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Description
Previous: To the Death: A Battlefield
Next: To the Death: Boartooth.

The confrontation had ended as unexpected as it had begun.

Bitch had curled up in a corner. Had she been crying? Moping just? Or simply called a night and morning of serious infighting a time well spent and gone to catch some shut-eye? She hadn’t even eaten despite her claim to being starving. So Kitten and herself stuffed themselves and then Kitten found herself a comfortable place next to Bitch and got herself some clothes or stuff to mend. At times she would put it down, pull the rough blanket back over Bitch, or groom her for the occasional lice. Even though the camp hadn’t turned out as dirty as Lanja would have imagined for such a place, the sight had her feel a distinct itch every time. One of the scouts entered, so quietly that he gave Lanja quite a scare. But he just engaged in some kind of exchange in sign language with Kitten, and left again.

Feeling somewhat useless and bored, Lanja got up and took a stroll through the camp and then followed the little creek into the forest until she felt comfortable to strip down and wash herself. Might as well be some scouts on the lookout, but Bitch had it right – nobody took notice of her.

She wondered if someone would miss her back at home, except for some tax or money she owed. Yes, maybe there were a few people she called friends, but none were close enough to come looking for her anytime soon.

Lanja noticed a movement at the edge of her sight. Before she could hide or even rise the clearing had filles with orcs, crudely painted, barely making any sound. After a moment of startled terror she realized, that once again, the creatures weren’t there for her, and also that, despite some being taller than herself, these were still whelps, she could tell by their skin color, finer features and less prominent body hair. They had smeared themselves with the same blue spots that Kitten wore and seemed to be enganged in some kind of hunting. Even though she still avoided thinking of them as kids, a few of them were little more than human four year olds in size. Did they play some kind of game?

Despite her reservations, Lanja gave in to curiosity, maybe because the warm and hazy late summer morning had lifted her spirit, made her forget the tension of the last few days. She hailed them with a sign and an orcish phrase she had learned from Bitch and then hoped that they would understand enough of the human language to talk to her. Bitch had reassured her that most of the orcs actually did understand human speech, something she found a bit disturbing, both because it gave them an advantage, but also because it meant they were more cunning and intelligent than she would have wanted to imagine them to be, and beyond that, that she might have to swallow her pride and start to learn their language. Still, it was useful, to be able to communicate at all.
The orc whelps came up, lead by one of the older looking boys. They thronged around her like any bunch of curious children would, but still making very little noise, in comparison to human children. Also she noticed, that a few stayed back and watched the surrounding carefully, like lookouts. Was there some kind of danger she hadn’t been aware of?

“What are you hunting?” Lanja asked at a guess.

“Bitches boys, the warriors.” He said, matter of factly.

“I see.” She didn’t but assumed it was probably some kind of game or childrens quarrel. “And are you winning?”

“They don’t have a chance,” he grinned and the others seemed amused. “sometimes we even have to let them win, just so they don’t stop playing.”

Lanja was appalled how fluent the young orc spoke her language. Maybe not as a human would, but she could clearly identify Bitch’ dialect. Did she teach them? Or did these creatures had such a knack at languages? Or was it magic?

She really had to find out more about these creatures, either way.

“How come? Aren’t they tough?”

“’Course. They’re warriors. But they don’t stand a chance out here, the dimwits. Mom taught us all the tricks, and she’s the head huntress and really smart.”

With a shock, Lanja realized that they sported the same blue warpaint that Kitten wore, just more crude. A quick tally gave fourteen of the rascals. And the smaller ones looked remarkably human, except for the splotchy skin color and the hair.

“She is,” Lanja answered, trying to cover her astonishment about the implications of all this.

One of the smaller orcs poked her, somewhat warily, and made a few gestures to the larger boy.

“What is it?”

The little orc looked up at her expectantly. Probably he couldn’t yet speak human, so the other answered in his stead.

“Are you a witch?”

“A witch?”

“A shaman with humans? Is it the right word?”

“Probably? What’s your shaman doing?”

“I’m going to be a hunter, so I can’t know all, but, well, magic and healing, and telling the stories and preserving the tribe and such.”

“Guess that’s right”, Lanja answered, referring to the the term witch.

