Flora 

Well, Mr. Fallowdamp, for all he is a long-term associate of my father’s, has left me in one -- excuse me -- heck of a pickle. 

The idea was simple; save days by crossing the Drear Marches rather than going around them. Mr. Fallowdamp explained heavy coaches couldn’t do it, but this light coach -- a trap, a horse, and me and Mr. Fallowdamp -- could do it with ease. And I could draw the creatures of the marshes in my sketchbook.

Even when it started bucketing down with rain, Mr. Fallowdamp said not to worry. He said we might as well be afraid of a raid from the fierce and uncivilised orc tribes of this region. Well, normally I would have been thrilled by this idea -- I love tales of evil orcs, and he clearly meant it to distract me -- but the rain was quite dreadful at this point. Mr. Fallowdamp kept up a cheery disposition, or, at least a facade of one. Father had promised me as bride to him, when he had completed an ill-defined level of favours. I daresay he was fine, but I was not interested.

Then the trap lost it’s blasted -- excuse me -- wheel. Mr. Fallowdamp steered us through a puddle that was, in fact, a hole, and the right wheel broke almost in two. Well, Mr. Fallowdamp stared at the broken wheel and um-ed and ah-ed for a while. Then he said he would take the horse and ride for help, giving me a shameful look as he skulked away. If you can skulk on horseback? 

I have to say, I do not have a great deal of faith in Mr. Fallowdamp finding help at all, let alone bringing it back here. Increasingly the road looked like a lake, in fact, the whole landscape looked more aquatic than I would have hoped for. I sheltered under the trap’s canopy, and wondered what was going to become of me. 

Several hours passed until the world gave me it’s answer. 

Through the sheets of rain, a figure approached. I didn’t need anyone to tell me that it was not Mr. Fallowdamp. For a start, it -- she, in fact -- was both wider and taller than Mr. Fallowdamp. Second, I doubt that good fellow ever ventures abroad wearing naught but a loin cloth, a sling bag, belt and pouches, a dreadful spear, and boots. Boots which were sunken in the water and mud of our so-called road. Her skin was light green, and decorated with tattoos, flowing over muscles. I did not care to know what brutality those tattoos celebrated. Her breasts ... well, you know, but on display like it was nothing. Her hair was black, tied back, and her face was surprisingly noble for a savage, though there was no mistaking those two tusks. 

I had been captured by orcs! Well, orc, for this one seemed alone. Probably a tribal chieftain, sent away from her clan due to political trickery, I decided. From the look of her, the form, the face, she was definitely a chieftain. 

I am telling you this so you will be as scared as I was. I had read many of the encounters with orcs; they killed and ate everyone they could, with the exception of pretty females. Those they ... well, I can hardly say it, but slavery was the least part of it. 

The orc looked at the cart, and spoke some orcish gibberish. I said, very loud and clear, that Mr. Fallowdamp and his band of fierce fighters would be returning soon. But apparently this chieftain did not even speak the common tongue! She tried a few more words of gibberish, to no avail, of course. 

And then she began looting; she opened my luggage and chose a selection that got stuffed into her sling bag. She then turned to me: I guess to decide on whether I would be eaten, or worse, depending on how pretty I was. 

Well, she grabbed me, and flung me over her shoulder like a bag of cabbages, and then set off through the water. Evidently I was pretty enough. 

It was not a particularly comfortable way to travel, especially when musing on ways this brute will offend me when our journey was done. Dusk was falling when the orc chieftain deposited me at the base of a tree. 

She immediately turned away and began building a fire. I looked about; the tree, a willow of some sort, sat on top of a small hilltop. Around us was water. No wonder she was not guarding me; there was no escape. Well, unless I want to drown. And many will say better drown than be taken by orcs every which way, but until they have been in that position... 

My captor had the fire going quickly. She said some more gibberish words, and then pulled my arm. I went over to the fire. The tree didn’t fully protect us from the rain, but it certainly helped, and the fire was warm. Would she expect to have her way with me here, in the firelight, with rain falling around us? 

