My office occupied the far corner of the building. A large desk dominated the space with my chair behind it and one for visitors in front. The stark white walls held no decoration. Asingle window overlooked the sorhox pasture, and a simple rug covered part of the wooden floor. The only exception to the sparse design sat on my desk, a carved sorhox figure, about the size of my palm, made from fymsom.
Carla noticed it immediately. “That’s beautiful craftsmanship.”
“Fymsom,” I said, gesturing for her to sit.
“It looks similar to gold, but it can’t be.”
I shrugged. We didn’t share with humans that fymsom lay on the ground everywhere, though we’d quickly learned its value. In fact, we’d used fymsom to fund our full operation here, telling everyone the orc king had provided the needed money. Instead, it had been paid for with fymsom, which we told the humans we’d mined in the mountains surrounding this valley.
“Someone made it for you?” Carla settled into the chair across from my desk, pulling out her tablet.
“My mate, Wexla.” The words came easier than expected. “Before she died.”
Carla’s expression shifted to sympathy. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Six months ago. Illness.” I sat down, surprised by my willingness to share this with her. “She carved the sorhox because I raised them.”
“It’s exquisite work.” She didn’t press for more details, which I appreciated.
As she organized her materials, I saw hesitation in her movements, a cautiousness that hadn’t been there during Azool’s feeding.
Was she hesitant because I’d been grumpy since she arrived? Of course a human would be uncomfortable around a snarly orc. I had my reasons, but I didn’t want her finding me unapproachable. I told myself we needed to get along well to work together.
Not that I was unsettled at the thought that she may not…likeme.
“I’ve been reviewing the current plans for the rodeo program,” she said, her voice shifting to a professional tone. “Based on what you’ve shown me about sorhoxes, I think we should focus on a few core activities rather than trying to replicate an entire traditional rodeo.”
She laid out hand-drawn diagrams showing simplified versions of barrel racing and ground roping courses. As she explained her reasoning, the tension in her shoulders eased, her enthusiasm for the work breaking through her caution.
“The barrel racing would use a modified course with wider turns to accommodate a sorhox’s larger size,” she said. “And for the ground roping, we’d start with stationary targets before moving to anything mobile.”
Her ideas were thoughtful, practical, and clearly designed with both tourist experience and sorhox welfare in mind. The more she explained, the more impressed I became. But she still seemed to be holding back, watching me carefully as if she expected criticism.
I wanted to reassure her, to show I appreciated her work. So I plastered the biggest, tuskiest, most ridiculous smile on my face, the polar opposite of my usual expression.
Her words trailed off mid-sentence, her eyes widening.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
My ears burned. “Yes. Fine. I, um…I’m…Ideas are good.”
She stared at me like I’d sprouted two new arms, her expression frozen somewhere between confusion and concern.
I cleared my throat, desperate to reclaim some dignity. “Please continue.”
She blinked twice, then found her place in her notes. “As I was saying, for children’s activities, I thought we could start with stick horse barrel racing to teach the patterns before introducingthem to real sorhoxes, though small ones who could be trained to be extra gentle.”
Grateful for her willingness to move past my awkwardness, I leaned forward to examine her diagrams some more. “This would work well.”
“You mentioned the young sorhox connection yesterday.” She pointed to another diagram showing a simplified care routine. “We could expand that into a formal program. A sort of farm camp, though perhaps only for a few hours. Where children can come to the barns and feed the sorhoxes. Maybe older kids could give bottles to younglings like Azool.”
For the next hour, we refined her ideas, our excitement building as the program took shape. When our clothing rubbed together as we leaned over the same document, neither of us pulled away. The room felt warmer than it should despite how cold it was outside.
“The timeline is ambitious but realistic.” I was impressed by her thoroughness. “Starting with these core activities makes more sense than trying to do everything at once.”
Her smile lit up her face. “Exactly. We can always expand later, but this gives us a strong foundation.”
“I’m impressed. It’s clear you’ve thought this through.”
