The elf was awake.
That was the good news.
The bad news? She was awake and staring at Borgu like he was the harbinger of doom.
I raised my hands again, trying to look as harmless as possible. "Easy, easy. We're not enemies."
The elf pressed herself against the tree trunk, her hands trembling. Her lips moved, spitting out words in a tongue that made my ears twitch. Elegant, flowing, sharp like wind cutting through glass. Elvish.
Borgu squinted. "What she say?"
I sighed. "How should I know? I didn't take language electives in elf school."
"Elf school sound boring."
"Not the point!"
The elf's eyes darted between us. She barked more words, pointing a shaky finger at Borgu.
"…I think she just called you a pig," I guessed.
Borgu bristled immediately. "What?! Orc no pig!" He thumped his chest. "Orc mighty! Pig tasty!"
The elf flinched at his booming voice.
"Quiet down!" I snapped. "You're scaring her!"
"Orc not scary," Borgu muttered indignantly. "Orc… cuddly."
I stared at him. "…Nobody in the history of the world has ever described an orc as cuddly."
"You not cuddle enough orc," he said smugly.
"…I don't even know how to respond to that."
The elf spat more words at us, eyes blazing with suspicion. Her voice cracked, but there was steel under it. For someone who had collapsed half-dead the night before, she still had pride. Typical elf.
I rubbed the back of my neck. "Alright, alright… let's try this slowly."
I pointed at myself. "Kael."
Then at Borgu. "Borgu."
Finally, I pointed at her, tilting my head. "You?"
She blinked, lips tightening. For a moment, I thought she wouldn't respond. Then, hesitantly, she spoke. "…Sylvara."
Borgu snorted. "Syl-vah-rah." He exaggerated the syllables like he was tasting them. "Fancy name. Too many letters. Orc call her Sly."
The elf's eyes narrowed.
"Don't nickname her already!" I hissed.
"Why not? Orc good at names. Short. Easy."
"You mean insulting."
"Same thing."
Sylvara muttered something sharp under her breath. I didn't need to know Elvish to understand it wasn't flattering.
"Great," I sighed. "Now you've already made her hate you."
Borgu crossed his arms proudly. "Means she respect me."
"…You have a very strange definition of respect."
Communication was slow. Very slow.
I tried the basics—gesturing at objects, saying the word, then looking at Sylvara expectantly. She caught on quickly, repeating the words in her own tongue before trying mine.
It wasn't perfect, but progress was progress.
Borgu, however, had his own methods.
He grabbed a log, held it up proudly. "Stick!"
Then he smacked it against a rock with a loud crack. "Weapon!"
Sylvara jumped, glaring daggers.
"Stop teaching her violence!" I snapped.
Borgu looked baffled. "But stick good weapon!"
"She just woke up from nearly dying!"
"Perfect time to train."
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Why am I even trying."
Sylvara muttered something again. She gave me a look—half fear, half disbelief—as if silently asking, why do you live with this lunatic?
I mouthed back, "Don't ask."
----
As the day went on, her strength returned little by little. She could sit up now, though her movements were slow, weak. When I handed her more food, she accepted cautiously, sniffing it first like she expected poison.
"…It's not poisoned," I said flatly.
Her eyes narrowed in suspicion.
Borgu leaned forward, grabbing a chunk of meat from the pot and shoving it into his own mouth. "See? Orc eat same food. Orc fine. Very fine. Strong tusks, shiny hair, powerful muscles." He flexed dramatically.
Sylvara recoiled.
"…Please stop flexing at the starving elf," I begged.
"Why? Show her food works."
"That's not how nutrition works."
Sylvara muttered something in Elvish again, covering her face with one hand. I didn't understand the words, but the tone was universal. Exasperation.
"…Yeah," I said to her softly. "You get used to him."
She gave me a doubtful look.
By afternoon, she tried to stand—and nearly toppled over. I caught her by reflex, steadying her with one arm.
Her eyes widened, startled. She looked up at me, then quickly looked away, cheeks faintly pink.
I froze. Oh no. Please don't be that kind of elf.
Borgu, of course, ruined the moment.
"Ha! Kael make elf blush!"
"She's just dizzy!" I barked. "That's not—"
"Orc see many blushes. That blush of maiden!"
I wanted the ground to swallow me whole.
Sylvara, for her part, looked torn between fleeing and murdering Borgu. She muttered something sharp in Elvish and shoved away from me, wobbling but managing to stay upright.
"See?" I said, forcing calm. "She's fine."
Borgu leaned closer, whispering far too loudly. "She like you."
"…Shut up before I actually hit you."
That night, after Sylvara had eaten more and fallen asleep again, Borgu poked the fire with a stick and gave me a look.
"You keep her?" he asked.
"…She's not a stray dog, Borgu."
"Elf small. Weak. Need protecting. Same thing."
I sighed. "…We'll see. For now, she just needs rest. Once she can move on, she'll probably leave."
Borgu grunted. "Orc think she stay. You soft. She soft. Good for each other. Orc best third wheel."
"You're not a wheel, you're a wrecking ball."
He grinned proudly. "Even better."
I groaned and lay back, staring at the stars.
Somehow, this "slow life" was already becoming anything but slow.