She was driving loops of wood into the ground near the fire. For what purpose I could not say. She gestured at them several times, and then -- obviously frustrated -- began pawing at my sodden cardigan. I had no choice but to let her remove it. She hung it over one of the loops of wood. My captor dumped her sling bag next to me. She gestured to me -- my clothes -- and I was in no doubt as to her command. Be naked for her. There was no point disobeying, and so I began to remove by clothing, staring at the floor. She didn’t even watch, but grabbed her spear and waded out into the water. I hung up the clothes on the wooden props to dry: honestly that sounds un-orcish, but the plan was probably that some orcs would enjoy the fine fabric while I was forced to wear nothing. Then I sat back near the fire, and pulled my knees up to my chin, and shivered. Partly due to the cold, but most in anticipation -- fearful anticipation -- of the orc’s savage ministrations. 

The orc looks back at me, says something, then wades up on the bank again. I freeze. She goes over to her sling bag, opens the top, and shows me that she has brought several items of my wardrobe (as well as, for some reason, my sketchbook). I cautiously put my blue dress on, it seems that my captor isn’t willing to let her slave die of exposure. I’ve got to admit, this waiting is a lot to bear -- I mean obviously I would rather it not happen at all, but the waiting is particularly bad. 

After a bit of time, my captor walks back with a large fish impaled on her spear, and a bundle of weeds. I watched her prepare the fish -- descaling, gutting, deboning and whatnot. As she sat cross-legged by the fire, her loincloth became askew and I found myself looking -- unintentionally -- at her womanhood. She was one of those women who -- how can I say this delicately -- found herself in the position of having a member of considerable size. I shivered again, thinking of how it would be when she finally outraged against me. 

The thoughts kept me silent until the fish was done. Thinking about it, orcs eat raw meat, somehow the cooking must have been for my benefit; certainly, she’d done a good job, the weeds turned out to be aromatic herbs with which she had stuffed the fish. True, there was little to be said for the serving method; on flat leaves, without cutlery, but the fish itself was lovely. Maybe, as chieftain she was used to a more refined palette? That was probably it. 

My captor shared her water skin with me. At least she was someone who took care of her slaves. 

She stood up suddenly, and I had another jolt of excitement. Terrible excitement, I mean. But she just went over to the sling and took out a bundle of fine fabric. Too fine for orcish manufacturing. Fastening a rope to the tree, she had quickly fashioned a primitive tent using the fabric, and without further ado, climbed in there and settled to sleep. 

My dilemma was obvious. I could stay out here in the cold and rain, possible prey for dangerous animals, or I could go into the tent with my captor and suffer a terrible price, trading my body for shelter. And, true the fire kept it from being really cold, and I assumed the animals were cut off by floodwaters, but the rain was real. 

I steeled myself, and entered the tent, laying down as far as possible from the orc -- which was not far. She spoke again in her language and grabbed me and moved me closer. My heart stopped for a moment -- and then my captor went to sleep. 

Volakn 

When I spotted the human coach, a part of me wanted to pretend I had not.

I wanted to see how this flooding affected the tributaries to the south, and see if the grassrats were more numerous. This was going to get in the way. 

But someone was there, and they were going to be cut off by rising water soon. So I had to, but I really did not want to. 

The human doesn’t speak any variant of orcish, of course. I mean, why bother to learn the language of the people of the area. I haven’t learned the human tongue either, but then I don’t move in human lands. This is the closest I had ever been to a human; I was not impressed. I took a few of her supplies and got us out of there. 

Unfortunately, it was going to take at least a few days to get rid of the human. My home village of Marshmark might have someone who knew the humans’ language, but I didn’t think so. I would probably have to make the longer trip to Rainwindedge, which traded with humans. What a waste of time! 

Well, there probably are closer human villages, but they’re beyond my knowledge, on human lands. And they probably wouldn’t trust an orc, especially one who didn’t speak their language. Because I don’t wander through places where I don’t speak at least a smattering of the tongue. 

Anyhow, the human seems as dull-witted as the prejudices made out. I had to shepherd her through simply changing out of her wet clothes. I say ‘her’, though it is just a guess. She got confused halfway through the ‘get changed’ and was naked until I realised. Anyway, she’s no orc; I suppose if you like smooth untatooed skin, with muscles barely defined, she was fine. 

