Auriel did not pursue the butterfly on its flight to the cottage, rather he remained seated aside the stream, the water warm and welcome around his feet and the sun overhead making the rest of him feel much the same. It was so warm, in fact, that he could picture himself resting there a while, curled up like a cat on the temperate stone as the whispering waves lulled him into gentle slumber. Alas, his bones still seared with aches, but even if they hadn’t, there wasn’t a trace of langour nor lethargy behind his eyes nor in his throat. He kept expecting there to be, given that there usually was in his early afternoons, but even with all the anxious thoughts of home rumbling in his mind, he did not lose his vigor. Was there something in the air, he wondered, that had him feeling this way? Or perhaps it had been the butterfly’s kiss, so light and sweet, that held within it a monstrous power of some eldritch lord far beyond his mortal comprehension?

  Whatever its cause, the change was welcome, but he could not say the same of the deep, booming voice that cracked the pleasant air like thunder in a rainstorm. At Orin’s call, Auriel jumped, splashing water onto the bottoms of his pants and sending fresh streaks of pain flowering across his shoulders and back. He curled in on himself to cope with the latter, and once he recovered enough to turn his head, he found Orin approaching from just a few feet away.

  “Did I scare you?” asked the orc with a dumb look of innocence on his gnarled face.

  “I jumped, didn’t I?” muttered Auriel, turning his body toward Orin as much as the aches would allow. He drew back immediately when he saw Orin towering high above him, as thick and green as the surrounding trees but a thousand times more terrifying.

  “I’m sorry if I did,” Orin said, evidently too high up to hear what he’d muttered. “I didn’t see you in the yard and got nervous. Are you ready for lunch?”

  For a few moments, Auriel just stared, his eyes wide and trembling like those of a frightened doe. Orin’s hands were bare now, at least, no smear of blood upon them nor gleam of blade within them. It was of little comfort, considering how easily those hands could crush his skull if they so desired, but comfort enough that Auriel managed to swallow his fright and nod. Hastily, he withdrew from the water and slipped on his shoes, but before he could begin the struggle to stand, Orin crouched down to his level, placed both of those skull-crushing hands on his middle, and hoisted him up. Auriel gasped, and his whole body seized as he anticipated being thrown over the orc’s shoulder and carried back to bed like a captured prize—but instead, he was set back onto his feet with exceeding gentleness, though Orin did keep an arm about his waist as they walked back to the cottage. Auriel remained latched to Orin’s side until they reached the kitchen table, at which point Orin carefully lowered him into the unworn chair and then quickly abandoned him to begin preparing their midday meal.

  Auriel watched him carefully as he moved about the kitchen, equally intrigued by what his host was preparing as well as the way in which he prepared it. He knew nothing of what a “lunch” should consist of, but he hoped it would look and taste far more appetizing than the name made it sound. Orin had proven himself surprisingly skilled at cooking thus far, but Auriel still felt it was a bit too early to decide whether his food was actually good or just favorable to a stowaway’s starvation. The more he saw Orin maneuver in the kitchen, however, the lower the scales tipped in the direction of the former.

  He withdrew two plates from one cabinet, then produced a half-cut loaf of bread and little tin from another. He carved some fresh slices, then slathered them with butter. He took out a sealed glass jar of pickled vegetables, then scooped out the contents onto the plate.

  There was absolutely nothing impressive about any of it. Why, he wasn’t even making a meal, so much as assembling one. Yet the way he went about that assembly, the ease and fluidity with which he moved, had Auriel completely enthralled. Orin was so big and so broad and so very menacing, yet here he was, totally at ease in a kitchen—in his kitchen—looking like the picture of mundane domesticity. It was utterly baffling to perceive. So baffling, in fact, that Auriel did not fully perceive that Orin had joined him at the table and begun eating until the pungent claws of the pickling brine latched into his nostrils and practically yanked his head down toward the plate.

  It was a mixture of carrots, beets, and red onion slivers, all flanked on the right by the same bread he’d had with the past two meals and further watched over by a glass of what looked like pale orange milk. A quick glance at Orin’s plate revealed that his portion was more than twice his own, and he ate without even the slightest hesitation. Auriel, however, was not so quick to partake. In part, this was due to the limp-figured, strongly-scented vegetables, but more so, it was the beady-eyed stare coming from across the table.

  Stares like that had accompanied him at practically every table he’d ever dined, whether from his father or the guards or some duchess whose name he couldn’t be bothered to remember. But the longer it lingered upon him, the more different he realized this stare to be. There wasn’t expectant judgement in Orin’s eyes, but rather intrigue, and on his large mouth, there was the tiniest hint of upturned corners that made for a new expression entirely. The intention behind this expression, Auriel did not know, but it did stir within him an odd sense of comfort that all the others never had. And so, with that in mind, he braved the sharp stench and began to eat.

