Page 13 of Halfling
Which meant they had to get to the river.
“There are other ways,” he said.
She watched him warily but didn’t retreat when he knelt before her. A surprised breath whooshed out of her when he picked her up under the legs and back. He hoisted her high on his chest, so their heads were nearly even, and she instinctively put her arms around his neck.
“Oh,” she breathed, blinking owlishly at him.
“We have to make the river.”
He watched her jaw work as she clenched her teeth. Finally, “If you’re sure…”
He nodded. “Hold on.”
And he ran.
The forest flew past in streaks of shadow, the air beating at Sorcha’s cheeks as she swayed and bounced in the arms of the orc.
Or whatever he was. So close to him now, Sorcha wasn’t sure. The lines of his face were mostly human, softer somehow than the orc she’d seen in the tent. Up close, she saw the different colors and textures of the tapered point of his ear and the small gold hoop that pierced the lobe.
This male wasn’t orc, at least not completely. But he wasn’t human, either.
No human ran as fast as he did now, so fast that she could barely make out anything in the dark before it was far behind them.
No human was strong enough to haul a stuffed pack and a grown woman around, either—especially not a tall, well-fed, well-muscled woman like her. She could feel the way his chest heaved and radiated warmth like furnace bellows; it took effort for him to do all this, yet he did it for miles without stopping or slowing.
Even when they finally did come to a stop, where the creek widened and churned as it dumped into a river, his breath came fast but not in gasps, and she never once drooped in his arms.
He stepped out of the creek before its current met the stronger one of the river and walked to the bank. The moon was bright and clear over the river, illuminating the surface like milk glass. The diffused light and roar of the water made her guts churn as surely as the creek. The current was strong here, and she could barely make out the other side.
He walked along the bank, finally stopping at a little rocky beach.
“It’s shallow here,” he said.
She looked out over the dark water and couldn’t help the groan.
“How shallow?”
He glanced down at her and grimaced. He hiked her further up his chest, but before he could walk into the water, she wriggled to get him to stop.
“You need your arms for balance.”
He seemed to consider a moment. “I’ll be fine.”
“Put me down.”
She kept his gaze as he looked her over, no doubt assessing if there was a way to win this battle of wills. Sorcha crossed her arms over her chest and lifted a brow, a move that never failed on her brothers, even the grown ones. She needed him to get across and he needed his arms free.
Finally, he set her gently on her feet, not pulling away until he was sure she had a firm footing.
She tugged on a strap of his pack.
“I’ll carry this.” He opened his mouth to protest. “And you’ll carry me,” she added.
In the moonlight, she’d guess he was skeptical. He looked at the river and then back the way they came, thinking before, with a sigh, taking off his pack.
It hit the ground with an ominousthump,and for a moment, Sorcha regretted her plan. But her mother hadn’t raised a wilting violet, and her legs and back were strong from years of hard work mucking stables and hoisting squirming siblings. It was just to the other side of the river. Which she could see. Sort of. Barely.
She grabbed the straps but groaned when her first try didn’t raise the pack off the ground. The orc made an unhappy noise and bent to pick it up but she bent her legs, gritted her teeth, and heaved.