I cooked some fish, at least she understood the purpose of that. Then I went to bed, leaving enough room in the tent for her. But she chose to lie touching the fabric walls, allowing rain to seep in. I pulled her into the middle. Humans! 

Flora 

It saddens me to report that I awoke next morning in a extremely compromised position. True, I had not yet been taken, by some chance, but still. Evidently, in the night my captor must have gotten chilly, and wrapped herself around me like I was a warm ember. Worse, if I shuffled my posterior downwards, I could feel her womenhood, sleeping now but soon to awake. 

It seems orcs are not ones to laze about abed forever though; my captor was suddenly out of the tent. With some hurried gesturing that meant -- I’m fairly sure -- some version of “stay here, slave”, she left. I assumed she meant the camp, not the tent. The rain had stopped at some point in the night, and the land, while still very soggy, looked a bit more passible this morning. My captor was nowhere to be seen. I could escape now, run through the wet marsh -- but it was pointless. I didn’t know where I was going. The best that could happen was the orc could recapture me, running me down over boggy fields, sending me tumbling to the floor, pinning my wrists and taking me in the most terrible way. I consider it for a moment or two. Then choose to bank the fire instead, feeding the embers. You might think me a coward, but I wanted to make myself useful. Captives -- slaves -- who had skills were probably better treated. 

My captor returned a short while later; she had refilled the water skin (from where I don’t know, but it tasted fresh) and had some mushrooms and tubers. She put the tubers into the charcoal at the edge of the fire, and put the mushrooms on an improvised skewer. I was a bit worried about the mushrooms, I didn’t know if orcs were clever enough to tell edible from poisonless fungi. But they, and the roasted tubers, were actually nice; the orc even had a little salt for seasoning in one of her pouches. 

While we ate breakfast, I had an idea. I pointed at myself, and said my name, and pointed at her. She gave one long sentence in orcish, so I tried again. 

“Flora,” I said, pointing at me, and then pointing at her. 

“Volak,” she said. She and I repeated it a few times, even though I was right the first time. Of course, it probably wasn’t a name, more likely a title: chieftain or master. 

Anyway, Volak soon packed up the camp, stamped out the fire, and set off across the marsh. Barely a glance back to see whether I followed. 

I must say, this was a hard trek, no pleasant stroll. The ground was still very waterlogged. The orc chose the way carefully, but I had to be equally careful in following her, otherwise I’d be up to my waist in bog. It was exhausting. The only thing that made it bearable were Volak’s occasional stops, sometimes for rest, but other times so she could stand on an overturned root, or scrubby hillock, and ... watch? 

Sometimes it seemed to be emerald ducks she was watching, other times it would be yellowtailed deer, other times, it was nothing at all, as far as I could see. On one of these stops, I gestured towards her sling bag, left at the bottom of the boulder she was on. Interpreting her gestures as acceptance, I pulled my sketchbook and pencil out, and began sketching the tufted cranes. A beautiful bird, and quite a challenge for my pencil. Eventually, my captor leapt off the boulder -- a frightening vision of athleticism -- and approached me. She took my sketchbook from me, looked at the drawing, and then smiled widely. 

When the sun was getting towards the horizon, Volak stopped and built a fire. For the last few miles she had been stopping to fish and so had quite a collection when we halted. She started to clean them again, but I was trying to prove my usefulness, and indicated to Volak that I would like to help. She seemed a bit hesitant, but supplied me with a second knife, and a fish, and taught me descaling and gutting. 

After we had eaten, Volak seemed content to sit and watch the darkening landscape. I reached for my sketchbook, and by fire and moonlight I sketched her. When I was done, she gestured for the book, and looked at it, exclaiming “Volak”, with a pleased expression. 

My captor evidently did not believe there would be rain tonight, because she spread the fabric on the ground and lay on it. I moved to be next to her, because... 

