Episode Twenty-Eight Alone Together

N adira

We watch as Azael's sturdy body climbs the nearest tree, then swings from limb to limb toward our hut. After the sound of rustling leaves fades away, it's silent except for the background buzz of insects.

The huge, green male steps behind me and finger combs my hair. His first touch makes me jump, but his sausage-thick fingers are gentle as he works his way from my scalp to the ends as we stand on the dappled forest floor.

Our exchange is wordless as he untangles my hair, then plaits it into one long braid down the middle of my back.

"Pretty," is all he says when he's finished. He gives it a brief tug that, if Azael had done it, would feel affectionate. With Dhar doing it, I'm not sure what to think.

He places his large palm on the small of my back and escorts me down the path.

"What could I do to make this easier?" he asks.

I'm discovering another layer to the swaggering orc I met at the fairgrounds. With no other males around, he shows a glimpse of a sensitive side.

"Tell me about yourself."

He grunts with a shrug. "Nothing much to tell."

"There must be something," I coax.

He reaches down and picks me up as if I'm a doll. I try not to shriek as he hefts me onto his shoulders, my legs draping onto his chest.

"Hold on to my braid," he says, referring to the thick, black braid that falls to his waist.

I see now why he braided my hair. Maybe he was laying claim to me, making me a bit more orcish. It's kind of sweet.

As soon as I get a grip on his braid, he begins to jog. Without growing short of breath, he tells of growing up in an orc tribe. I didn't even know orcs existed, so I interrupt frequently to better understand orc culture.

They're warriors, priding themselves on their skills with fists and weapons. The strongest of them rise to the top of the group, becoming leaders and ultimately the clan chief, which is what Dhar is.

Since I've been Down Below, I've tried to wrap my mind around how there could be so few females, yet the population remains strong. Evidently, there's something about the mutations that allows females to carry many babies in one pregnancy. Litters, he calls them. I guess that makes sense.

He says his mother and littermates died in childbirth and he was passed from family to family growing up, mostly having to fend for himself from an early age. That explains a lot about why he's almost completely lacking in manners.

"You said I stink," he says matter-of-factly. "I smell water to the south. Let me take a bath before we arrive at your hut."

" Our hut," I correct, only now realizing the finality my words symbolize. My life has once again changed completely in the span of a few hours. I had a few brief weeks of happiness with my monk mate. Now nothing will remain the same. "It's deep into autumn, Dhar. The water's probably cold."

"I'm an orc!" he protests, as if that explains everything. "I'm built for hardship. My new mate wants me clean. I will wash."

He dips low, trying to protect me from tree limbs as we leave the path and enter the thick of the woods. I make a quiet screech when, despite his best efforts, a branch whacks me in the face.

He reaches around, grabs my braid, and tugs my head lower. He's delicate, pulling me down in almost the same manner one would lead a horse with a bridle. Now our cheeks are almost touching as he wends his way down the gentle slope toward the water.

I inspect him, this new mate of mine. His green skin is kind of pretty, even though I wouldn't have been able to picture it on a humanoid only a few short weeks ago. It has variations, with little mottles of emerald in places. If his tusks weren't so prominent, his face would be very human.

And handsome, I only now realize. He was so full of bluster and swagger—and those damned tusks—it's only now I notice his patrician nose and high cheekbones. Not to mention those plump peach-colored lips.