Page 14 of The Orc's Stolen Shepherdess

“How?” I searched her face to find the truth. “How do you plan to do that when our village has been isolated from everyone outside the Rove Woods for centuries? It’s not like we can go to the next town to get more sheep. There literallyaren’tany more in the Rove Woods.”

Waston crossed her arms and pursed her lips and wouldn’t meet my eyes as she said quietly. “Perhaps it’s time for us tostopbeing isolated.”

I was momentarily speechless. My mind could hardly fathom it. We were safe here. At peace. And we had been for hundreds of years. Outside these woods, the world was at brutal, bloodywar.

And she wanted to let that in?

“Does Headman Gerald know what you’re planning?”

For the first time, I saw a flash of alarm cross her features and wanted to collapse with relief. “It has nothing to do with him and you need not go blabbing your mouthto him either.”

I would blab the moment I saw him. “I don’t know what you’re planning, but I suggest you stop before our peace in these woods is broken.”

“Our peace is already broken, Susara,” Waston said with a sniff as she turned away. “And all will see that by the time I’m done.”

My stomach twisted with worry, but there was nothing I could do about the woman’s ominous words now. I hurried to put the sheep in their paddock out the back of our house. The oak wall loomed above me, almost oppressively, as I got the flock bedded down for the night.

But as oppressive as it was, it was still better than being outside these woods. In a land of constant strife and bloody war, I was certain everyone would agree that being friendly with our orc neighbors and occasionally carrying sons for them was far better than that.

Right?

I wrung my hands with worry but could waste no more time dwelling on it.

“Father, I’m home.” I tried to sound casual as I entered the small cabin house that I’d lived in all my life. Inside, there was a crackling fire, sturdy walls, warm-looking cushioned furniture. ..

And my father, whose cheeks were red with fury.

“Wherehave you been?” His bushy gray brow was set so tight his eyes were almost hidden as he struggled to get out of his rocking chair. My father had always been strong, but in the last few years, his yellow hair had all gone white, the wrinkles on his brow had become more pronounced, and age had stolen his ability to move well.

“Oh, don’t get up.” I stopped untying my boots and hurried to his side. He let me help him back into the chair, which told me how much pain he was in. “Where is that orc medicine we traded for?”

“I already took it,” he muttered, making my chest squeeze with dismay. If magical healing tonics weren’t working, then— “Don’t look at me like that—I’mfine.”

My throat tightened as I tried to swallow down my worry.

“And this isn’t about me,” he insisted. “I’ve been worried sick about you. The moon is high! Why were you gone so long? What happened?”

“Nothing happened.” I lied, going to the pot on our small cast-iron stove where soup was bubbling. I grabbed two dishes from the shelves above. “I’m perfectly fine. We just got caughtup, is all.”

“Caught up with what?”

I tried again to change the subject. “Waston caught me outside. Has she told you about all her ludicrous ideas? About leaving the Rove Woods and trying to drive a wedge in the peace between us and the orcs of Rove Wood Clan?”

My father let out a long, frustrated sigh. “Yes. She has. She’s been getting into the minds of many folks.”

“Not you, I hope!” I exclaimed as I ladled the soup into our bowls.

“Of course not. But many others. With those warrior types coming here to stay, folks have been afraid. But I know Waston isn’t what kept you, so spit it out. Where have you been?”

I made the quick decision not to tell him about Midnight and the warrior orc. “The main grazing patch was flooded, so we had to go to the eastern one.”

“Did you say flooded? But it’s never flooded before. And the winter rains haven’t even started yet.”

“I know.” I carried the bowl to him. The sweet smell of barley and carrots was comforting. “It’s odd. I’ll go to Headman Geraldtomorrow morning and let him know.”

As I passed the bowl into my father’s hands there was a sharp knock at the door, and it swung open before either my father or I could respond.

I felt nauseous as Jophel, the butcher’s youngest son, walked inside like he owned our home. He was a short man with long, greasy hair and a quick temper. I’d known him all my life. Gone to school with him. I tried to avoid him as best I could. He knew my answer would always, and forever, be no.

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