Well, listen. This orc was, as you’d have noticed, not in any great hurry to despoil me. Which seems like a good thing, obviously, but what if she was merely preserving my virtue until she could sell me? And, well, better the devil you know; this orc was not a complete savage, she was thoughtful and kind of gentle. So, I decided I would ... prompt her to outrage against me. 

I will not go into detail, other than to say that it worked: I was undone by passionate and brutal orcish ways. 

Volakn 

It was a mixed measure on the prejudices front today. On the plus side, she was nowhere near as dim-witted as she seemed yesterday. She was helpful with cooking, and she can produce these wonderful sketches of the animals I watch over. She looks very pretty, sitting there drawing with her tongue poking out. 

We also taught each other our names. She is Flora. She was a bit puzzled by my announcement that, “I am Volakn Xuthakug Lagsharzol, Watcher of the Southern Marsh,” but she coped with “Volakn”. Well, couldn’t quite manage to pronounce it correctly, but what do you expect? Still, no dimwit. 

However, you know the idea that human females are sex obsessed? As far as I can tell, that seems to be true. 

Last night she had been ... closer to me than planned, but obviously humans feel the cold much more than we do. 

But tonight, well. 

As we were settling in to sleep, Flora reached over and grabbed my womanhood. It was inert, currently, but... 

“Flora?” I said. Obviously, not learning the human words for “what are you doing to my girldick?” was a mistake. 

What she was doing was rubbing it, massaging it, stroking it with her soft human hands. It was not inert by this point. And, obviously, there is no point lying, I was attracted to her. At some point I stopped seeing her deviances from the orc form, and instead saw her in her own right, sleek and smooth like a river seal. And now, with a red face and a glint in her eye, massaging my womanhood, well, thoughts of objecting seemed far away. Maybe this was just a normal social ritual for the humans. 

She wriggled herself lower, and kissed my womanhood, before taking the head into her mouth. Human social customs are very strange. 

Flora continued to massage the base, while trying to take more of my girldick into her mouth. Then she pulled her mouth back to the tip, and did it again. She grabbed one of my hands and put it on her head. I was afraid to move; if I moved my hips or held her head, no doubt I could injure the human. 

I looked down at her enjoying me, and it made me ... happy. I came, saying her name softly, and she swallowed it all. 

Flora settled herself down to sleep. She looked red-faced and pleased with herself. 

Flora 

I must say I awoke feeling rather refreshed. Obviously, one would prefer not to be made to perform unchaste acts on an orc, but at least there were no bruises. 

Again, Volak went off to look for food while I tended the fire. I must admit, I was so busy doing this that I forgot to look for chances to escape before she came back. 

Otherwise, today was very like yesterday; walking with occasional stops for observation and sketching. At least the walking was easier today, the land drier and less broken up. 

We learned some other words, things like “yes”, “no”, “fire” and something that meant either “fish” or “food”. Volak seemed pleased. In fact, several times today I had become aware of her lustful stare upon me. 

After the evening meal, Volak began setting up the sleeping area. Obviously, I would have to submit to her carnal desires once more. 

Volakn 

All day I had been telling myself that the social custom was probably a one-time thing. But I had found myself picturing her face, her body. 

However, I told myself that nothing further would happen tonight. 

The first thing she did was to turn me over, on to my back. I was already aroused. Flora climbed on top of me, my womanhood, and began easing herself onto it. I was worried, but she was slick with wetness, and slowly engulfed my womanhood. Her face was a mixture of embarrassment, tension and much joy. When she began to move, I did too, cautiously moving my hips in rhythm with her. In truth, it made me want to go wild, but I was too concerned about hurting her. I reached a hand cautiously up to her breast, making eye contact to check it was acceptable. Her breast was soft and yet firm, I raised my other hand, and started massaging both breasts. In honesty, slightly more roughly than I meant to, but her expression showed no concerns. Indeed, the way she was bucking on top of me made me wonder if I had been misled re human fragility. 

I reached the point of orgasm, and a few moments later so did Flora. Our moans echoed together as we rocked each other through completion. 

She eased herself off, and went to lie down beside me. Instinctively I grabbed her, and brought our faces together. There was a moment of hesitation, and then she kissed me, and I kissed back. 