This created a chain of affirmation and exitement that startled her, more so when she realized she had been misunderstoof. She was about to retract on her statement, but then bit her tongue and decided to stick with it. Make it worthwile for them to respect you, Bitch had said. “Did the Shaman tell you?”, she asked, to keep the exchange going, while she tried to figure stuff out.

“She tells us stories sometimes. Of witches and wizards from the humans, too, that fought with us against the evil elves and their humans. I can’t recall all the names of the shamans and the battles and that, but it sounds grand. Of course all know the ancestors sent us Mom and Bitch, and they’re like the great she-orcs from the tales. But a witch now. That is something different. You must be quite powerful.”

Were they’re playing a joke on her? Or not? Neither made sense.

Is that what they expect me to do? Lanja thought, betray my own kind, like Kitten and Bitch? And what now? Play along, figure them out, so we can wipe them out before they become a menace? But already, in the sunlight, listening to the birds call through the forest, mites buzzing in the reeds, and the beastly things just fooling around like any other kids, she knew she would have to push herself very hard to do this. She needed time to think it over, but every moment spent was working on her like a spell. In between the confusion she felt her stomach growl. At the same time a twinkling caught her eye, her attention. She had been good at this as a girl, but now…

She moved just so slightly and, to her surprise, managed to grab the fish and throw it onto dry ground. The orc had watched her, and like kids often do, started to look around to follow her example, and so did the others in turn. Despite the racket, they were pretty good at it, and the fish couldn’t get away in the narrow creek anyway.

“Let’s have a fire and roast them”, Lanja suggested.

“But Bitches boys will smell us out then.”

“So what. There’s enough for them, too. Go fetch them.” And when he gave her a quizzical look, she added. “Tell them, the witch sent you. We’ll have some tales, too, and afterwards I’ll observe you fight. I’ll want to see firsthand if you can defeat them so easily.”

A bit later she watched the bustle of activity and excitement she had caused, comfortly resting against a tree. A fire was going and there was already some hint of grilled fish on the resinous forest scent. There was time now, maybe, but, maybe, it would be just as well to postpone unpleasant thoughts a bit longer.

Note: The obsession of everyone with fishing is just coincidental.

Description
Previous: To the Death: A Battlefield
Next: To the Death: Boartooth.

The confrontation had ended as unexpected as it had begun.

Bitch had curled up in a corner. Had she been crying? Moping just? Or simply called a night and morning of serious infighting a time well spent and gone to catch some shut-eye? She hadn’t even eaten despite her claim to being starving. So Kitten and herself stuffed themselves and then Kitten found herself a comfortable place next to Bitch and got herself some clothes or stuff to mend. At times she would put it down, pull the rough blanket back over Bitch, or groom her for the occasional lice. Even though the camp hadn’t turned out as dirty as Lanja would have imagined for such a place, the sight had her feel a distinct itch every time. One of the scouts entered, so quietly that he gave Lanja quite a scare. But he just engaged in some kind of exchange in sign language with Kitten, and left again.

Feeling somewhat useless and bored, Lanja got up and took a stroll through the camp and then followed the little creek into the forest until she felt comfortable to strip down and wash herself. Might as well be some scouts on the lookout, but Bitch had it right – nobody took notice of her.

She wondered if someone would miss her back at home, except for some tax or money she owed. Yes, maybe there were a few people she called friends, but none were close enough to come looking for her anytime soon.

Lanja noticed a movement at the edge of her sight. Before she could hide or even rise the clearing had filles with orcs, crudely painted, barely making any sound. After a moment of startled terror she realized, that once again, the creatures weren’t there for her, and also that, despite some being taller than herself, these were still whelps, she could tell by their skin color, finer features and less prominent body hair. They had smeared themselves with the same blue spots that Kitten wore and seemed to be enganged in some kind of hunting. Even though she still avoided thinking of them as kids, a few of them were little more than human four year olds in size. Did they play some kind of game?