  The moment he took his first bite, Orin’s lips curled into a proper smile, and his massive shoulders seemed to soften ever so slightly. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it quickly, and after a very, very prominent swallow, he said, “I’m glad you like them, Reylin. Not everyone does.”

  Well, “like” was a very strong word for the vegetables; “tolerate” was a much more appropriate designation, but Auriel simply nodded and chewed with as much neutrality as he could muster.

  “Is this similar to the foods you normally eat? I should have asked that earlier.”

  Auriel took a sip of the milk drink and discovered it to be the same minty orange tea Orin had given him the night before. Once the taste of brine had been fully rinsed from his mouth, he replied, “Well…some of it is, like the breads and jams and the hot tea from earlier. But then there’s other things that aren’t, like the meat from last night or these…things…here.” He pushed around a carrot with his fork as he spoke the last part. “The flavors are certainly much stronger than what I’m used to, but not necessarily in a bad way.”

  “Ah, good. Orcs take great pride in their food, especially when there’s a guest there to eat it. But what kinds of foods do you like? I want to make the experience as pleasurable as possible for you while you’re here.”

  “Pleasurable” was never a word Auriel had used to describe eating, but he supposed he could respect the sentiment behind the statement. “Let’s see…I’ve always liked fruit. Strawberries are my favorite, I’d say, with apples not far behind. Seeded breads are also nice, or perhaps one with oats or nuts baked in. Oh, and candied nuts have always been one of my favorite treats, though I didn’t get to have them as often as I might’ve liked. And then…I suppose…there’s…ah…” There was an expectant gleam in Orin’s eyes now, one that made Auriel’s own lower down into his cup. They lingered there for a few moments before he allowed a tense, awkward chuckle to bubble up from his throat, which was followed very hastily by, “My, my, what a scene this is. Here I am, answering question after question when I’ve hardly asked you a thing! Somehow it doesn’t seem quite fair, wouldn’t you say?”

  Sheepishly, he lifted his eyes to meet Orin’s and found that the expectant gleam had been replaced with introspection, which in turn was accompanied by a slow, wistful nod.

  “Yes…I would say…” Orin curled his fingers around his chin as his head continued to sway back and forth, and after a few moments of silent reflection, he lowered his hand and said, “Okay. I’m ready to answer.”

  Right, but was Auriel ready to ask? Evidently not, based on how little his lips were moving. He hadn’t lied, though; he did have questions, a veritable litany of them, but where would he—?

  “What were you skinning earlier?” The words leapt from his lips like a frog in a pond, but Orin remained unfazed.

  “A vahltok I caught yesterday afternoon. I would’ve done it yesterday night, but I was preoccupied with feeding you.”

  “Vahl…tok? What is that?”

  “Do you know what a boar is?”

  “Conceptually, yes.”

  “Well, imagine that, but with thicker fur and longer tusks. They’re not quite as common as their cousins, but they’re not really hard to find if you know where to look. For a while, though, nobody was looking for them. Their hides and tusks are incredibly thick, so they can be difficult to harvest, and the meat doesn’t taste anywhere near good enough to justify all the work that goes into hunting and butchering one. At least, that’s what the humans say about them—the vahltok are a staple for orcs. A lot of clans will breed them as livestock in strongholds or take a few with them on migration, but either way, we’ve gotten very good at taking them apart over the years, and with good reason. Their hides are great for armor, shields, and winter clothes, and when treated right, their tusks are virtually indestructible. Humans have started catching onto this in recent years, but most of them still shy away from the actual hunting and butchering part, so if you can do that, you can make good money.”

  “Is that how you earn your living, then? Selling these…vahltok parts?”

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  “It’s one of the ways, yes. I also sell different tinctures and teas and other medicinal things, and occasionally I’ll pick up some manual labor work in town, if there is any. But I’d say the vahltok trade is definitely the most lucrative.”

  Slowly, Auriel nodded. “I see…and the people in town, are they…how are they—or, what are they? Are there many of your kind there, or…?”

  Orin shook his head. “No, not really. A few may pass through from time to time, and we’ll maybe get a traveler group once a year or so, but there’s no strongholds or anything like that. All sorts live there otherwise, though. Lots of humans, some dwarves, a couple scalefolk here and there—”

  “Scalefolk?”

  “Lizard people.”

  “Oh, my.”

  “Yes. Elves live there too, though they’re not the same as you.”