Flora 

I am ashamed to admit, I am getting used to being Volak’s slave. The morning started slowly, as I was a bit sore, but she was happy to make allowances. Thankfully the walk was even easier, with us ending up on what would appear to be an actual path. The land around us began to show signs of being cultivated, too. 

And then, in early afternoon, we came over a rise in the path to spot the orc village laid out in front of us. In truth, at first I thought it was a human village. It’s houses were neat and well-kept, its roads were clean and uncluttered. However, on further inspection, it was clear this was not the case. The dwellings were not in a human style: wooden built, with roofs almost down to the ground, and covered in fine carvings. 

I was fairly sure at this point that Volak wasn’t going to sell me, but I was still afraid. As we got into the village, I sensed the eyes of many orcs upon me. I hurried up to walk closer to Volak. She looked down at me and extended a hand, which I gripped tightly. 

Many orcs spoke to Volak, some nicely, a few aggressively; she always replied with a few words and moved on. 

I noticed that several of the orcs were better dressed than Volak, not necessarily for modesty, it seems, but for style maybe. Or pockets. I was beginning to imagine that Volak was no chieftain, disposed or otherwise. It didn’t matter to me, of course, she was kind and gentle. For an orc, that is. 

She was heading for the impressive building in the centre of the village; it was much larger than the others, and it’s decorative carvings were bigger and brightly painted. Volak led me in, still holding my hand. Through several rooms we went, until arriving in a room with a huge map on one wall. We had startled an elderly orc out of his slumber, and he and Volak had a serious conversation. Volak had gotten a palette out of a drawer, and several vials of paint, which she now mixed. She turned to the map on the wall, and starting to erase one section of the river with white paint, and -- when it had dried -- paint a new section of the river in blue. I watched her do this for a while, erasing bits and painting anew; some of the map was thick with paint. The map also had crude symbols of animals, birds and fish on it. Some of these she erased, or added more. She was about to add more cranes when she started, as if recalling something. Calling me over, she pressed the brush into my hand and pointed me a the cranes. I nervously painted one, and then -- at Volak’s instruction -- another. Although mine were crude, they are definitely better than hers, although some of the older marks were equally stylish. I drew a few more animals, Volak flipping through my sketchbook to indicate which sort. The old orc said something, and Volak laughed, and put a hand on my shoulder. 

It was beginning to get dark when we left. The village was not well illuminated, but I felt safe walking with Volak. At a roadside stall she bought cooked fish, and some sort of vegetable, wrapped in leaves. Volak stopped outside a small cottage, and let herself in. It was modest -- definitely belonging to no chieftain -- but as she went around lighting candles, it seemed neat and tidy. Much of it was covered in dust sheets, mind you. We sat side by side at the table and ate the food she bought; honestly, it was nicer than the campfire food, I was starting to revisit my understanding of orcish tastes. 

When we’d finished our eating, there was a moment of silence, and then she kissed me. I am ashamed to say I did not resist all that much. Or, in fact, at all; I was, after all, her slave, there was no point resisting. 

Her kisses were fierce and passionate, though she always took care that her tusks did not injure me. She picked me up and carried me to the bed. There was no point me resisting. 

Volakn 

Fortunately, we would pass through Marshmark on the way to Rainwindedge. 

People were surprised to see me back, of course, a mere month after setting out. All were surprised at the presence of a human; a few thought it was a bad omen. Considering human/orc relations, that was probably fair. 

I updated the not-the-land in the village house. The chieftain was sleeping there, as is his habit. We had a conversation about whether we had any speakers of the human language in the village. Unfortunately not. He did tell me of a human, a trader, in Rainwindedge, reckoned trustworthy, and living with an orc. 

Flora painted some of the animal symbols; her art skills are better than my own. The chieftain joked that we should make her one of the tribe and spare everyone my scrawls. 

We can at least spend the night in my house. 

I found myself kissing her. I didn’t mean to, but she was receptive. Her face is so beautiful I can barely stop myself. 

I took her to bed. She decided how we made love, though it took a fair amount of laughter and signing until we had it right. 

