Private Tales Out of Place

[Scabhair]

A belayed, distant hum of assent was all he received in reply – engrossed in the pages of her codex was the only time one could catch Scabhair unawares. Charcoal stained her fingers from mixing the ink earlier – other smudges had found their way on her cheeks and lips as she pondered the text, an impatient black blot growing on the earth beside her leg.

He might’ve bowed in goodbye, and she wouldn’t have noticed a thing. Even when the smell of food preceded him, a candlemark or so later, Scabhair didn’t even blink. She was still in the same spot on her cot, two pages ahead, and half an inkstick down.

 

[Hath Charosh]

Hath sat opposite her and placed two wooden bowls on the ground. The scent soon filled the tent. One of the visiting tribes had spent early morning making krattu. It was made of a mix of finely chopped ingredients. There was game bird and he suspected some left over dog. Then some fruit and nuts and finally bulked up with a type of flatbread the orcs occasionally made. It made a relatively dry mix that Hath picked at with his fingers.

He waited patiently. Nothing but the sound of the symbols being scratched onto paper, his chewing, some distant singing and - briefly - a couple finishing some rutting a few tents away. Only when she was mixing some more ink and his mouth was empty did he speak.

“You had a lot to catch up on?” he asked. Another ball of food was brought to his mouth. He was feeling quite satisfied with that pang dealt with and was tempted to take a nap.

 

[Scabhair]

She hummed and set down the quill before arching to stretch her back after nearly two hours of motionless writing. “I almost forgot about the elves we met before reaching the penteth,” she offered by way of apology, then motioned to the curious mixture of food in the bowl. “Smells good. What’s it made of?”

Despite the question, Scabhair didn’t wait for an answer before scooping it up. Years in, and it still surprised just how hungry she’d get after something as simple as putting marks down on paper.

 

[Hath Charosh]

Hath gave a nod towards his right shoulder at the explanation. After the last day the elves did seem some time ago. It did make him feel a little more apprehensive about living just beyond the borders of their lands. A human force wouldn't get past their scouts, but the elves could apparently muster a serious force and bring it close to their home.

“Game, some leftover meats, chopped flatbread, and one of the other tribes brought some dried fruits.”

The ink on the page lost its shine as it dried. He didn't have much of a notion of how long it took to write or how much she would have covered in the time she have been absorbed by it. Hath would spend an entire day making arrows without speaking a word and be quite content.

“How much do you get written in that time?” he asked. His bowl was almost clean.

 

[Scabhair]

“Depends,” she muttered, cheeks full of the delicious dish. “On what I’m writing, how long ago it happened, the light, the ink, the quality of the paper…” she trailed off waving at the world writ large. There were as many variables to writing as there were to hunting. And the focus it required to do it well was much the same, she found.

She also found she had a larger appetite for fruits and vegetables than most of her kin. Her father’s legacy, no doubt, but one she loved better than all the rest. Rations never ran out as quick as they did in crossing the Spine, and there was no use hunting for game when there was no game to hunt. She’d learned to appreciate how well roots and tubers could keep in the cold.

And spirits, the mushrooms.

Grinning, Scabhair banished that particular memory and set down her bowl. “Today, however, I only wrote two.” The smile crept into the corners of her eyes, losing all innocence on the way. “Somehow, I kept getting… distracted.”

 

[Hath Charosh]

Hath had imagined it would be quite relaxing to spend some time in an evening reflecting on the day. It probably made it easier to recall events and spin them into a tale at a later time. It still wasn't enough to make him consider learning the skill.

A soft chuckle followed her explanation. There was absolutely no shame on his face when he raised his gaze to meet her eye. He could barely remember the singing as the to bid the light farewell, but he could well remember her voice drowning out all other sounds. Suddenly he was distracted himself by memories of the previous night.

“Now this is the first time I'm interested in what you actually put down to paper,” he said as he finished the last of his morning meal.

 

[Scabhair]

A light laughter escaped her as she set both their bowls aside. Packing up her writing kit took a little more time, but her smile never faltered as she spoke again.