  Auriel furrowed his brow. “How do you mean?”

  “Well, your clothes, for one. The robe you were wearing was a lot more…elfy than what they usually wear. Longer, lighter—same with the jewelry you had in your bag. And your accent’s different, too. The elves in town mostly talk like the humans do, but your way of speaking is sort of…I don’t know…musical, I guess. You speak the way that I think elves should speak when I think of elves speaking.”

  His elocution instructor would be delighted to hear those words, though he’d probably be terrified of the mouth that had spoken them. “Yes, well…I assume the elves here were probably raised here, whereas I was raised in Geletra. It’s only natural there’d be a difference in our speech and dress.”

  Orin nodded, and in the very corner of his little eyes, Auriel could see the twinkle of curious wonder flickering to life. Before it could spark Orin’s tongue like a wick and pry further into those differences, he asked, “When you say ‘stronghold,’ like you did earlier—what are you referring to, exactly?”

  Sure enough, that little twinkle faded away, and Orin’s tone regained its informative neutrality. “It’s what we call our settlements. Imagine a combination of a town and a fortress: there’s houses and shops and gardens and barns, and all of it’s surrounded by great walls of wood and stone. Sometimes it’s just one wall, if the settlement is small enough, but other times there can be three or four or even five, surrounding the different sections in rings like the layers of an onion. Those are much more common in western Ealla than they are here, though. There might be a few strongholds scattered about the eastern parts, but traveler tribes are far more common. It’s much easier to travel through flatlands and forests than through dense mountain passes, and a fortress on a mountain is much more secure than one out in the open.”

  “Harder to access, for sure,” Auriel agreed. “But why don’t the travelers settle down? And why don’t the—strongholders? Is that the term?—travel?”

  “That is the term, yes. It’s been that way for centuries, but it all goes back to the Vhirin-Vlost’ak—the collapse of the great orcish empire Rangdoh-Likt. At its peak, nearly a millennium ago, it spanned half of western Ealla, not just the mountains but their valleys as well, all centered around the great volcano Bhir’dokahl. But gradually, Rangdoh-Likt fell into decline. First, there was a war with the humans, then another with the scalefolk, both of which we lost and both of which brought disease and famine from the razing of our crops. This caused a great deal of fracture within the empire, and civil war was imminent. But before the war could begin, it was ended by the eruption of Bhir’dokahl—its final eruption, in fact. The blast was so powerful that the entire volcano burst to the base, taking out everything for miles and spreading enough smoke to devour the sun whole. Thousands perished, and thousands more had to flee into the surrounding lands—the same lands with which they’d just been at war.

  “Safe to say, they were not well-received, and their suffering continued long after Bhir’dokahl’s ash had settled. Some groups built strongholds, hoping to preserve the homeland that they’d lost, while others became nomads, too pained by the devastation to even think of returning. Today, both groups view their lifestyles as a way to honor the victims of the Vhirin-Vlost’ak: the strongholders by building a stable home like they had in olden times, and the travelers by wandering as the first refugees did. For much of history, those views divided them, and quite severely, at that, but over time, they’ve become much more amicable to one another. Oh, and there’s a third group too, called the Standovers, which is what I am. A Standover is any orc that doesn’t live in the first two community types—hence the name. We stand, rather than travel, and we’ve gone over the stronghold walls, rather than stay behind them, and—I’m sorry, am I going too fast? I feel like I’m going too fast. Or, at least, very fast—you look puzzled. Maybe taking notes would help? Here, let me get you a pen and paper; that should make things easier.”

  With haste, Orin stood up from his chair and made for his bedroom, but when he turned his back, Auriel called, “That won’t be necessary!”

  Orin did not turn to face him, but he did remain still, so Auriel continued, “I’ve kept up with everything you’ve said, rest assured. I’m just…surprised to hear it, that’s all. I’ve never known, well, anything about your people, least of all that they’d experienced such a massive tragedy. Thinking about what those poor souls must have gone through—it makes my own suffering seem so small in comparison.”

  “You shouldn’t compare suffering,” Orin said plainly. He returned to his seat much more calmly than he’d risen from it. “It’ll only make you sad if you do. Besides, most orcs nowadays will focus on the strength and resilience of their ancestors, rather than their suffering. After all, strength and resilience are two of the main pillars of modern orcish society. Community and nourishment are the other two. Some people will argue that bravery and loyalty are also on that list, as well as honor and authenticity, or wisdom and ancestral homage, but you can only list so many things before your mouth gets tired.”

