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Previous: To the Death: Fishing for Clues.
Next: To the Death: Magic

Some time later, she had about two scores of orc whelps crowding around her. It certainly showed that they weren’t quite like kids from home, boys from both lots got into a number of rough brawls, and they seemed to be prepared to take a lot of punishment before accepting defeat.

The whole thing started to spin out of control, and Lanja considered threatening them. But it occurred to her that Bitches warriors were a bit younger than the blue painted hunters. This was likely one of the reasons of their frustration. She decided to challenge a few fights with them herself - loudly declaring ‘no magic allowed’ – and then entered the rough and tumble, using all kind of mean tricks, bear hugs, tickling and throwing a few of them into the water. The whole lot went crazy, free for all and all over her, until everyone was totally exhausted including herself, with a quite a few bruises and sore spots, again including herself, and a lot of the smaller ones just curling up and falling asleep in the noon sun.

Lanja splashed herself with water in an attempt not to fold, too, and then joined the others around the fire. She felt her aching ribs and watched a huge dark spot growing on her shin.

“I wish I had a mug of ale”, she said, more to herself, not really expecting any understanding. But the comment caused some regretful amusement among the older boys.

“We caught a guy once who could do it.”

“It was great.”

“What became of him?”

They looked almost embarrassed.

“He picked fights all the time. One day he broke something important.”

“Dumb.”

Lanja wasn’t surprised. The reputation orcs had for violence and brutality couldn’t be all lies. Well, she thought, if someone ruthlessly hunted down me and my folks, I’d probably not be inclined to treat prisoners nice, too.

And then: How come I start to defend them?

But that just drifted at the back of her head. Ale was still foremost.

“You know”, she said, hugging her knees, “I used to brew some good enough ale back home. If you could get me a few thing from my place…”

Moments later she found herself plotting a raid on her own homestead and some neighbouring plots with a band of half grown orcs.

And maybe I could use the occasion to get back and escape, she told herself.

But all these crazy plans had brought back some memories of long ago...

You can’t have that back, least of all like that, said the voice in her head.

You mean never, she countered, then changed the subject, to take her mind off the matter.

“How come you’re called Boartooth? Killed a boar already? Can’t be your teeth, they’re nice enough.”

It was the tall boy from the hunters, the one she had talked to, at first.

He seemed a bit taken aback, funny to see it was possible with an orc. Or rather half-orc.

“No, not yet. They’re really mean, so we’re not allowed, just the grown-ups.”

He noticed one of the warrior boys sneering.

“No need to grin, dimwit. What’s Ifen doing now? He’ll never go on a raid with that leg of his. And I’m not scared of them.”

There followed an exchange that Lanja didn’t understand, but the boy didn’t seem to be bothered by whatever it was about.

“He’s just teasing, got no clue,” he explained. “Mom, you see, she did exactly that. Wasn’t supposed to, but put herself straight into the packs way and spiked her boar, when she was barely grown, either. Got herself a nice scar and spanking to go with it, afterwards, but she’s not the chief huntress just for being smart.”

“That still doesn’t explain it”, Lanja commented, when no further explanation was forthcoming, just some more chuckles.

“It’s rumoured she took three mates that night, just to prove she was no longer a whelp”, finally another blue faced youth pointed out, with a devious grin, “so it was simpler to name him after the boar…”

Description
Previous: To the Death: Fishing for Clues.
Next: To the Death: Magic

Some time later, she had about two scores of orc whelps crowding around her. It certainly showed that they weren’t quite like kids from home, boys from both lots got into a number of rough brawls, and they seemed to be prepared to take a lot of punishment before accepting defeat.

The whole thing started to spin out of control, and Lanja considered threatening them. But it occurred to her that Bitches warriors were a bit younger than the blue painted hunters. This was likely one of the reasons of their frustration. She decided to challenge a few fights with them herself - loudly declaring ‘no magic allowed’ – and then entered the rough and tumble, using all kind of mean tricks, bear hugs, tickling and throwing a few of them into the water. The whole lot went crazy, free for all and all over her, until everyone was totally exhausted including herself, with a quite a few bruises and sore spots, again including herself, and a lot of the smaller ones just curling up and falling asleep in the noon sun.

Lanja splashed herself with water in an attempt not to fold, too, and then joined the others around the fire. She felt her aching ribs and watched a huge dark spot growing on her shin.

“I wish I had a mug of ale”, she said, more to herself, not really expecting any understanding. But the comment caused some regretful amusement among the older boys.

“We caught a guy once who could do it.”

“It was great.”

“What became of him?”

They looked almost embarrassed.

“He picked fights all the time. One day he broke something important.”

“Dumb.”

Lanja wasn’t surprised. The reputation orcs had for violence and brutality couldn’t be all lies. Well, she thought, if someone ruthlessly hunted down me and my folks, I’d probably not be inclined to treat prisoners nice, too.

And then: How come I start to defend them?

But that just drifted at the back of her head. Ale was still foremost.

“You know”, she said, hugging her knees, “I used to brew some good enough ale back home. If you could get me a few thing from my place…”

Moments later she found herself plotting a raid on her own homestead and some neighbouring plots with a band of half grown orcs.

And maybe I could use the occasion to get back and escape, she told herself.

But all these crazy plans had brought back some memories of long ago...

You can’t have that back, least of all like that, said the voice in her head.

You mean never, she countered, then changed the subject, to take her mind off the matter.

“How come you’re called Boartooth? Killed a boar already? Can’t be your teeth, they’re nice enough.”

It was the tall boy from the hunters, the one she had talked to, at first.

He seemed a bit taken aback, funny to see it was possible with an orc. Or rather half-orc.

“No, not yet. They’re really mean, so we’re not allowed, just the grown-ups.”

He noticed one of the warrior boys sneering.

“No need to grin, dimwit. What’s Ifen doing now? He’ll never go on a raid with that leg of his. And I’m not scared of them.”

There followed an exchange that Lanja didn’t understand, but the boy didn’t seem to be bothered by whatever it was about.

“He’s just teasing, got no clue,” he explained. “Mom, you see, she did exactly that. Wasn’t supposed to, but put herself straight into the packs way and spiked her boar, when she was barely grown, either. Got herself a nice scar and spanking to go with it, afterwards, but she’s not the chief huntress just for being smart.”

“That still doesn’t explain it”, Lanja commented, when no further explanation was forthcoming, just some more chuckles.

“It’s rumoured she took three mates that night, just to prove she was no longer a whelp”, finally another blue faced youth pointed out, with a devious grin, “so it was simpler to name him after the boar…”