Page 3 of Vexing the Grumpy Orc

I ducked through the entrance, squinting as my eyes adjusted to the dim light. The cave smelled of wood smoke and something less pleasant. Probably whatever he’d attempted to cook for himself.

“Got held up.” I set down the supply pack, deliberately not mentioning what—or who—delayed me. The last thing I needed was Coth ranting about witches corrupting sacred ground. “Brought extra firewood. Winter’s coming early this year.”

“The Blackrock clan wouldn’t make me huddle in a cave like a common beast.” He prodded the meager flames. “Their council chamber overlooks the entireSnake River valley. Glass windows from floor to ceiling.”

Here we go. I settled onto a worn cushion and braced for tonight’s fantasy.

“Their chief reached out personally.” Coth tended the fire, eyes bright with familiar fever. “Their council wants my guidance on some territorial disputes. Seems my reputation for wisdom carries weight, even out in Idaho.”

I nodded, letting the words wash over me. Last week it had been a clan in Oregon. Before that, Washington. The names changed, but the story stayed the same—some distant group that recognized his wisdom, valued his experience, would welcome him with open arms if only he chose to leave.

If only he wasn’t honor-bound to stay near his son.

The unspoken accusation hung between us like smoke. My fault he stayed. My responsibility to make it right. To speak for him, champion his return, convince Osen that the past was past.

But I’d seen the hatred in his eyes when Miranda healed Torain from certain death. Watched him dishonor himself by attacking my unarmed cousin. The truth was, no clan would touch a disgraced elder who plotted against his own chief. But pointing that out would only feed the bitterness that ate at him like rot.

“The supplies should last two weeks.” My head throbbed, the migraine returning with a vengeance. Istood, unable to take another minute of this. “I’ll bring more before the first snow.”

We both knew he’d be here.

His grunt of acknowledgment followed me into the cool evening air. I dragged in lungfuls of crisp, clean oxygen, waiting for the agitation to bleed away. The visits always left me drained and hollowed out. Like I’d given pieces of myself away and gotten nothing in return.

The trek down was harder in the dark, but I knew these paths by heart. Every tree root, every loose stone, every hidden hollow. I’d learned them young, mapping escape routes for when my father’s temper burned too hot, or his disappointment cut too deep. Now the trees watched as I fled his home in exile like I was still that child.

A flicker of purple light through the trunks snapped me back to attention. The witch. She was still here. Still defiling sacred ground.

I veered off the path, following that unnatural glow. Maybe it was the lingering tension from Coth’s fantasies. Maybe it was the buildup of a truly shitty day. But suddenly, confronting one mouthy human seemed a hell of a lot more appealing than brooding alone in my cabin.

The clearing glowed with unholy light. Mushrooms formed a perfect circle around that stone badger. A larger circle of branches and glittering stones ringed the mushrooms. Tendrils of purple energy dancedthrough the air, weaving patterns I couldn’t begin to understand.

And at the center of it all knelt the witch.

Her eyes were closed, hands moving in intricate gestures. Whatever she was doing, it radiated power. The hair on my arms stood on end as magic crackled through the air.

I should leave. I knew that. Nothing good ever came from messing with witches and their rituals.

But this was my land. My responsibility. And I was sick of being pushed around by arrogant humans who thought they could waltz in and do whatever they pleased.

I stepped closer to the edge of the glowing circle. “I thought I told you to be gone.”

Her eyes snapped open. For a moment, they blazed with otherworldly light. Then awareness returned, along with that infuriating smirk.

“And I ignored you.” Her fingers never stopped moving. “Funny how that keeps happening.”

I gestured at the pulsing mushrooms, the swirling energy. “You’re working magic on clan lands.Sacredlands.”

“So you mentioned.” Her fingers sketched symbols that hurt my eyes. “Several times, in fact. Your conversational range seems rather limited.”

The dismissal in her tone—like I was some ignorant child who couldn’t grasp basic concepts—snapped thelast thread of my patience. No one spoke to me that way. Not here. Not in my territory.

I stepped toward the circle.

“Stop!” Her voice sharpened with genuine warning. “The ritual circle is active. Cross it now, and the consequences?—”

“What were your words?” I took another deliberate step. “Make me?”

“This isn’t about territory.” Those green eyes blazed with power and frustration. “This is about not being anidiotwho disrupts dangerous magic because his ego got bruised.”

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