“Nothing that would rankle the dried loins of College librarians, I assure you. Even if you paid them a whore for the night and locked them into the bedroom, I sincerely doubt any of them would know what to do with her.” She tightened the last of the leather bands holding the codex together and slid it back into her pack along with the inkstick and quills. “A good book might tell you plenty about something, but it is no substitute for experience.”

Her eyes danced as she looked up, content to ignore the looming weight of the afternoon for a while longer.

 

[Hath Charosh]

Hath doubted that an unmarked sheaf of paper could ever carry the unique quality of a silence. That no laughter or comment met the mirth in her eyes spoke on its own. The silence that fell between held its own quality, this one laden with the weight of the question in his eyes.

He wasn't quite nervous. They simply didn't stand of firm foundations together. There was a deliberate nature to his movements as he slowly closed the distance between them. Hath couldn't recall who had closed on who the night before, but he remembered a fierce collision at the end of that heady dance. This wasn't sudden. He sought some affirmation of what there was between them, what he would struggle to put into words, even if he had hours to try and choose them.

No words spoken, but he still conveyed more than enough as he reached for her. Never turning away until there was no space left between them at all. Until his breath mingled with hers and their noses brushed against one another.

The question spoken aloud the night before seemed so naive now. Just blurted out to find out her intentions. What he asked now had no simple answer. It was as much statement as question, an intention to start to establish where they stood with each other. Something that could only be built over time, not explained. Something that had to be experienced, not written.

 

[Scabhair]

What she asked now was an answer by itself, though no less blunt for it. She said it with a smile, still.

“How much time before the gathering?”

He tasted like the stew; like the spice mixed into the mushroom ale. She licked it off his tusks and pulled his weight closer without hurry or ownership. The cot beneath them was lined with fur; a sight better than the comfort of dirt, though she would not trade one for the other.

It was simply different.

Her hand in his hair and a flexed leg between them pried them apart again. Mirth danced in her bright eyes as sunlight caught them through a hole in the canvas of the tent.

Scabhair had patience enough to wait out his reply.

 

[Hath Charosh]

Whilst he frequently deliberated over his words there was barely a pause before his response.

"Most of the morning still," he replied. His eyes flicked towards the light of the new sun. Hard to tell through the thick fabric of the tent but it hadn't climbed that far from the horizon yet.

Hath had very nearly replied enough. More direct, but after Scabhair had been forced to temper his enthusiasm and slow the tempo beside the fire it might not have been taken the right way.

He enjoyed her fingers woven through his hair. Hath hadn't bothered to rebind it back and Scabhair was afforded plenty to grip on to. Slowly, his lips curled up into a grin that matched the mirth in her eyes.

 

[Scabhair]

“Good,” she said, breath gentle and soft like the new sun. She smoothed her hands down his shoulders and over the lean muscle of his arms. She revelled in his warmth as they settled on the furs together.

The rites no longer burned in their blood; no longer breathed fire into the rhythm between their bodies. They would find their own, and it would be alright.

 

[Hath Charosh]

The slight flutter of trepedition he felt as they emerged into the new sun was quickly buried. Hath felt particularly content after a morning well spent. A dull ache in his muscles, a deeper satisfaction in his bones.

He had explained to her that the tribe would need time to settle before they moved north. Orcs held ambitions and jostled for position, but they also liked an order to their world. They liked to know where they stood. Hath hadn't come here with any interest in changing his standing within the tribe, only with her.

Orcs meandered through the tents towards the centre of the swollen settlement. Some walked alone, some in social or family circles, some others in new or old pairs. He noticed a few from his tribe walking close beside orcs from other tribes.

"I don't know how long the other tribes will stay," he admitted quietly as they walked. There would be children born of these unions, new blood in the tribes. There would also be a few movements before the tribes left. He wasn't sure if Kardidua was going to be as unhappy with him as Scabhair had suggested, but he would probably find out soon enough.