The elf lay sprawled in the dirt, long hair tangled with leaves, skin pale under the flickering firelight.
For a long moment, neither Borgu nor I moved. The only sounds were the crackling of the flames and the distant croak of night frogs.
Finally, I broke the silence. "…So."
"So," Borgu echoed, arms crossed.
We stared at her a little longer.
"She's… unconscious," I said, just to confirm the obvious.
"Yes."
"…Starving, maybe?"
"Yes."
"…And she's an elf."
Borgu snorted. "I can see ears, yes."
I dragged a hand down my face. "So what do we do about this?"
Borgu grinned toothily. "Feed her. Then she live."
"…That's it? Just like that?"
"Yes. Orc medicine very simple."
I was starting to regret not living alone after all.
We moved her closer to the fire, Borgu carrying her like she weighed nothing. Her frame was light, almost frail, the bones of her shoulders pressing against torn cloth. I noticed a few scratches across her arms, the kind that came from running through brambles.
I crouched beside her, hesitant. "…She doesn't look injured, not badly. Just… exhausted."
"Good," Borgu said, setting her down gently. "Then we fatten her."
"…We're not fattening her," I muttered. "We're just… keeping her alive."
"Same thing."
I gave him a flat look.
The elf stirred faintly, a whisper escaping her lips—something too soft to catch. Her hand twitched before going limp again.
It stirred a long-forgotten instinct in me. As a soldier, I'd seen men collapse like this on campaign—hungry, dehydrated, at the edge of death. The difference was, back then, we had a medic to handle it. Now? I had an orc with the medical philosophy of "feed it meat until it moves."
"…We should start with water," I decided.
Borgu frowned. "Water is boring."
"She's not a pig to roast, Borgu."
"Pigs tasty roasted."
"Not the point!"
I filled a wooden cup from our waterskin and carefully tilted it against the elf's lips. She coughed a little, but some of the water went down. Her throat bobbed weakly as she swallowed.
"See?" I muttered. "She just needs rehydration, slowly. You can't just shove food down someone's—"
Borgu shoved a strip of roasted boar in her direction.
"—mouth," I finished with a sigh. "Of course."
He looked at me innocently. "What? She hungry."
"Let's… hold off on the meat until she can sit up on her own, alright?"
Borgu grumbled, but pulled back.
An hour passed like that. I gave her sips of water, checked her breathing, occasionally brushed dirt from her hair when it threatened to fall into her mouth. Borgu grew restless, pacing in circles like a caged beast.
"You care too much," he said at last.
"It's called being a decent human being," I replied.
"Orc way easier. Weak die, strong live."
"…And yet here you are, feeding me when I couldn't even catch fish."
He opened his mouth, closed it again, then sat down with a scowl. "…Different."
I smirked faintly. Victory.
When the elf finally stirred again, it was past midnight. Her eyelids fluttered, lips parting. She whispered something—this time I caught it.
"…Hungry…"
I glanced at Borgu. His eyes lit up like it was his birthday.
"Ha! See? Orc right again!" He shoved the boar meat into my hands. "Feed her."
I stared at the greasy strip of meat, then at the frail elf, then back at Borgu. "…You want me to shove roasted pork into the mouth of someone who can barely sit upright."
"Yes."
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "…Fine. But cut it smaller."
Borgu huffed, but obliged, tearing it into tiny bite-sized pieces. To my surprise, he was surprisingly delicate about it—orc tusks and all.
I held one up to the elf's lips. After a moment, she chewed weakly, then swallowed. Color returned faintly to her cheeks.
"…There we go," I murmured, relief washing over me.
Borgu grinned. "She live. See? Orc method work."
"Shut up."
We fed her little by little, alternating water and meat, until she slipped back into a steadier sleep. Her breathing was stronger now, less shallow.
I exhaled slowly, leaning back against a log. My whole body sagged with exhaustion, but for the first time tonight, my chest loosened.
"She'll make it," I said quietly.
Borgu snorted. "Of course. Orc never wrong."
I side-eyed him. "…So if she had died, you'd just say 'Orc medicine not wrong, elf weak'?"
"Yes."
I groaned. "…Why am I even listening to you."
The fire burned low. We sat there in silence for a while, watching the embers glow.
Finally, Borgu spoke. "…You soldier. Why care for elf?"
The question caught me off guard. I glanced at the sleeping girl, then back at the flames. "…Because I'm tired of watching people die."
It slipped out before I could stop myself.
Borgu studied me, eyes unreadable in the firelight. Then he grunted and poked the fire with a stick. "Soft," he muttered.
"…Maybe," I admitted.
Neither of us said more. But the silence wasn't uncomfortable.
---
Morning came with birdsong and sunlight filtering through the leaves. The elf stirred again, this time with more strength. Her eyes cracked open—pale green, like forest moss.
She blinked at us blearily. For a moment, confusion flickered across her face. Then her gaze focused on Borgu's tusks.
She screamed.
I scrambled backward, nearly tripping over the firepit. Borgu flinched, looking genuinely wounded.
"Why scream?!" he demanded.
"She sees a giant tusked orc looming over her after waking half-dead, Borgu! What did you expect?!" I snapped.
The elf scooted backward until her back hit a tree trunk, eyes wide and fearful. She muttered something in Elvish—too quick for me to catch.
I raised my hands slowly. "Easy. We're not… we're not going to hurt you."
She didn't look convinced.
Borgu frowned, then muttered under his breath. "…Ungrateful."
"Not helping," I hissed.
This was going to be… complicated.