Morning came with a stiff neck and a back that hated me. The ground was not kind, and the makeshift blanket of dry grass I'd scraped together last night had somehow migrated three feet away in the night.I groaned, sat up, and rubbed my eyes.
Right. I wasn't at the barracks anymore. No commander yelling. No horns calling us to the walls. No demon war banners in the distance.Just a quiet forest, chirping birds… and the faint sound of something snoring like a dying boar.
"…Ah."My gaze shifted.
There he was.
The orc.
The big green lump of muscle I'd met last night, sprawled across the ground like a collapsed siege tower. His tusks jutted upward, catching the sunlight. Every exhale rattled like a drumbeat. He hadn't even bothered with a blanket, just lay there on the dirt like it was the finest feather mattress in the kingdom.
For a moment, I wondered if I'd dreamed the whole thing. Maybe I'd just gone crazy after quitting the army. Maybe the forest was slowly eating my sanity.
But then he snorted, rolled over, and scratched himself somewhere unmentionable.Nope. Definitely real.
I sighed. "So much for solitude."
When the orc finally woke up—about three hours after me—he stretched, yawned, and looked at me with those yellow eyes like it was the most natural thing in the world to be sharing a campfire with a human stranger.
"Human," he grunted. "Morning. You alive still?"
"…Barely," I said, still rubbing my back. "Ground's harder than a knight's skull."
He chuckled. "Hah. Good joke."
I hadn't been joking.
We shared a very awkward breakfast.
Well, I say "shared." What actually happened was: I tried fishing again and caught absolutely nothing. The orc, meanwhile, walked into the woods, came back five minutes later with a rabbit, and roasted it over the fire like it was no big deal.
He handed me half.I didn't ask questions. I was too hungry to care.
Between bites, I finally asked, "So… what should I call you?"
The orc thumped his chest proudly. "Borgu Meatfist."
I choked.I actually choked on rabbit meat.
"Meat… fist?" I coughed, trying very, very hard not to laugh.
He squinted at me. "Problem?"
"No, no!" I waved my hands. "It's just—ah—unique."
"Meatfist is strong name," he said firmly. "Clan of warriors. My father, Gorgu Meatfist, slayed fifty men with bare hands. My mother, Sharra Meatfist, crushed armored knight with cooking pan."
I bit my tongue so hard it hurt. If I laughed, I was dead.But gods help me, the image of an orc warrior named Meatfist swinging around a frying pan like a warhammer was going to stay with me forever.
"…Honored lineage," I managed, trying to sound respectful.
Borgu grinned wide. "Yes. You understand."
Nope. I understood nothing.
The day passed with more… attempts at survival.
I tried chopping wood.The axe head flew off and nearly decapitated me.
I tried foraging for edible plants.Borgu slapped the berries out of my hand. "Poison. Kill you in two hours."
I tried setting up a better hut.
The frame collapsed, pinning me underneath while Borgu laughed so loud I'm sure the next village over heard him.
"You're bad at this," he said cheerfully, pulling the logs off me.
"Yeah, thanks for noticing," I muttered, brushing off dirt. "Not all of us grew up in the forest, you know."
"You soldier," he said, as if that explained everything.
I frowned. "How did you know?"
"Your back," Borgu said simply. "Too straight. You move like man who fought too long. Hiding scars with bad beard."
I self-consciously touched my chin. Okay, so my beard was patchy. Sue me.
"…You're not wrong," I admitted. "I used to fight. Not anymore. I left all that behind."
Borgu tilted his head, studying me. Then he smirked."Good. War is stupid. I left too."
That caught me off guard.
An orc deserter? That wasn't something you heard every day.
"Why?" I asked before I could stop myself.
He tore another chunk of rabbit meat with his tusks. "Because hungry. Because tired. Because I want food, sleep, no shouting chief. Same as you, human."
I blinked.Huh. Guess we weren't so different after all.
Later that evening, as the sun dipped and fireflies danced in the clearing, Borgu leaned back on a log and looked around my pitiful excuse of a camp.
"This place good," he said. "River. Trees. Game. Easy to defend. If build more huts, could make proper camp. Maybe small village."
I froze mid-sip of water. "…Village?"
He nodded. "Yes. People come. Orcs, humans, others. All need place to rest. We make one. Together."
I nearly spit out the water."No, no, no. Hold on. I came here to get away from people. I don't want a crowd showing up."
Borgu shrugged, unbothered. "Crowd come anyway. You'll see."
I glared at him.The absolute confidence in his voice made me uneasy.
"…No village," I said firmly.
He smirked. "Chief always say that at first."
"I am not a chief!" I snapped.
Borgu just chuckled, leaned back, and closed his eyes, clearly done with the conversation.
Meanwhile, I sat there, staring into the fire, silently begging the universe not to make his words come true.Because the last thing I wanted was to become responsible for anyone ever again.
But deep down, in the pit of my stomach, I already had a bad feeling.