Page 22 of The Orc Protector's Secret Baby
"Good morning, Hayden," he rumbles. His voice is gentler than I expected.
I nod in return. We regard each other silently for a few moments. Then Cagan gestures at the weedy plants I've been harvesting.
"You won't have to forage for those forever, you know. I can bring you better food."
I bristle at his words, clutching my meager bundle of greens. Does he think I'm so helpless?
"These weeds have kept me fed well enough," I reply crisply.
Cagan looks surprised, then shrugs his massive shoulders sheepishly.
"No offense meant. I just want to provide for my friend."
Friend. The word sends an unfamiliar warmth through me. After so many cold, lonely seasons, part of me yearns to relinquish my independence, rely on someone else's care. But a deeper instinct still recoils at the thought of trusting an orc.
I explain to Cagan how the bitter leaves make a nutritious stew. As we discuss edible plants, the mist slowly lifts. Timid sunlight filters through the leaves, glinting off Cagan's ivory tusks. One of them is broken, and I itch to ask him how it happened. Would that be rude? In the soft light, the hulking orc seems less threatening. My shoulders relax and our conversation flows comfortably. A fragile seedling of hope sprouts in my long-barren heart.
Over the next few days, I grow accustomed to Cagan's presence at the stream. His rumbling baritone has become a welcome part of my mornings.
"Good morning, Hayden! The forest air smells so fresh today," he greets me.
He chatters freely about his clan and life, about his sister and the warrior orcs he’s come to befriend. I listen quietly, occasionally interjecting a question or comment.
"The cooks were up before dawn preparing a feast for the clan elders. The smell of roasting boar made my mouth water," he describes.
Cagan is respectful of my space, never presuming to come closer without my permission. In turn I've relaxed slightly, allowing him a few strides nearer when we talk. His golden eyes shine with friendliness, warming me like rays of sunlight.
Bit by bit, I reveal harmless trivia about myself - my favorite wild berries, the chirping crickets that lulled me to sleep as a child. But I cannot bring myself to expose the gaping wounds that still fester in my soul.
"Tell me, what's your favorite spot in the whole forest?" Cagan asks gently.
"There's a moss-covered rock near a bend in the stream. Sitting there fills me with calm," I reply wistfully.
“Oh, I know that spot well," he starts to say, but a low rumble of thunder echoes through the trees. Cagan glances up at the darkening sky worriedly. "That sounds like a big storm brewing. Will you be able to take shelter?"
I bristle at the question. My business is none of his concern. But when I meet Cagan's gaze, I see only sincere concern in his eyes.
"I'll manage," I reply evenly.
Cagan nods, though still troubled. As the first raindrops patter down, he hesitates, reluctant to leave me exposed.
My pulse quickens under his gentle gaze. Confusing emotions stir within me. I'm unfamiliar with such kindness, and it frightens me.
Another crack of thunder spurs me to action. I turn abruptly.
My heart pounds as I flee through the woods. I've kept my heart walled off for so long, trusting no one. Yet somehow this orc's gentle concern managed to slip past my defenses. Now my thoughts are in turmoil. Feeling anything leaves me vulnerable. I must lock my heart safely away again.
My steps slow as I'm hit with a wave of confusion. Why did I flee from Cagan's kindness? What are these strange feelings stirring within me?
Could it be that I'm starting to care for Cagan? How could I let this happen? An orc, of all creatures! It's madness. He'll only bring more pain if I dare open my heart.
No, it's safer to be alone, as I've always been. I will lock these dangerous feelings away where they cannot hurt me.
As the storm swells, loneliness washes over me. Our unlikely friendship must end, though the thought fills me with surprisingly acute sadness. It's for the best. I must continue on alone.
The wind howls as the heavens open up. Pulling my tattered cloak tight, I turn my face to the rain. The forest seems colder and bleaker than ever.
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