I obey, grateful for her knowledge even as I chafe at the weakness that makes such help necessary. Every instinct screams to be moving, scouting, preparing defenses. Lying here helpless while others provide for my safety goes against everything my training demands.
"The shelter is well-built," I offer instead, hoping to convey appreciation without sounding patronizing. "Clever use of materials."
"It's temporary." Mara's tone suggests she's not fishing for compliments. "We needed something quick when the fighting started nearby."
Fighting. The word carries implications that make my jaw tighten. "Redmoon?"
Her nod confirms what I suspected. "Not sure who they were fighting but the settlement was falling. We grabbed what we could and ran."
Settlement. Not bunker, not encampment. Somewhere permanent enough to call home, now lost to orc infighting. The casual way she mentions fleeing speaks to familiarity with displacement that no one should possess.
"I'm sorry." The words feel inadequate but necessary. "Redmoon has been pushing into territories all winter. Their raids grow bolder. I’m not surprised someone is fighting back."
"You know them?" Something sharp enters her voice, protective mother evaluating threat levels.
"By reputation." I choose honesty over evasion. "They're part of the reason I was in these woods. Tracking their movements, trying to understand their patterns."
It's the truth, if not the complete truth. No need to mention clan leadership or the greater strategic implications of Redmoon's expansion. Better to appear as a simple scout than a chief with a target on his back.
"Alone?" Mara's incredulity seems genuine. "That's dangerous, even for..."
She trails off, but I catch the implication. Even for an orc. Fair enough—most humans see us as either unstoppable killing machines or savage brutes. The reality of vulnerability rarely occurs to them.
"I was with a hunting party." I take another sip of the bitter tea, feeling strength creep back into tired muscles. "But a failing soldier becomes expendable in light of gathering supplies and intelligence for the clan.”
Expendable. The word tastes false even as I speak it, but it serves to deflect questions about why I had been left behind.
"Well, your intelligence gathering nearly got you killed." Mara's tone carries dry humor beneath the criticism. "Poisoned water isn't exactly a tactical victory."
"No," I agree, studying her face in the firelight. The shadows emphasize the delicate line of her cheekbones, the curve of her mouth that suggests smiles come easier in better circumstances. "But being found by skilled healers might qualify as strategic luck."
Color touches her cheeks at the compliment, quick and telling. When did she last hear words of appreciation from someone not her daughter? The thought sparks protective instincts I have no right to feel.
"Mama's really good at fixing things," Eira chimes in, glancing up from her decorating. "She fixed the air scrubbers in the bunker and the water filters and now she fixed you."
Bunker. The casual reference explains much—technical knowledge, systematic thinking, the pallor that speaks of too many years underground. Mara came from the eastern settlements, the places where humans buried themselves rather than face orc occupation directly.
"She's very skilled," I agree, watching Mara's expression closely at the scrutiny. "I owe her more than I can easily repay."
"You don't owe us anything." The words come quick, defensive. "We couldn't just leave you to die."
"Some would have." I keep my voice gentle, non-threatening. "Leaving would have been the safer choice."
"Maybe." Mara pokes at the fire with unnecessary force. "But Eira was drawn to help you, and I've learned to trust her instincts."
I glance at the child again, noting the way she hums softly while working. Power runs in her blood—diluted perhaps, but present nonetheless. In the old world, she would have been treasured for such gifts. Here, she's more likely seen as an aberration.
"Smart policy." I drain the last of my tea, already feeling more alert despite the lingering weakness. "Children often see the truth adults miss."
"The grown-ups were fighting so loud yesterday," Eira observes without looking up. "All angry voices and metal sounds. But the trees were trying to sing about the snow coming. I liked the tree songs better."
The simple statement carries profound insight. She experiences the world through senses most adults have forgotten, finding peace in natural rhythms while violence rages around her. No wonder Mara trusts such perceptions.
"The fighting you heard—it's moving east." I offer what intelligence I can without revealing too much about my sources. "If you stay north of the ridgeline, you should avoid the worst of it." Though there’s no avoiding orc territory.
Relief flickers across Mara's features before caution reasserts itself. "How can you be sure?"
"Because I've been tracking their movements for days." Another partial truth. "Redmoon prefers established routeswhen moving heavy forces. They'll follow the easiest path toward their objectives."
