Page 25 of The Orc's Stolen Shepherdess

“What do you use to sheer them?” I asked as we continued along the path. The scent of Oakwall was growing near and our time together was coming to an end. My mind quailed at the thought.

“Clippers.” She looked up at my quizzical expression and said, “Like scissors?”

She may as well have been making up words at this point.

“Warrior orcs don’t have scissors?” she asked, reading my expression so easily it was a marvel. “I know the conjurers use them for cutting things all the time.”

I held up my hands and my claws shot out from beneath my nails with a quietshlink. It was only after they had extended, long and sharp, that I realized what I’d done and rapidly tucked them back away. “Sorry.”

She tipped her head in a casual way. “I’m not frightened of your claws, Caivid. Though they are much bigger than conjurer orcs. Can I see them again?”

I swallowed and extended them once more, making sure to keep them far from her. The last thing I ever wanted was for her to feel afraid of me.

I shouldn’t have worried about it because she picked up my hand and brought my fingers into the lantern light so she could look at the deadly weapons more closely. I couldn’t count the number of times I’d used them to slash down a soldier of the Order.

“Having these is the whole reason I hired you on as my protector.” She stroked over my knuckles again and the tender touch made me feel like I was melting rightdown into the ground. “And they could be useful for other things too. I bet you could even help sheer the sheep with them, if they’re sharp enough.”

“They are as sharp as I file them to be.” I exhaled slowly, afraid that if I even twitched she would let go of my hand. “Would you show me how to sheer the sheep?”

Her eyes brightened up again. “Of course. I’d be happy to have another set of hands. Or claws, rather.”

I grinned, feeling full in the knowledge that I could be even more useful to her.

“You don’t have to though,” she insisted, releasing me. “Protection is all I need from you, Caivid.”

“I don’t mind. I’d like to fill my time with something,” I said before glancing up into the tree canopy. The wind was whistling through the leaves and they rained down onto the path like gold and red snow. “I don’t have much else to do, now that my days at war are over.”

“It must be difficult.”

I blinked and looked down at the bright, beautiful woman at my side. With her sunshine and warmth, she seemed to fit right into the world around us. And here I was next to her, scar-covered and socomfortable with violence that I showed her my claws without a second thought.

Did I even have a right to stay near her?

“I just mean. . . it must be hard to go from constant fighting to endless peace,” she said, shocking me to my core. “Even though it was a hard life, it was still the only one you knew. I think it’s normal to feel unsettled.”

“I. . . yes. . . that’s. . . true.” Fades, how was it that time and time again, this woman was able to read me?

“You think they’re perfect, don’t you?” She gestured to the forest surrounding us. “The Rove Woods, I mean. I used to think the exact same thing.”

I blinked rapidly. She did?

She took a deep breath. “This forest is absolute magic. Pristine and grand.” She chuckled and shook her head. “Isn’t it just soannoying?”

I let out a puff of laughter. “What?”

“It makes me feel so flawed by comparison.” She explained. “I used to always wonder, how can my imperfect self fit into this perfect place?”

Fades. . . “Yes. Exactly.”

She looked up at me with knowing eyes, and all my tension evaporated. “I used to try to bethe perfect shepherdess. I would work myself to the bone trying to get every little thing right and I’d get so upset when I inevitably made a mistake. But not anymore.”

Not anymore? “What helped?”

Her expression softened, and then she picked up my hand again. Still walking. Still guiding me through this beautiful autumn forest, as she said. “My father’s brutal honesty. He sat me down and dashed my dreams. He told me I would never be the perfect shepherdess I wanted to be. I was going to fail. I would lose sheep, sleep, pride, and even my dreams would fade away.”

“That’s harsh.” Fades, what kind of man was her father?

But she smiled up at me in a way that made me lose my breath. “He went on to say that new dreams would replace them. Every day, I would get better. Every morning, I would be a stronger version of myself. Every spring would bring new lambs and new growth. New excitement, joy, and heartache, too. He told me I needed to stop trying to be perfect and see the good in what I already had.”

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