I took Flora from behind, my womanhood reaching between her thighs and into her. Because that meant less of me in her, I could go wilder in my exertions, without posing any danger. I supported myself above her on elbows and knees, though I swiftly learned that Flora likes to be a little bit crushed. I will admit that I liked it too, this beautiful woman “trapped” below me, and me moving with a great deal of vigour, plunging in and out of her. Her gasps were like music to me, no better, they were like the noise of a healthy forest. It was incredible. 

Flora 

I was alone when I woke up. Perhaps it will surprise you to learn that I had a moment of panic. Or perhaps not. 

I sat at the table and practiced saying her name; I had heard other people -- orcs -- pronounce it yesterday, and it was clear that I was getting the end slightly wrong. 

“Volakn!” I announced, when she came in. She smiled widely. 

“Yes!” she said. Volakn was dressed a little differently this morning. She wore a light shirt, and a wraparound skirt, more in keeping with the rest of the village. 

She deposited a set of packages on the table, shuffling out two specific leaf-wrapped parcels. Our breakfast, as it turned out, warm bread filled with cheese, mushrooms and undefined vegetables. Hearty and lovely, though I could only finish two-thirds of mine, and passed the rest to Volakn. 

Finishing up, Volakn turned to the other packages, passing one over to me. I unwrapped it from it’s rough coverings; it appears to be an orc dress? The few dresses that we had taken from the coach were dirty and smelly by now. I stood up at the table, and took my shift off. Volakn had no cause to preserve my human modesty. 

The dress would not, I suspect, have won many plaudits at any human ball. For a start, it was practical, the muted green fabric strong though still soft. There were no frills or bows, just some embroidery on the edges. And it didn’t come down far enough, stopping above the knee. Maybe it was designed as a shirt for an orc; that would explain the bagginess at the sides. Nonetheless, I loved it. 

Another package contains a belt; it doesn’t have a hole to make it tight enough, but Volakn kneels and makes one with her knife. And talking of such, she produces an orcish knife for my belt. 

She also has me a bag and a water skin, and I realise this means we are leaving. I am, I admit, a little sad. I had quickly grown fond of this cottage, and this bed. 

And more than that, I wondered where we were going. I leant over, and Volakn reassured me with kisses. 

Volakn 

The walk to Rainwindedge was long, but easy on the feet. The land had only gentle hills, and the path was well maintained. The scattered forests were lively with game (I swapped to my bow, leaving my spear), and gave us safe places to sleep. And we made love each night, and sometimes during the day also. Flora was wild and imaginative. 

But I was feeling increasingly distraught. For soon I would say goodbye to Flora. 

The five day’s journey to Rainwindedge was over too quickly. 

Flora 

There was something wrong with Volakn, my master. Oh, she was not really my master, that foolishness had gone, but sometimes I still called her that in my head. I will not say that her attentions over the last few day’s were unwelcome, quite the opposite. 

But I must tell you, she looked sad now, my Volakn, behind the eyes. We had learned a few more words, but not nearly enough for me to question her on this. 

Even her walking had been slow this morning. Not in terms of pace, but she would keep heading off the path to see blue egrets or micedeer. 

That was how we found ourselves in the forest, sitting on a fallen tree. Volakn gets a sudden gleam in her eye, and gets up. 

“Flora, yes?” she says. I have no idea to what I am agreeing, but agree anyway. 

In truth, you should skip this recollection if you are a chaste person. I have found that I am not. 

She crouches by my knees, and moves them apart, making eye contact with me, before discarding my underwear. I adjust my position on the tree. And Volakn pleasures me. With her mouth she eats of me, her tusks grazing against my skin. She is so hungry, like I am filling her up, and when I reach completion she laps and kisses happily, as I scare the forest with my moans. 

We stay there for a while. Volakn looks through my sketchbook again, holding up a page and making a ripping motion. I agree, and she carefully tears out that page. At first I think it is because of the passible portrait of her on one side, but I think it is the doodles overleaf that has caught her interest. Among, er, remembrances of her womanhood, there is a sketch of the two of us kissing. I cannot draw my own face particularly well, but I tried my best. She puts the paper into her sling bag. 

