Orcblood Legacy: Skirmishes: Orcs by Bernard Bertram (good inspirational books .TXT) 📕

path despite the influences against it. Be like leaf, he emboldened himself.

The brown, crispened petal landed on the orc’s chest. For many moments, he just stared at it as if expecting some sort of phenomena to happen. Once he realized what he was waiting for, Fangdarr burst into laughter. “It a leaf!” he said between painful outbursts.

Fangdarr sighed through his smile, recognizing his foolishness. “If leaf can do it, so can I.” Determined to not be weaker than the fall of the dead petal, the orc rotated his body in the dirt and began crawling toward the cave.

ABODE

Sitting at the mouth of his cave, Fangdarr looked out over the browning trees as a frigid breeze licked his skin. It had been months since he had crawled back to the dwelling where he had met Gub and nearly all memories had been driven far to the recesses of his mind.

Lifting a piece of boar leg to his mouth, the orc rose to his feet and turned deeper into the cave. He stopped near a small fire to ward off the chill. The turn of seasons would soon bring snow—the first he would endure on his own. Fangdarr continued to warm his hands while scanning his abode. He had been preparing for the winter since his early days in the dwelling, gathering all the supplies he could.

A smile crept to Fangdarr’s face as he remembered his mother’s insightful teachings and how they would spare him from a death of sheer cold. With the knowledge she had bestowed upon him, the orc had fashioned a large blanket from the boars he had hunted. With each kill, its size and thickness grew. By the time winter’s first snow would fall, Fangdarr knew the thick hide would serve him well, as would the stitched pillow he had quilted together with squirrel and rabbit furs. He had even stored a mass of bones and apples for the harshest of days where he could not leave the cave to scavenge for food.

Everything seemed in place and Fangdarr was confident he would make it through the winter. Though it often lasted only a single moon cycle, the season was treacherous. Despite the heavy snowfall, the harsh, icy winds were the worst of it—though diminished greatly by the abundant trees within the Lithe.

Fangdarr tore the last bit of meat from the haunch in his hand and tossed the bone into the pile nearby. Then, moving to a stack of split wood, the orc put another log into the fire to ensure it continued through the night.

As the orc walked over to his makeshift bed, he caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye near the cave’s mouth. Cautiously, he grabbed hold of Driktarr and waited. Time passed on with only the wind and crackle of flames in his ears. Fangdarr’s brow furrowed and the back of his neck tingled. “Who go there?”

Silence.

Rationality tugged at Fangdarr. There was no one there. Why would there be? With the onset of winter coming, it made no sense for anyone to be outside of their own dwelling. Unless . . . they sought his.

Fangdarr’s eyes narrowed dangerously as he repeated himself. “Who go there?!” He stomped his foot against the cold stone to attempt to dissuade any who may think to enter.

After many moments, the orc’s suspicions were confirmed as a single troll entered his cave.

CHIEFTAIN

“What you want?” Fangdarr growled as he tightened his fingers around the shaft of his weapon.

The troll stepped toward him confidently, smiling around its long tusks. Fangdarr took note of the collection of bones strung together and worn as loose armor. With each step the intruder took, they rattled together making the orc wonder how the troll had managed to sneak up on him.

Though a pair of stone daggers stuck out from the creature’s belt, its arms hung limp with no sign of aggression. Fangdarr could tell by the sheer confidence that the troll needed no time to produce the blades at the first sign of trouble. His suspicious glare remained fixed as the unwarranted visitor closed the distance.

Stopping an arm’s length from the orc, the creature cracked its mouth into a wide grin. “We have been watchin’ ya, orc.” It had been so long since Fangdarr last encountered trolls that he had forgotten their odd accent, causing his face to twist in confusion. The troll caught his expression. “Ahahah, don’ be shy, now. Whacha doin’ out here in ya lonesome? Why ya ain’t with ya other kind?”

Fangdarr bared his teeth. He wasn’t fond of the pressing questions from one who had just entered his home.

Upon seeing the orc tense, the troll patted the air with a relaxed smile. “A’right, a’right. No need for dat.” His eyes shined deviously. “Me name Raz’ja. I’m da chieftain of da trolls. All of dem. Who ya are?”

Refusing to release the tenseness in his shoulders, Fangdarr held his gaze. “Fangdarr.”

Raz’ja grinned at the lackluster response. “Are ya with da Zharnik clan?”

“No. Father was chieftain, long ago.” The orc didn’t know why he added the detail about his father, perhaps pride or foolishness. But Fangdarr realized that if the troll had wished for his death, Raz’ja would have simply flooded the cave with a horde of trolls. The orc slightly relaxed.

“Ah, there ya be,” Raz’ja began, seeing Fangdarr unfurl his defensiveness. “And what about ya? Ya goin’ to be chieftain too?”

Fangdarr laughed aloud. “No, Fangdarr not going to be chieftain.”

“Why not? Ya are strong, intelligent. Ya father were chieftain before ya. What stoppin’ ya?”

Pursing his lips in irritation at the incessant questions, Fangdarr quickly discovered he didn’t have an answer to the question. Why not? After pondering in silence, he met Raz’ja’s expectant and sinister gaze and shrugged. “Don’t know how to become chieftain.”

It was the troll’s turn to laugh. “Ah, don’t ya worry, orc. I can help ya with dat. What say we strike a bargain, ya?”

Fangdarr’s eyes narrowed dangerously once more. “What bargain?”

“Raz’ja help ya become chieftain of