I laid out the bread and meat on a table between the bed and my chair. The routine felt oddly domestic, sharing a simple meal, planning our day around basic survival needs.
“Tell me about the orc kingdom,” Carla said, tearing off a piece of bread and nibbling on the edge. “What was it like growing up underground?”
The question caught me off guard. Most humans asked about the surface. How long we’d been here, why we’d emerged, what we thought of their technology. Few asked about home.
“Different,” I said, then realized how inadequate that sounded. “The cities are carved into rock formations, connected by tunnels wide enough for sorhox caravans. Our light comes from phosphorescent insects we cultivate along the vast cavern ceilings.”
“It sounds beautiful.”
“It is. Was.” I paused, surprised I’d made the correction. “The air smells of minerals and growing things. Water runs through channels cut into the stone, and there are steaming pools where we bathe, though many have running water inside their homes.”
“Do you miss it?”
The question unlocked something I’d been holding tight inside my chest. “Every day. The surface is bright. Loud. Overwhelming sometimes.”
“Then why stay?”
I met her eyes, finding genuine curiosity rather than judgment there. “Because the kingdom holds too many memories. Wexla and I had a home there, a life. After she died, everything reminded me of what I’d lost.”
“So you came here to start over.”
“I came here to work. To be useful.” I shrugged. “Starting over implies hope for something new. I was trying to survive.”
Carla leaned forward, wincing as she adjusted her position. “What changed?”
“What do you mean?”
“You said was. Like maybe you’re here for more than just survival.”
Her perceptiveness didn’t surprise me. She saw through my carefully constructed defenses as easily as reading a book.
“Maybe it’s working with the sorhoxes again. Being part of something that matters.”
“Only the work?”
The question hung between us, loaded with implications I wasn’t ready to examine. “What about you? What made you choose rodeo consulting over staying in one place?”
“Safety,” she said without hesitation. “If you never stay anywhere long enough to put down roots, you can’t be disappointed when people don’t want you with them.”
“You speak of your aunt and uncle.”
“Among others.” She picked at her bread, breaking it into small pieces but not eating much yet. “I learned early that enthusiasm wasn’t welcome. That taking up space was an inconvenience. So I made myself useful instead.”
“Useful isn’t the same as wanted.”
“No.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “But it’s safer.”
We ate in silence after that. The storm continued, but inside the cabin, everything had shifted. The awkwardness of the morning had faded, replaced by an unexpected intimacy.
“What was Wexla like?” Carla asked quietly.
The question should’ve hurt. Instead, I found myself wanting to answer, to share memories that had been locked away since her death.
“Very sweet. Everyone loved her.” Me included. “She made the sorhox figurine during her final weeks. Said she wanted me to remember that even in darkness, we could create something beautiful.”
“She sounds wonderful.”
“She was. We weren’t…fated mates, but we loved each other. Built a good life together.”
