but I’m buzzing inside. When we get home, I head toward Sita’s room, and she follows me with a curious look.

“I have a surprise,” I tell her, unable to keep the eagerness out of my voice.

“Surprise?” She doesn’t know this word yet. I just shake my head and open the door.

The first thing she sees are the dresses. Sita lets out a shocked gasp, then dives for them, immediately running her fingers over the fabric. She lets out a string of words in her tongue as she admires them, even bringing one of the skirts up to her cheek to rub it.

“That’s not all,” I tell her, and open the top drawer of her dresser, then the second drawer, and finally, the third. Sita’s hands fall from the dress, and her eyes get huge and round.

“Gurrek?” she asks uncertainly, peering into the drawer at the undergarments the clothier prepared for her. She sorts through them, her lips tilting farther and farther down.

Does she not like them? Did I make some kind of mistake?

Sita closes the top drawer so she can pick through the second drawer, which contains her new shirts, some with short sleeves and some with long so she’ll be prepared for all types of weather. Then she closes that, too, and finds the bottom drawer filled with pants and skirts. Again, there are some for winter, and some lighter fabrics for summer.

Sita’s shoulders draw tight together, and when she looks up at me, her eyes are red and dripping tears.

Fuck. What have I done wrong?

Suddenly, she shoots to her feet. Before I can react, she’s catapulted toward me, wrapping both arms around my big body. I stiffen all over, utterly baffled by what’s happening.

“Gurrek!” she sobs, pressing her face into my chest. I feel wetness through my shirt. She unleashes another exclamation in her language, holding me even tighter.

I may not be able to understand her, but I think I know what she means. She’s happy. My gift has landed, even more than I anticipated.

Uncertainly, I lower my arms to settle over her shoulders, and Sita cries even harder, pressing her cheek against me with an intense affection. I rub her back gently, unsure whether I should be comforting her. She’s never reacted to something so emotionally, and I’m as alarmed as I am pleased. Her body feels so soft, so warm in my arms, that I don’t want to let her go.

It feels... right.

After a few moments, Sita’s crying ebbs. She sniffs, wiping her face with one hand, and gazes up at me with the happiest face I think I’ve ever seen.

“Thank you,” she whispers, and I release her from my arms. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome.” This is far and above the response I expected, but I’m overjoyed by it. “I want you to be warm this winter.”

She smiles the most radiant smile up at me, then flits back over to the dresser to sift through the clothing a second time, stroking the insides of the fur-lined shirt and sniffling again.

“Oh, there’s one more thing,” I say, realizing I’d forgotten. I head out into the hall, where I’ve hung up her cloak next to mine. She follows me as I pull it off the hook and hold it out to her.

“For me?” she asks, disbelieving.

“Of course,” I say as I hand it to her. “It’s too small for me.”

Sita giggles as she runs her fingers over the fine gray wool, then slips it on over her back, tying it around her neck. Her eyes are glassy again, but she doesn’t cry.

“It’s beautiful.” She tugs it closer around her, reveling in its warmth. “Thank you.”

She is such a sweet, small thing that my heart feels close to bursting. All I can do is nod and smile, immensely proud of how my gift was received.

I’ll have to get her more of them if I receive tender embraces as my reward.