Chapter 14
We walk by an open room where a group of orc children roughhouse. My gait slows down and I peek inside. They're smaller than adult orcs, but not babies. None are taller than a ten-year-old human.
Their play is rougher, though. They tackle each other inside chalk circles drawn on the floor. It almost looks like sumo. An older male orc sits next to them, watching them. Is this some sort of training?
The children wear bright tunics and leather boots, each adorned with intricate patterns. One child catches my eye, their braids woven with beads that clink together like tiny bells. Their eyes go wide.
Gorbag's hand spreads between my shoulder blades and he shoves me forward.
"Move, Green."
I wonder if the child was surprised or afraid. When Nell said the king doesn't like outsiders, it made me wonder what the other orcs think. We leave the room behind too soon.
"You're so annoying," I mutter under my breath.
He shoves me again, making me stumble. "Don't make me drag you."
A thunder of feet rushes from inside the room we passed and I turn around to catch the same child leaning out of the doorway, gawking at me. Two other children join them.
They aren't afraid, are they? Otherwise, they wouldn't have come after us. Going with my gut, I open a smile.
The first kid flashes me a toothy grin, and something warm unfurls within me.
Smiles are universal, it seems.
Gorbag steps up and grabs my upper arm. I yank, scoffing at him.
"Okay, okay! I won't stop again!"
He shrugs but lets my arm go. I pick up my pace to walk beside Drundak.
The hallways grow wider, and we pass more and more orcs. All of them gawk at me. None seem angry, disgusted, or anything.
Just curious.
I can't help but let my curiosity take over. When I started traveling, searching for unique places where I would fit, I never thought I'd be somewhere like this. This world is the epitome of culture shock.
I drink in every detail—their tattoos, either the color of saffron or butterfly pea tea, are striking against their green skin; their jewelry is made of gold and bone; their hair is up in complex braids and updos.
Shoving a hand through my curly hair, I flip it off my shoulders. I'm feeling self-conscious now, in my plain winter jacket and jeans.
And none of it matters, because we enter the dining hall, and I can only hope this is not the last place I ever see.