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Writing down some ideas, I dug into the content that already existed. Newspaper and television pictures and interviews, game clips, some badly lit promotional photos, and two frighteningly chaotic locker room videos that someone with a cell phone and no sense had put out into the world-wide-web.

Ugh. Still, the raw material was there. And there were the players themselves.

I clicked through profiles and media clips. Orcs tended to photograph with a fierceness of a barbarian movie still. They had the kind of purpose-build physique that made humans look like they were trying too hard and not succeeding. Broad shoulders, snow-white tusks, heavy brows, green skin in a hundred variations from olive to moss to deep forest. They looked mythic. Off the ice they looked like they might either help you move a couch or start a bar fight depending on how their day had gone. On the ice…well, that was a situation that was unfortunately out of my control.

One by one, I reviewed names, positions, injury reports, interview snippets, disciplinary history.

Ugwyll known for frightening reporters.

Morag with surprising a knitting hobby.

Ozar who gave clipped, humorless answers that made every interview feel like a hostage exchange.

Trap and Pfton and Pug with decent youth appeal.

Eng with excellent cheekbones and an impressive glower as he defiantly stood against the boards the entire game, refusing at all to actually play.

Then I clicked to a player profile marked:

BWAT - LEFT WING

No surname was listed in the media packet, which I dimly remembered was not uncommon among most orc clans. I opened the attached interview clip.

The video quality was terrible. The lighting was worse. A local sports reporter stood beside the orc whose shoulders seemed roughly the width of a compact sedan. His post-game t-shirt stretched across a massive chest, and his tusks curved slightly upward when he smiled—which, unfortunately for my concentration, he was doing now.

A lot.

Good Lord, Bwat had a gorgeous smile, which I was now vaguely remembering from when I’d met him at the pub. His eyes crinkled at the edges, and there was actually a dimple in his left cheek. Where the others appeared aloof or fierce or unapproachable, Bwat came across as friendly, warm, and engaging.

“Bwat,” the reporter said brightly, “great…uh, solid attempt at the game tonight. Walk us through that third-period assist.”

Bwat nodded with grave seriousness. “Yes. The puck was near me. I swung my stick and managed to hit it in the direction of Hurruk. He missed it and the enemy team took ownership, but I am proud that I made contact with the puck using my stick instead of it just bouncing off my leg or my knife-blade shoe.”

The reporter blinked. “I mean the assist to Ugwyll who scored in the third-period.”

Bwat tilted his head in thought, then actually appeared embarrassed. “That was an accident. The puck hit my knife…errr, skate and rebounded to Ugwyll. I would not claim that as an assist.”

Humble. The guy was adorably humble.

The reporter laughed. “Well, you got credit for an assist, accidental or not. How did that feel, in the moment?”

“It felt…it felt like failure, like I should do better. Ozar is working hard to make each of us improve our game, and I know I need practice. Someday I want to get points not by accident.”

His admission made my eyes sting and my heart hurt.

The reporter tried again. “The first period was memorable for several fights. Is there a strategy behind that?”

Bwat considered. “We are orcs. We’re not good at hockey, but we are good at fighting. I have read that it is important to consider your strengths in your job, so having as many fights in a game as we can feels like a good strategy.”

I laughed before I could stop myself.

It slipped out of me, quick and surprised, and for a second I just sat there, one hand over my mouth like I’d been caught doing something undignified.

On screen, the reporter was visibly floundering.

“Okay,” she said. “And how are you liking Baltimore?”

Bwat’s face brightened even more, which I would not have thought possible given the starting point. “I enjoy the harbor. Also there is a fried dough establishment near the arena that offers seven dipping sauces. And I have met a beautiful human female with hair like a muddy waterfall and eyes the color of algae.”