Page 28 of Halfling
“You may still need it.”
Her mouth scrunched in an unhappy frown, but she nodded and put the dagger and coins in her coat pocket.
“Thank you. If I could repay you…”
He shook his head. “Not needed.”
She seemed more troubled than relieved, but all that was left for her to do was take a long, deep breath, square her shoulders, and say, “Goodbye, Orek of the Stone-Skin.”
Ignoring the sting in his heart, he clasped his free fist over his heart. “Farewell, Sorcha Brádaigh of the Darrowlands.”
Her eyes lingered on him for a long moment, a yawning silence that he wanted to fill, somehow, a desperate call for her to…
Shoulders stiff, she turned on her heel and made for the village, her stride steady and determined.
Orek watched her go from his place in the trees. He watched her until he couldn’t see her, her dark head of curls disappearing between the houses.
A finality lingered on his tongue, yet he couldn’t force his feet to move.
In his hand, Darrah whined and purred, hungry again.
He set the kit in his tunic and fished a dried carrot from his pocket. He bit off a piece for Darrah and chewed another himself.
The quiet of the forest surrounded them, but Darrah’s little baby noises were something to listen to.
At least if he couldn’t return to the clan, he still had one little companion.
The kit made happy munching sounds, and it somehow softened the worst edges of his despair. The uprooting of his attachment was just as painful as he’d suspected, and knowing it was to come and needed to happen was little comfort.
He needed to put as much distance between them as possible, for both their sakes. Yet, even after that carrot and another were gone between him and Darrah, he couldn’t make himself move.
Don’t leave her,keened the beast.
What could it hurt if he stayed? Just for a little while. Just to make sure.
7
The familiar smells of a human village overcame Sorcha’s senses. Woodsmoke and livestock, drying herbs and soap cakes. The path beneath her feet was packed from years of use, but its ruts and undulations were unfamiliar and kept her eyes occupied as she picked each step. Sounds of village life filtered through the houses, and Sorcha followed the noise.
The chatter of people had her finally lifting her eyes, and she beheld a village at work. People bustled about, stepping off porches, hauling carts, hitching horses and oxen, and tending gardens. Children scampered through the streets, dogs with wagging tails chasing behind them. It was an idyllic, familiar scene; a village that could have been anywhere in Eirea.
The onslaught of noise and activity was a stark contrast to the serenity of the forest. Between her interminable days with the slavers blinded and gagged and the past handful with the quiet company of Orek, she’d grown unused to all the sights, smells, and sounds.
She was alone for the first time in…before she was taken.
Sorcha was so rarely on her own. In a house full of siblings, on an estate devoted to training the finest warhorses, in a community that venerated her knightly father, she was almost never by herself. She’d taken to sneaking away to her Auntie Sofie’s house or taking her horse Fiora out for an afternoon of quiet, just to escape the chatter and the chores for a while, but even then, she wasn’tgone.
She and her family knew where she was.
It was a small relief to be amongst humans again, but as she traveled deeper into the town, people stopped and stared. No one greeted her or even asked who she was, just watched her with flinty, suspicious eyes, and anxiety began to fester in her guts.
She’d made it another few steps before someone finally approached her.
A wiry man with a thatch of dark hair graying at the temples and holding a battered hoe stepped into the path.
“You lost?” he said without preamble.
“Yes, actually.”
