Page 26 of Halfling
“I hadn’t thought to,” he admitted.
“What is it you keep calling him?”
“Darrah.”
“Is that orcish? What does it mean?”
“It is…little acorn.” Another blush crept up Orek’s neck. “Because he fell from a tree.”
That smile of hers grew wider, into a warm, incandescent thing that sparked two very distinct feelings inside him. First was pleasure, new and addicting. He liked the sight of her smiling, liked the appearance of that dimple and how her smile and the firelight played with the freckles patterning her skin.
But there was also a deep, wrenching terror. Akin to that deep fear when he was a youngling, hiding from Kaldar and the others whowould beat him. It was the threat of something big and terrifying…yet, it was also different. Not…bad. Even if something inside him shifted irrevocably. That smile did things to him he couldn’t name or fully understand.
That smile could ask things of him no one else had or would.
It was terrifying to realize he’d likely give whatever that smile asked of him.
The next day brought them, finally, to the human village Orek had promised. He knew it would be there, knew they’d reach it that day—yet the first glimpse of the outskirt buildings was…unwelcome.
He heard Sorcha’s sharp inhale, and he stopped, for she had stopped. She gazed wide-eyed upon the houses, smoke rising from their chimneys. Orek knew little of human houses, but these seemed large enough and well cared for, the surrounding brush cleared away to protect from summer fires and little paths laid between buildings after years of booted tread.
“This is it?”
Orek nodded.
Her mouth opened without uttering a word.
He desperately wished for her to say something.
Instead, she petted the kit, whom she’d been cooing over all morning. Rather than another barrage of questions for him today, she’d instead turned her questions to the baby, asking inane things like if he was strong, if he was handsome, if he was silly. She said it all in a sing-song voice, and Orek had realized as they walked, the village looming nearer, that he’d been a little jealous of the kit.
He’d known his time with her grew shorter, and, at least inside, he was willing to admit he wanted more of her questions…more of her attention before she was gone from him forever.
Still, he’d hung on her every word to the kit, smiling to himself as she sang him silly songs and asked him what his favorite foods were.
Perhaps it is best,he thought to himself, watching on as she continued to stare at the village.
A night’s sleep hadn’t relieved his unease at feeling that shift in him. The first tendrils of attachment had taken root, as determined as the ivy mats that clung to trees and climbed higher to the sun. He…likedher. And that terrified him.
Even more than his possessive beast inside growling not to let her go.
Better perhaps that they parted now.
Better that he never let this attachment blossom—because he knew, as certainly as he did his hunting trails and the slope of the western mountains, that she could be the ruin of him.
He was used to being alone. It was easier that way. He knew how to take care of himself, knew the rules of his clan and world. Orek didn’t belong anywhere near this human woman, not in her world, not in her life.
It is best.
The words sat like bad meat in his belly.
Orek watched her from the corner of his eye, not sure what kept her there in the trees. He’d half expected her to go running for her first sight of humans in days and what had to mean true safety for her. He assumed there was a comfort to being amongst one’s own kind.
After another long moment, she blinked as if coming awake and turned to hand him the kit. The baby squeaked and purred, curling up in the palm of his hand.
Clearing her throat but not looking at him, Sorcha said, “You should call him Darrah. Your little acorn.”
“All right,” he agreed.
