Page 46 of Halfling
As he unrolled his big fur, something fell out onto the ground with a clinkingsmack.Orek knelt and picked up the coin purse.
The forest echoed with his booming laugh.
Asteady rain pattered against the tarpaulin, echoing inside their little makeshift cavern. They’d traveled in rain before, taking a moment to don oilskin cloaks and cover their packs, but so far, it’d held off at night.
No such luck tonight.
Not torrential but insistent nonetheless, the rain had driven them to make camp early. Orek took a little time to find what he wanted, and they finally set up between two huge downed redwoods. With the tarpaulin spread and secured over them, a tent of sorts offered shelter from the rain but not much from the chill.
Sorcha sat on her bedroll working some warmth back into her feet. Her boots stood against the fibrous bark of the tree with her damp socks spread over them.
With no fire for the night, they’d spread their bedrolls closer together. Sorcha was wedged near the back of the space, in theVmade by the abutting trunks. Orek lay a little further up, his head around her hips, so he was what would meet anything foolish enough to come sniffing around their shelter.
The orc in question ducked back into the shelter, crouching low to do it. He pulled his oilskin cloak behind him, making something of a door. It cut off most of the opening and light but also spared them from the spray of the rain hitting the ground outside.
Orek sat heavily upon his own bedroll, the darkness obscuring most of his face aside from his silhouette. It didn’t stop Darrah from squeaking happily and clambering out of her lap and climbing into his.
“He likes you better.”
“That’s because I sneak him carrots. Don’t I?” he asked the kit, holding him up into the remaining shaft of meager light. “Look at this belly.”
“I’d feed him carrots if I had them.”
“You can’t be trusted with them, either,” he said sagely. “Between the two of you, they’d all be gone in a moment.”
“That’s true.”
Darrah grumbled and growled, play-fighting with Orek’s large, blunted fingers.
Sorcha watched on, at least what she could in the dim, combing out her curls with her fingers as Orek played with the kit. He often did so before bed to tire him out; raccoons were night creatures and Darrah still very much a baby. If he wasn’t tuckered out before bedtime, he’d be up all night, climbing over them or rooting through the packs for food.
“Ach, b’rruk, darrah,” he scolded when Darrah tried to munch his knuckles.
Whenever the kit became too rambunctious or bit too hard, Orek chided him gently in orcish. She didn’t think he realized he returned to his other tongue. When he talked to the kit, she didn’t find the language so strange or brutal. Like most of what he said, it came out in that soothing purr that had her toes curling.
“Will you be cold?” he asked her as the kit tussled with his hand.
“No, it’s quite cozy in here.” Already, with the big orc taking up most of the shelter, it’d begun to warm up. She’d have preferred a fire to at least dry her socks and soften the jerky, but this would do just fine.
“I don’t know how many days we’ll have before frost comes in the night,” Orek said. “I can make a tent for you from this.” He touched the tarpaulin above them.
“Hmm.” She made herself consider, even when an immediate denial rushed her lips.
In truth, there were times when she woke in the middle of the night, perhaps hearing a strange noise or her body still being unused to sleeping somewhere so strange after spending almost all the nights of her life in her bedroom at home. When she did, she’d look over the banked fire, seeking out his form.
Often, he was nothing but a silhouette, great chest rising and falling in his sleep. Sometimes she could make out the softer lines of his face in sleep that made him look younger. Sometimes it was just the soft gleam of the glowing fire in his dark fall of hair.
Whatever it was, that glimpse of him and his bulk eased her fears. She felt better for seeing him.
Can’t do that in a tent.
Still, she said, “I’ll think about it. There’s something to be said for sleeping under the stars.”
He grunted in easy acceptance.
She liked that. She liked many things about this male.
She liked how gentle he was with Darrah, tucking his tiny body into his own little nest, made from a fur-lined hood it was too temperate yet to wear. She liked that he always checked on her comfort, whether it was asking her or taking a moment to look over her bed for the night. She liked how the slabs of muscle at his shoulders and back bunched and moved as he drew off his outer jerkin, leaving him in his tunic.