  Auriel had never heard the words “orcish” and “society” used so closely in the same sentence before, let alone with such nice words as “resilience” and “nourishment” following behind. But now that he thought about it, Orin did represent those words in some capacity. His strength was obvious, and one would have to be resilient living out in the woods like this. The tenet of nourishment explained his cooking, as well as his odd fixation with Auriel’s eating, and then community…he lived alone. Well, there was that horse, he supposed, but that was hardly a friend so much as a tool. Perhaps he’d found community in Liloma? But then why would he live so far outside of it? Or maybe he wasn’t that far outside of it, and Auriel just didn’t know the geography. Still, he was undeniably separate from them, and even more separate from his own people.

  “Well, I hope your mouth isn’t getting too tired now,” Auriel chuckled. “I’d like to learn about your communities. What they’re like, what they do, whether you had any siblings or any…others of significance.”

  “Oh, I had lots of siblings—dozens of them. But not in the blood way like humans and elves have. Strongholds and traveler groups both have multiple clans flying under the same banner, and the bonds within and between those clans are very, very close. It started that way out of necessity; the Vhirin-Vlost’ak devastated families, and the other races were so hostile toward orcs that they couldn’t afford to be so divided. Nowadays, though, that closeness is just tradition. It’s very common for multiple generations to live together in the same home and even share the same bed, and all the clan members help to raise the children regardless of who they came from. A single child could have three fathers, seven mothers, a dozen siblings, and countless uncles, only some of whom are related to them by blood. In fact, sometimes we even outright forget who came from who, but when we all belong to each other, it isn’t really that important.”

  Auriel chuckled a bit at the thought of forgetting one’s own child, but a soft, mournful smile lingered on his lips even after the laughter had faded. By royal Elvish standards, Seyfrus had been incredibly affectionate toward Auriel growing up: they’d painted together, attended concerts together, read stories together, and even slept in bed together for the first few years of his childhood. But gradually, as he reached his adolescence, those affections became more and more hollow, and he could never recall feeling any warmth in nor from Seyfrus’s touch as an adult. Never once had he felt any desire for a sibling, but now, the thought of having a dozen or five or even just one person to whom he could truly belong left his heart aching deep in his chest.

  “It applies to sex, too.”

  And just like that, his heart jumped right back up into his throat, and Auriel jumped up in his chair. “It—it what?”

  “Sex,” Orin said simply. “They view it the same way, as something to be shared. It’s not totally unheard of for an orc to stick to one partner forever, but it’s definitely not the norm. More commonly, people will have a few primary partners and then take other lovers here and there throughout their lives. They don’t really get married, either. There’s commitment ceremonies, sure, but those are usually more of a general symbolic thing than an actual legal commitment.”

  “I…see…my, that’s very…interesting…so do you have…that…here, then, or…?”

  “Sex? Oh, yes, I’ve had quite a lot of it—”

  “No, not that!” Auriel snapped, and in a flash, his cheeks burned a vibrant crimson. “I meant a…a lover, or partner, or whatever it is you’d call it.”

  “Oh, then no. Do you?”

  “No! I mean, well…I’ve had plenty of offers, but…I’ve never been interested. Regardless, I’m asking because you have two bedrooms in this place, and I assume you didn’t just build the second one while I was unconscious.”

  “Yes, a room like that would take far longer than two nights to build. But it’s a guest room and always has been, though you’re the first person to actually sleep in there since I’ve lived here.”

  “And how long has that been?”

  “Five years.”

  “Five years? All that time, and you’ve…”

  Auriel’s lips drifted shut. Orin’s expression had been relatively unchanged throughout the entire conversation, and it remained that way now, but somehow, he couldn’t shake the feeling that pressing on would not be right. Perhaps Orin felt comfortable asking such prying questions as “Do you like your father?” and “What foods do you eat?” but Auriel certainly did not. So instead of questioning him about his lack of visitors—and lack of kinsmen—he said, “You’ve…built a rather nice home for yourself here.”

  At that, Orin’s face brightened. “You think so?”

  “I do. It’s much…cozier than I expected it would be.”

  “Oh, I’m so glad to hear you say that! When I found this place five years ago, it was an awful mess. The walls were all rotten, the roof was caving in, and there were rats and bugs all throughout the place, but gradually I managed to…”

  Where did you come from? Why did you leave? Who is at home, and why don’t they visit you? Are the townspeople kind? Your chair looks so worn, but mine is so new—am I the first person to sit at your table? The first to eat your food, the first to hear your stories—and why don’t you say “we” when you speak of your people? Why is it “they, them, their,” and not “we, us, our?” Your communities are so close, but why aren’t you? What led you here? What keeps you here?

  How often have you cried, and does anyone hear it when you do?