Page 49 of Halfling
“First sign of trouble, we leave,” he said.
“Yes, yes. I know the rules.” She waved away his concern. “It’ll be fine. Now, let’s go. I can smell the pastries from here.”
Unsure what pastries were and whether this was madness or not, Orek followed her into the human town.
Sorcha had never had an easier time haggling prices down. With Orek looming behind her like a thundercloud about to roll down the mountain, merchants seemed happy to give her what she wanted at a more than fair price.
Perhaps she should’ve felt guilty using her companion to intimidate the merchants and shopkeepers, but as she popped another dried apricot into her mouth, she just couldn’t be bothered.
She was enjoying herself, nearly floating down the main street of the town where the shops, booths, and carts had been set up for market day. Colorful awnings and tents stood brightly in the sunny autumn day, and children roved in gaggles looking for the best treats and trinkets. Adults haggled, horses snoozed, and the market had a familiar humming melody that soothed Sorcha. Market days were the same across Eirea, it seemed, and Sorcha had always enjoyed market days at home.
Whether her companion was enjoying himself was an entirely different question. She wasn’t honestly sure. At first glance, with that stony face and downturned mouth and furrowed brow, she’d say no. Yet he continued to walk with her, patient and calm. The villagers gave him a wide berth, the width of his great shoulders not inviting anyone to stop and peer long enough at the face shadowed under the deep hood.
As they rounded another tent, Sorcha’s stomach growled. Although half-full of apricots, her stomach knew they’d found what they’d truly come here for. Baked goods. She’d commit crimes at this point for some crusty bread, and it didn’t bear thinking about what she’d do for something dusted in sugar or filled with jam.
“Just a few more things,” she assured Orek. They’d already found the more important supplies they needed, like another bowl, paring knife, and more pairs of socks.
Orek grunted in acknowledgement.
Before stopping at the shop she wanted, she held out another piece of apricot. Two little hands emerged from the hood, grabbing for it. The fruit disappeared into the shadow of the hood, and Sorcha could hear faint smacking sounds as Darrah nibbled away at another treat.
She leaned in conspiratorially to whisper, “I’ll be his favorite yet.”
Orek huffed with amusement, though no one else likely could have told so with his scowl still firmly in place.
Sorcha knew most would find her idea and insistence on bringing him along to market day in a human town silly—she suspected Orek did himself. While non-human folk weren’t unheard of, they hadn’t been seen with any regularity for decades and certainly not mixing in country markets.
Why she’d not only suggested it but pushed for it was somewhat unclear even to her. The notion had popped into her head the day before, and sometimes, when she had an idea, she just couldn’t shake it.
As she entered the baker’s shop, the smell of warm yeast and melting butter filling her senses, Sorcha thought perhaps it was something of a thank you. She knew what freeing her and now taking her home meant for Orek—his life with his former clan was over. He hadn’t spoken much of his life within the clan, but from what little he’d said, and all that he hadn’t, she could only assume it was as brutal as the stories orcs were famous for.
Still, his sacrifice didn’t go unnoticed or unappreciated. Perhaps she wanted him to see what a new life could be. Humans could take getting used to, and it may take time to find the right situation for him, but he could make a new life in the north. Perhaps she wanted him to see all that such a life could offer.
That was a large reason why she bought one of everything at the baker’s, as well as two crusty loaves.
Heading back out with her spoils, she couldn’t help her smug grin as she watched those hazel eyes of his dart between all her baked goods, not quite sure where to look.
“Finally, what we really came for,” she crowed, handing him a cherry tart.
Orek took it gently, holding it with his broad fingertips as if it’d break apart with the least pressure. He held it in front of his face for a long moment, just looking at it, while two little grabby paws and a snuffling nose grasped for it under his hood.
“It won’t bite,” Sorcha said around a mouthful of her own custard tart, not caring how rude it was, “unless the cherries are unripe.”
He huffed again, this time his dubious huff, and slowly put almost the whole thing into his mouth, sparing a bite for Darrah. The kit was done and licking his paws before Orek had finished chewing and swallowing.
Sorcha snickered at his obvious distaste. “All right, no cherries. How about apple?”
They made another circuit of the marketplace, finding a few more things to buy for the journey. All the while, Sorcha plied her companion with baked goods, determined to find something he liked. They quickly discovered he didn’t have a taste for overly sweet things, but did enjoy the meat hand pie. That went in two great bites, followed by an appreciative huff.
Typical.
Content to finish off the pastries herself, Sorcha ambled through the last of the stalls, feeling a little more settled. The familiarity of a marketplace, in a town not unlike her own Granach, gave her some semblance of hope. Nobody had looked at her and sneeredorc-slut. Nobody had tried to drive them out of town. They were small things to be grateful for, but she was.
She was passing one of the last dried apricots to Darrah when an interested call caught her attention.
Sorcha looked over to see a merchant standing in his stall, waving them over.
Orek tensed beside her at the sudden attention.