Despite her reservations, Lanja gave in to curiosity, maybe because the warm and hazy late summer morning had lifted her spirit, made her forget the tension of the last few days. She hailed them with a sign and an orcish phrase she had learned from Bitch and then hoped that they would understand enough of the human language to talk to her. Bitch had reassured her that most of the orcs actually did understand human speech, something she found a bit disturbing, both because it gave them an advantage, but also because it meant they were more cunning and intelligent than she would have wanted to imagine them to be, and beyond that, that she might have to swallow her pride and start to learn their language. Still, it was useful, to be able to communicate at all.
The orc whelps came up, lead by one of the older looking boys. They thronged around her like any bunch of curious children would, but still making very little noise, in comparison to human children. Also she noticed, that a few stayed back and watched the surrounding carefully, like lookouts. Was there some kind of danger she hadn’t been aware of?

“What are you hunting?” Lanja asked at a guess.

“Bitches boys, the warriors.” He said, matter of factly.

“I see.” She didn’t but assumed it was probably some kind of game or childrens quarrel. “And are you winning?”

“They don’t have a chance,” he grinned and the others seemed amused. “sometimes we even have to let them win, just so they don’t stop playing.”

Lanja was appalled how fluent the young orc spoke her language. Maybe not as a human would, but she could clearly identify Bitch’ dialect. Did she teach them? Or did these creatures had such a knack at languages? Or was it magic?

She really had to find out more about these creatures, either way.

“How come? Aren’t they tough?”

“’Course. They’re warriors. But they don’t stand a chance out here, the dimwits. Mom taught us all the tricks, and she’s the head huntress and really smart.”

With a shock, Lanja realized that they sported the same blue warpaint that Kitten wore, just more crude. A quick tally gave fourteen of the rascals. And the smaller ones looked remarkably human, except for the splotchy skin color and the hair.

“She is,” Lanja answered, trying to cover her astonishment about the implications of all this.

One of the smaller orcs poked her, somewhat warily, and made a few gestures to the larger boy.

“What is it?”

The little orc looked up at her expectantly. Probably he couldn’t yet speak human, so the other answered in his stead.

“Are you a witch?”

“A witch?”

“A shaman with humans? Is it the right word?”

“Probably? What’s your shaman doing?”

“I’m going to be a hunter, so I can’t know all, but, well, magic and healing, and telling the stories and preserving the tribe and such.”

“Guess that’s right”, Lanja answered, referring to the the term witch.

This created a chain of affirmation and exitement that startled her, more so when she realized she had been misunderstoof. She was about to retract on her statement, but then bit her tongue and decided to stick with it. Make it worthwile for them to respect you, Bitch had said. “Did the Shaman tell you?”, she asked, to keep the exchange going, while she tried to figure stuff out.

“She tells us stories sometimes. Of witches and wizards from the humans, too, that fought with us against the evil elves and their humans. I can’t recall all the names of the shamans and the battles and that, but it sounds grand. Of course all know the ancestors sent us Mom and Bitch, and they’re like the great she-orcs from the tales. But a witch now. That is something different. You must be quite powerful.”

Were they’re playing a joke on her? Or not? Neither made sense.

Is that what they expect me to do? Lanja thought, betray my own kind, like Kitten and Bitch? And what now? Play along, figure them out, so we can wipe them out before they become a menace? But already, in the sunlight, listening to the birds call through the forest, mites buzzing in the reeds, and the beastly things just fooling around like any other kids, she knew she would have to push herself very hard to do this. She needed time to think it over, but every moment spent was working on her like a spell. In between the confusion she felt her stomach growl. At the same time a twinkling caught her eye, her attention. She had been good at this as a girl, but now…

She moved just so slightly and, to her surprise, managed to grab the fish and throw it onto dry ground. The orc had watched her, and like kids often do, started to look around to follow her example, and so did the others in turn. Despite the racket, they were pretty good at it, and the fish couldn’t get away in the narrow creek anyway.

“Let’s have a fire and roast them”, Lanja suggested.

“But Bitches boys will smell us out then.”

“So what. There’s enough for them, too. Go fetch them.” And when he gave her a quizzical look, she added. “Tell them, the witch sent you. We’ll have some tales, too, and afterwards I’ll observe you fight. I’ll want to see firsthand if you can defeat them so easily.”

A bit later she watched the bustle of activity and excitement she had caused, comfortly resting against a tree. A fire was going and there was already some hint of grilled fish on the resinous forest scent. There was time now, maybe, but, maybe, it would be just as well to postpone unpleasant thoughts a bit longer.

Note: The obsession of everyone with fishing is just coincidental.