The mood of sorrow descends on her again, as we walk into a larger village. 

This time, I could tell that it is clearly an orcish village, but there are differences here. Many of the buildings are stone, and the style of the carvings is odd. The orcs wore more clothes, sometimes a full set, like a human. A good part of the village seems to be a busy market, just closing up. 

Volakn slipped her hand into mine. 

After exchanges with other orcs we found ourselves at the door to another cottage, well appointed and nicely painted. The orc that opened the door seemed surprised to see us, and immediately shouted back for someone else. Volakn started talking rapidly. 

“What is it Suhgan?” said the man, briefly hugging the orcs shoulder. Then seeing me, “Goodness, you look like you’ve been on an adventure. Come in and have a cup of tea while they talk.” 

I went with him, and watched him busying himself making tea. It was so strange to see a human again, it seemed like a long time, even though it wasn’t even two weeks. He introduced himself as Mr. Cloudminder, William, a trader. 

He brought the tea tray over to a low table, and bid me to sit. 

There was the sound of coins jingling, and of the front door closing. Suhgan joined us, but there was no sign of Volakn. 

“Where’s Volakn?” I asked, half standing in panic. 

“Gone,” said Suhgan, in excellent common, “Don’t worry, me and Bill will see you back to human civilisation. You let us know where you’ve got family.” 

He was right, of course, I needed to get back to my father. It’s just... 

“I didn’t say thank you!” I said. 

Suhgan sat down next to William, knees touching. William started to pour him some tea. 

“Well, now ‘thank you’s are rather less necessary to the orcs, my dear,” said William. 

“Especially ‘thank you’s from humans,” said Suhgan. 

“Ignore Suh,” said William, nudging the orc, “Why don’t you tell us how you came to be here.” 

So I told them. And they corrected me, or at least William did. Suhgan got up several times and stalked off, cursing -- I’d guess -- in orcish, before returning. 

By the time I had finished, I knew two things; one, I was a blasted fool, and two, I had lost Volakn. 

Volakn 

I watched her, Flora, as she settled in to tea with the trader. Human rituals suited her so well; it would be good for her to be among her own people. 

I finished up the conversation with Suhgan, handing over the coin. It was a reasonable price; they were going to get her to her family, and not just see her to the nearest human town. Suhgan could have charged more, but saw that his boyfriend, William, would probably have done it for free if asked. 

So I left. I didn’t want any long goodbyes. I had to get back to the Southern marshes. 

Yet I decided to stay one night in Rainwindedge. Truth was, I couldn’t stand the idea of sleeping outside without Flora beside me. Or on top of me, or underneath me. I lied to myself that tomorrow night would be fine. 

So I lay on the bed in the village’s tavern, and looked at the picture of her I had taken from her sketchbook. Then at the ceiling for a while, as the candle burned low. 

Then, suddenly, a commotion. 

The door to my room sprung open, and in rushed Flora, Suhgan and William. 

“Volakn!” Flora said. For some reason her voice seemed choked with emotion. 

“Flora,” I responded, baffled, “What-” 

The trader nudged her, and looking at the piece of paper she held in her hand, she said, in bad orcish, “I am a fool. Don’t send me away. I want to be with you.” 

“You know you don’t have to, right?” said Suhgan, “She had some extremely stupid ideas, and it’s not your job-” 

“Suhgan, can you tell her that I mostly live outdoors, and it’s a hard life,” I said. 

“Yeah, you’re not the chieftain. She doesn’t care,” said Suhgan, “But fine.” 

Flora listened to the translation, then looked at her paper again. “I want to be with you.” 

I held out my arms to her, and she rushed into them. “Flora, I want to be with you,” I said. 

William began talking, but Suhgan said, “Flora got that, love. Volakn, you and Flora come and see us for breakfast before you head off. Some portion of your fee should be refunded to you. And we’ll write down some words for you. And Bill would like it.” 

I nodded, but I was barely listening. I was staring at Flora’s beautiful face. 

Suhgan and William left. The moment the door clicked, Flora was on top of me. 

“Volakn,” she said. 

“Flora.”