"Come to laugh at your teaching methods," Shae shoots back without missing a beat. "Unless you've improved since yesterday."
The easy banter between them makes me smile despite my complicated thoughts. This is what I've been missing in the interactions with Kai—the casual humor and comfortable teasing that speaks to genuine friendship rather than careful politeness.
"Harsh words from someone whose idea of combat training involves embroidery needles," Ursik replies, then turns his attention to me with an expression that's warm but not quite as familiar as the one he uses with Shae. "How's your blade work progressing, little bird? Kai been treating you right, or do I need to have words with him about proper instruction?"
The nickname makes me laugh despite myself. "He's been very thorough. I think I could actually defend myself now instead of just flailing desperately."
"Good to hear. Nothing more attractive than a woman who can handle herself in a fight." The comment is casual, but something in his tone suggests he's not just talking about general appeal.
Before I can figure out how to respond to that, Falla appears at my elbow with the silent approach that makes him so effective as a healer and so unsettling as a conversation partner.
"Attractive," he says dryly, "is not the primary benefit of combat training. Survival is. Though I suppose some males are simple enough to conflate the two."
Ursik laughs, unoffended by the gentle barb. "Says the man who spent twenty minutes yesterday explaining the proper way to bandage a training wound to anyone who'd listen."
"Medical accuracy is important."
"So is not boring people to death with excessive detail."
I find myself caught between them, watching this familiar argument with growing amusement. They're nothing like the grim, violent orcs I expected—more like bickering brothers who genuinely care about each other despite their constant needling.
"How bad was the lecture?" I ask Falla, curious despite myself.
"Informative," he replies with perfect dignity. "Unlike certain people's idea of instruction, which seems to consist entirely of 'hit things harder' and 'don't die.'"
"It's worked so far," Ursik points out.
"Survival through luck is not a sustainable strategy."
"Tell that to half the clan."
Their back-and-forth continues as we settle into the comfortable rhythm that's become familiar over the past week—Shae handling the social navigation while I learn clan dynamics through observation and occasional participation. It's easier than I expected, this gradual integration into a community that should feel alien and threatening.
Maybe too easy. The thought surfaces occasionally, unwelcome reminders that I'm growing comfortable in a situation that's supposed to be temporary. That I'm starting to think of these people as friends rather than captors, starting to imagine a future here that doesn't end with escape or rescue.
Dangerous territory. The kind of thinking that leads to impossible choices and heartbreak when reality inevitably intrudes.
But for now, surrounded by laughter and casual acceptance, it's hard to hold onto that level of caution. Easier to let myself enjoy the moment, to appreciate the simple pleasure of belonging somewhere, even temporarily.
The afternoon slides toward evening without my noticing, training sessions and social calls blending into the kind of comfortable routine I haven't experienced since childhood. By the time we head back toward Kai's longhouse, I'm carrying another armload of gifts and wearing what Shae insists is a much more relaxed expression than the one I arrived with.
"Better?" she asks as we approach the familiar red ribbons fluttering from the doorframe.
"Better," I agree, and realize I actually mean it.
That's when we hear the commotion from the edge of the settlement—shouts and running footsteps that carry the unmistakable edge of emergency rather than celebration. Shae and I exchange quick looks before hurrying toward the sound, my training-sharpened instincts already cataloging potential threats and escape routes.
We find a cluster of warriors near the main gate, their voices tight with urgency as they support someone between them. Female, from the long black hair and smaller build. Bleeding from multiple wounds that stain her torn clothing dark red against green skin.
An orc woman, but not one I recognize from the clan. A stranger who stumbled out of the forest in obvious distress, looking like she's been running for days without food or rest.
"Get Falla," someone shouts, and I catch sight of Kai pushing through the crowd with the kind of controlled urgencythat suggests he's assessing threat levels and response options simultaneously.
The injured woman lifts her head as the warriors help her toward the healer's lodge, and I catch a glimpse of her face. Beautiful despite the exhaustion and pain, with striking green eyes and delicate features that would be stunning under better circumstances.
Something familiar tugs at the edge of my memory—a sense of recognition that doesn't quite connect to any specific moment or place. Like seeing someone you passed on a street weeks ago, significant enough to notice but not important enough to remember clearly.
I shake off the feeling. Probably just the general similarity most orc women share, or maybe she resembles someone from my brief glimpses of other clans during my time running through contested territories.
