Page 27 of Halfling
Sorcha drew in a long breath and finally turned to face him. Her smile was strangely sad, and if Orek had known the manners of others better, he might think she’d become almost…shy.
“Thank you, Orek. For everything.”
The deep, heartfelt timber of her voice had heat creeping up his neck again. He shook his head and looked away.
“It was the right thing.”
“Yes, but it wasn’t the easy thing. You owed me nothing and risked everything. I truly…”
To his shock, her eyes grew glassy as if she was close to tears. Suddenly, she stuck her hand out to him stiffly, her lips pulled into a determined line.
Orek had seen this human custom of clasping wrists. He extended his right hand to her, but rather than take her wrist, he pretended ignorance and enveloped her hand in his. It was tiny compared to his, so breakable, so soft. His heart thumped oddly in his chest when she squeezed his hand back.
“What will you do now?” she asked, not letting go of his hand.
He wanted to pull it away at her question, the thought of tomorrow and the next day and the day after that with nothing to fill them making his soul shrivel. The idea of returning to the clan had been a desperate one that first night of flight, a fancy he told himself to brave what he had to do. In the light of day, it was clear he couldn’t return.
Sorcha’s absence as well as his own would be easy to figure out. Even if Orek hadn’t brought Sorcha here, if he’d parted ways with her that first night, or even if he’d merely cut her bonds and sent her on her way, he’d still be blamed in full. They’d say he’d stolen her for himself.
A dark, ugly voice inside him wished that were so.
Take her, hide her, claim her.
Now, all that could be done was lead the trackers away from the human village, deeper into the western forests. He supposed he would wander until inspiration struck him on what to do. Perhaps he could find a bit of land, far away from any orcs or humans, to call his own. A clan of one.
None of this he told Sorcha. He hated the tears that welled along her lower lashes.
He marveled to think that perhaps she cared what happened to him, that she might worry for him when they parted—but, like his doomed attachment to her, he mercilessly quashed the thought.
She was only being polite, only soothing her own worries over what she’d done to his life.
“I will hunt,” was what he finally said.
Not a lie.
In truth, it was his only real plan.
Her lips drew thinner, but she nodded.
“If there’s ever a way I can repay you, if you ever need aid, please find me. I’m not sure where we are now, but my family lives outside the village of Granach, in the Darrowlands. Ask for the Brádaigh house.”
He nodded in agreement, though he knew in his heart that he’d never see her again.
A tight band squeezing his chest, Orek pulled a little sack from a pocket of his pack. The heavy gold coins within it jangled as he handed it to her.
Sorcha’s eyes went as round as the coins at the gift. She tried to put it back in his hand.
“No, I can’t take this.”
“Take it,” he insisted, letting his hand fall in a fist to his side. The other was full of Darrah and unable to take it back.
“But—”
“I’ve collected a few in case. They will do more for you than for me. Take it.”
“Then at least…” She pulled the sheathed dagger he’d traded her from her pocket.
But Orek wouldn’t take it, either.
