I snorted. “Nope. No magic here. Just talent.”
“Just talent? Well, I’ll be damned. Can I have some more of this?”
“Sure—at the potluck with the rest of Moonvale. You better be quick, or it’ll run out before you get any,” I said smugly.
She glared at me for a second before bolting for the cellar door. She almost made it.
I stepped smoothly in front of her, barricading the path and grinning broadly, my tusks on full display. I crossed my arms over my chest and planted my feet.
Giving up, she strode away with a huff, her hooves clanking rhythmically on the stone floor. “Ugh. You’re the worst, you know!”
“Love you too, Ginny,” I laughed.
She flapped her hand dismissively before flipping me her middle finger.
I smiled for the rest of the day, pride blossoming in my chest at what I had accomplished. The folk of Moonvale were going tolovemy pumpkin cider.
The air had cooled to a comfortable briskness by the time I decided to head back to my cottage for the night. Ginny and I took turns closing when we weren’t swarmed with customers, and tonight had been on her.
I really needed to talk with her about hiring someone else to help us during busy days. We had briefly discussed and dismissed the notion in the past, but having an extra set of hands to wash dishes and run bowls back and forth certainly wouldn’t be unwelcomed.
The two moons slowly climbed a path across the sky, rising timidly from the horizon as the two suns slipped from view. The first moon would reach its peak within the hour, and the second shortly after.
Unseen insects chirped from every direction—fireflies fluttered lazily on the cooling breeze. Darkness was creeping into the realm’s edges, but the enchanted torch lights of townsquare kept things from feeling eerie. Instead, the town was cushioned in a gentle, warm glow.
My boots thumped heavily along the cobblestones.
I waved at the few folk I passed, but I didn’t linger to start any conversations like I normally would. I was craving a good night’s sleep more than a casual discussion.
A crisp breeze tossed my black hair over my eyes, and I absentmindedly batted it away. The ending of the mild season meant that Hallow’s Eve was rapidly approaching. It was only a few weeks away, now. The green leaves in the Greenwood Forest were already beginning to deepen in pigment, settling into their emerald coloring that would soon fade into shades of orange and red.
Hallow’s Eve was a holiday celebrated throughout the entire realm of Aldova—from the Dragonspeak Mountains, across the Barren Lands, all the way to the sea. Every town and every species celebrated in their own way, but we all celebrated. It was a chance to embrace our natural darkness. To cling to our baser instincts.
And for some of us, to act out our more beastly, wild tendencies.
For orcs, Hallow’s Eve was an even bigger deal than Merry Day or Year’s End. As a species, orcs prized strength above all else, both physical and mental. We liked to participate in competitions to prove our strength to each other. Moonvale’s Hallow’s Eve celebration would involve more prowling than proving strength.
The holiday season made me miss my family. There were other orcs in Moonvale, sure, but none that I was especially close to.
The resoundingthunkof my boots on the solid wood of my newly repaired front porch was music to my ears. The wood had begun to rot, and Redd, the new vampire woodworker in town,had transformed it into something fresh and sturdy. I would call myself handy, but I was nowhere as talented as that man. My quick patchwork fixes had held, sure, but they had been hideous.
Now, I didn’t have to worry about my heavy feet busting through the wood—I could stomp as hard as I pleased.
Two wooden rocking chairs wobbled in the breeze, as though ghosts were sitting upon them. They creaked quietly—a whisper in the night.
With a groan, I bent to unlace my boots. My back muscles protested as I righted myself again. I left the boots on the threshold before I stepped inside my cottage.
The familiar scent of clean linens and comfort greeted me like an old friend. I didn’t bother to light a candle, instead feeling my way through the space by memory. My eyesight was sharp, but with my curtains drawn and the faint light of the moons blocked out, I could see almost nothing. That didn’t matter, though. The space was clean, as always, and the high roof built for the tallest of folk guaranteed that I wouldn’t hit my head on anything.
I preferred to spend my time in town among other folk rather than in my cottage by myself. My cottage was my place to relax, unwind, and rest, and not much else. It housed my belongings, though there weren’t many of those. I wasn’t the collecting sort.
I didn’t have much in the way of furniture, either. A hook on the back of the door held my cloaks that I wore during the freeze season. The front of my cottage consisted of a sitting area with a couch, a low table, and an oversized chair. A small, spindly fern lived in a blue pot that sat in the corner beside the window. I didn’t have a dining table—that would be a waste of space when I took all my meals at the pub anyway. Storage trunks remained tucked off to the side until I needed to use them, and my kitchen and washroom were small and unobtrusive.
My bed took up most of the back half of the cottage. It was the largest bed that silvers could buy, and I still wished it was bigger. It fit my frame with little room to spare.
I yanked my tunic over my head and tossed it into the wash basket in the corner, mindful not to pull too hard and tear any threads.
I pulled my window open to let the night breeze in. I wouldn’t get to enjoy the nighttime winds much longer, soon the air would be too cold and unpleasant.
