11. Hayden

11

HAYDEN

I ’m still not sure why I gave him my name.

The orc seems friendly, which is hard to wrap my head around. I’ve never experienced anything but hatred and torture from his kind, and it’s hard to trust in his efforts to spend time with me.

Once I’m sure he’s gone, I make my way back to the stream and browse through the basket he left behind. My mouth waters at the scent of fresh bread. I unpack fresh strawberries, a chunk of ham wrapped in paper, and some hardened sweets that smell like vanilla. After living on foraged greens and the sparse meat I’ve been able to get from smaller animals, this is a feast.

I can’t help the twinge of gratitude from warming my insides.

The warmth is short-lived, though. Goosebumps erupt along my arms from the icy wind that sweeps over the water. With a grimace, I look up at the gray sky.

“Rainy season has arrived,” I mutter to myself.

Shivering, I tug the ratty flag tighter around my shoulders. The thin fabric provides little warmth or protection from the elements. I need to prepare if I'm going to survive the brutal months ahead.

I glance around the clearing I’ve settled into. There is no real shelter here, just bare earth and towering trees.

Sighing, I rub my raw, aching hands together. Loneliness washes over me, deep and chilling. Not for the first time, I wish for a companion to talk to, someone to help me in my endless fight to simply exist out here.

The orc's smiling face flashes in my mind and I shake my head angrily.

“I can't trust him. Can't let my guard down,” I mutter to myself. Still... he's the first being to show me kindness in forever. Part of me yearns to see him again, hear his deep rumbling voice. But I know seeking friendship will only lead to more hurt.

My stomach rumbles loudly, interrupting my thoughts. I don’t want to eat too much from the gift basket yet, because I don’t know what’s going to happen once the weather turns for good. I wrap my makeshift cloak tight and head for the stream, hoping to catch a fish before full dark. The sky rumbles overhead, wind whipping my tangled hair. But the fish elude me. The animals are hiding from the coolness in the air, so hunting yields nothing, too.

I retreat back to the bare clearing hungry and discouraged, the threat of winter weighing heavily on my mind. Curled at the base of a broad tree, my thoughts stray to the strange orc who might just offer me a scrap of hope against the coming storm.

The next day I return to the stream, wary of the orc's presence. Yet part of me hopes to see his smiling face again. I spot Cagan across the bank.

"Hayden! Good to see you again," he shouts in greeting.

Sensing my hesitation, Cagan backs away further down the opposite bank.

"How are you today? Catch any good fish?" his rumbling voice carries over the burbling water.

I share nothing, but let his words wash over me as I rinse my flag-cloak in the chilly water. The sky is mostly gray, but bits of sunshine peek out occasionally. Hopefully this will dry before the temperature drops later in the day.

"The cook made some great bread this morning," he chatters. “I brought you some.” He sets the parcel down on a nearby rock for me to collect later.

The next morning, I walk to the stream again. Cagan beams at seeing me across the bank.

"How are you? You won’t believe what the healer’s child did yesterday..." He launches into an exaggerated story that makes me smile.

Our distant shouted conversation flows easier. A foreign feeling of lightness lifts my spirit.

On the third day, Cagan approaches warily. "Hayden, did I tell you about my clan's coming of age ritual? It's quite intense..."

His steady voice and occasional chuckle soothe me as he describes his clan's traditions. And for the first time in a very long time, I don't feel completely alone.

The next morning dawns damp and dreary. Heavy mist shrouds the forest as I make my way to the stream. Despite the gloom, my steps feel lighter than usual. I'm almost eager to see if the orc will be there today.

Sure enough, Cagan's hulking outline materializes through the fog. My breath catches slightly in my throat at his sudden appearance, but I stand my ground. Sensing my reaction, he keeps several strides between us, though he’s closer than before. I find I don’t mind it so much.

"Good morning, Hayden," he rumbles. His voice is gentler than I expected.

I nod in return. We regard each other silently for a few moments. Then Cagan gestures at the weedy plants I've been harvesting.

"You won't have to forage for those forever, you know. I can bring you better food."

I bristle at his words, clutching my meager bundle of greens. Does he think I'm so helpless?

"These weeds have kept me fed well enough," I reply crisply.

Cagan looks surprised, then shrugs his massive shoulders sheepishly.

"No offense meant. I just want to provide for my friend."

Friend. The word sends an unfamiliar warmth through me. After so many cold, lonely seasons, part of me yearns to relinquish my independence, rely on someone else's care. But a deeper instinct still recoils at the thought of trusting an orc.

I explain to Cagan how the bitter leaves make a nutritious stew. As we discuss edible plants, the mist slowly lifts. Timid sunlight filters through the leaves, glinting off Cagan's ivory tusks. One of them is broken, and I itch to ask him how it happened. Would that be rude? In the soft light, the hulking orc seems less threatening. My shoulders relax and our conversation flows comfortably. A fragile seedling of hope sprouts in my long-barren heart.

Over the next few days, I grow accustomed to Cagan's presence at the stream. His rumbling baritone has become a welcome part of my mornings.

"Good morning, Hayden! The forest air smells so fresh today," he greets me.

He chatters freely about his clan and life, about his sister and the warrior orcs he’s come to befriend. I listen quietly, occasionally interjecting a question or comment.

"The cooks were up before dawn preparing a feast for the clan elders. The smell of roasting boar made my mouth water," he describes.

Cagan is respectful of my space, never presuming to come closer without my permission. In turn I've relaxed slightly, allowing him a few strides nearer when we talk. His golden eyes shine with friendliness, warming me like rays of sunlight.

Bit by bit, I reveal harmless trivia about myself - my favorite wild berries, the chirping crickets that lulled me to sleep as a child. But I cannot bring myself to expose the gaping wounds that still fester in my soul.

"Tell me, what's your favorite spot in the whole forest?" Cagan asks gently.

"There's a moss-covered rock near a bend in the stream. Sitting there fills me with calm," I reply wistfully.

“Oh, I know that spot well," he starts to say, but a low rumble of thunder echoes through the trees. Cagan glances up at the darkening sky worriedly. "That sounds like a big storm brewing. Will you be able to take shelter?"

I bristle at the question. My business is none of his concern. But when I meet Cagan's gaze, I see only sincere concern in his eyes.

"I'll manage," I reply evenly.

Cagan nods, though still troubled. As the first raindrops patter down, he hesitates, reluctant to leave me exposed.

My pulse quickens under his gentle gaze. Confusing emotions stir within me. I'm unfamiliar with such kindness, and it frightens me.

Another crack of thunder spurs me to action. I turn abruptly.

My heart pounds as I flee through the woods. I've kept my heart walled off for so long, trusting no one. Yet somehow this orc's gentle concern managed to slip past my defenses. Now my thoughts are in turmoil. Feeling anything leaves me vulnerable. I must lock my heart safely away again.

My steps slow as I'm hit with a wave of confusion. Why did I flee from Cagan's kindness? What are these strange feelings stirring within me?

Could it be that I'm starting to care for Cagan? How could I let this happen? An orc, of all creatures! It's madness. He'll only bring more pain if I dare open my heart.

No, it's safer to be alone, as I've always been. I will lock these dangerous feelings away where they cannot hurt me.

As the storm swells, loneliness washes over me. Our unlikely friendship must end, though the thought fills me with surprisingly acute sadness. It's for the best. I must continue on alone.

The wind howls as the heavens open up. Pulling my tattered cloak tight, I turn my face to the rain. The forest seems colder and bleaker than ever.